“Okay, okay. Point taken,” Pescoli said and tried not to snap. Alvarez was, if nothing else, thorough, a good cop who relied on science and evidence and rarely on her gut instinct. This time it seemed she was trusting a little of each. Not a bad thing.
They walked inside the garage together and found the mechanics and forensic car team working on the minivan. Spread around the dented body of the Dodge was a mess of wet toys, clothes, and wrapping paper that had faded and started to disintegrate. Soggy, crumpled shopping bags had split, only those that were plastic having survived a trip into the icy river.
The back bumper looked as if it had been rammed, and the automotive forensic examiners were all over the vehicle, looking for any evidence they could find. Elle Alexander’s cell phone and purse were located, and the dripping receipts in her wallet indicated she’d been shopping only hours before her vehicle was pulled from the icy river.
“Something hit the back end of the van with a lot of force,” Bart, one of the examiners, said. A thin, wiry man with a bald pate and glasses that looked too big for his face, he was wiping his hands with a towel and staring at the wreck of a minivan. “Looks like another vehicle. There’s no evidence that she hit something, like a deer or elk or anything, before the van plunged into the river. She might have swerved, but something hit her from behind. Something big and going fast, from the looks of the dents.”
“The husband said the van was in pristine shape. They bought it less than six months ago.”
Bart was nodding as if everything Pescoli said confirmed his findings. “Ahh, well, someone changed that, now, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” Alvarez said on a sigh. “I guess we’d better find out who.”
Bart smiled thinly. “Glad that’s your job, not mine.”
Tuesday passed uneventfully, and on Wednesday, her day off from working at the clinic, Kacey spent time playing with Bonzi, paying bills, and picking up the house.
After some debate, she called Trace O’Halleran and got his answering machine, so she left a message asking about Eli and leaving her cell phone number.
It hadn’t really been a ruse; she was concerned about the boy, more about his flu symptoms than his arm. But she couldn’t lie to herself. Of course she’d hoped to talk to Trace. She hadn’t been able to get him off her mind.
In the late morning she decided to be proactive on the mystery of the look-alikes and made a quick trip to Fit Forever Gym in search of a trainer named Gloria. She talked to a cute girl of around eighteen behind the reception area and made up a story about thinking of joining the club. The receptionist, in white-blond pigtails, had the enthusiasm of youth and, Kacey guessed, the promise of a commission, as she quickly explained the benefits of becoming a Fit Forever member. When Kacey didn’t immediately sign on the dotted line, she lost a bit of fire and just slid some brochures across the long counter, turning to a more promising customer, the next guy in line.
Quickly, Kacey went through the pamphlets. Sure enough, one of the trainers was Gloria Sanders-O’Malley, the woman Elle had said resembled her. Kacey walked down a hallway, as if she were already a member; she didn’t want someone showing her around. At a large glass window that looked into a workout room, she saw the woman who had to be Gloria Sanders-O’Malley. It was just damned eerie as she watched the woman lead a spinning class. None of the members of the class looked a thing like her, thank you, God, but Gloria did have the same bone structure in her face as Kacey. Her hair was short, spiky, and a rich red-brown; her body toned to that of a true athlete.
When the class ended, Kacey entered and introduced herself as a potential member. Gloria was polite but didn’t seem to notice the resemblance, and Kacey didn’t bring it up.
Maybe she was chasing shadows.
Not sure what she thought about that, Kacey returned home and spent a few hours at her desk with her laptop. The e-mail from the state hadn’t come through yet, so she decided to call a friend of hers from college whom she knew worked at the state offices in Helena, in the computer records no less. Years earlier, while attending the university, Riza had helped improve Kacey’s computer skills in exchange for help in literature and Spanish.
It took three transfers and nearly seven minutes before Kacey was connected with Riza; apparently somewhere along the line she must’ve gotten divorced and taken back her last name.
“Hey, Riza. This is Kacey Collins . . . well, Lambert now.”
“Well, hey. How’ve ya been?” Even as Riza spoke, the sound of her computer keys clicking reached Kacey’s ears.
“Good, good.” They caught up a bit, and yes, Riza was divorced from her high school boyfriend, whom she’d married right after college, and was now single, living with a new musician boyfriend. Kacey told her that she and JC had split and she was living in Grizzly Falls.
“About time you got rid of Mr. Know-It-All,” Riza said. “I never liked him.”
“Maybe you should have told me.”
“You wouldn’t have listened.” And that was probably true, Kacey decided. “So what’s this all about?” Riza asked. “You didn’t just call me out of the blue. There must be a reason.”
“Well . . . yeah . . .” Kacey got down to it. “Look, Riza, I need some help. Several women have died up here, and a couple of them were born in Helena, at Valley Hospital, which I think closed about twenty or twenty-five years ago. I wanted to find out if there were others. Women ... well, I think only women, who were born between thirty-one and, oh, probably like thirty-eight years ago at the hospital who are now deceased.”
“You know I only have access to Montana records.”
“I’m willing to start there.”
“It’s all public record,” Riza said, “but I can speed through the process for you. I shouldn’t get into too much trouble, but you never know. People are touchy around here, and there are fees for everything.”
“Does it help that I’m a doctor?”
“Yeah. It means you can probably afford all this.” She chuckled to herself, then asked for Kacey’s e-mail. “I’ll have you know this is highly irregular. That’s what my boss is gonna say if she gets wind of it. Nearly everything I do she con
siders irregular, so let’s keep it between us. And don’t worry about the fees.... I think I can bury them, too.”