“Will is right. That information is predicated on trusting that Nesbitt is the person who licked the envelope.” Amanda turned to Will. “Thoughts?”
“Nesbitt’s been in prison for eight years. Cons know more about forensic procedures and DNA than most cops do.”
Faith added, “He’s a chess player. Even Lena Adams figured that out. Nesbitt strategizes. He works people against each other. We know he’s got access to the internet through contraband phones. He could’ve found out about Heath and done the same math that we all did.”
Amanda nodded. She had made her decision. “Nesbitt’s DNA is already in our database because he’s a convicted sex offender. We need a clean chain of custody on Heath Caterino’s DNA. I don’t want to file a subpoena for obvious reasons.”
Faith said, “You want me to ask Gerald Caterino if he’ll volunteer to let me take a swab of his kid’s mouth? The kid he pretends is his own child because he’s terrified Beckey’s attacker will find out?”
Will said, “I can—”
“I’ll do it,” Faith said. “Will’s on the exhumation. He’s waiting for the subpoena on the security footage. We’ve both got jobs to do.”
“Good,” Amanda said. “I’ll put another team on the call lists. You can follow up with them when you’re back.”
Faith dropped the papers on the coffee table.
Will’s body tensed as she left. He didn’t know if he wanted to stop her or go with her.
Amanda said, “Wilbur, in this moment, it is immaterial whether or not Daryl Nesbitt’s DNA matches Heath Caterino’s. What we have in front of us is an exhumed body that might offer new clues and a subpoena that could allow us access to a video that reveals the face of a killer.”
Will knew a dismissal when he heard it. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked toward the stairs. His muscles were still tensed, but the short burst of urgency had come to a screeching halt. All that he was left with was anxiety. He didn’t like the idea of Faith being alone. He was irritated that he hadn’t thought to verify the DNA from the lab test. He was anxious, because Amanda was right. Nesbitt hadn’t murdered fifteen women and terrorized five others in the last eight years.
So who had?
Someone with intimate knowledge of the crimes. Someone who was connected enough to Daryl Nesbitt to frame him. Someone who was clever enough to cover his tracks. Someone who had a collection of hairbands, combs, brushes, and ties.
Acolyte? Copycat? Nutjob? Murderer?
Two days out, Will was asking the same questions they’d had back in the prison chapel.
He exited through the door at the bottom of the stairs. The morgue was behind the headquarters building in a metal structure that looked like a hangar. The wind whipped at his jacket as he walked up the sidewalk. Will kept his eyes on the ground. There wasn’t much to look at in the sky. Dark clouds. Thunder. He could feel tiny slivers of rain stabbing at his face.
A black mortuary van was parked at the loading dock. Both sets of doors were open. Gary was helping the driver transfer Shay Van Dorne’s casket onto a rolling table. When Will had thought about the exhumation, he had visualized broken chunks of dirt and debris, maybe a Crypt-keeper hand sticking through rotted wood. The metal casket was pristine, the black paint still mirror-glossy. The only indication that it hadn’t just come off the display room floor was the string of cobwebs hanging off one of the corners. A spider had managed to get sealed inside the vault.
Will walked through the front lobby of the morgue. Glass windows looked into the autopsy suite. Two medical examiners were already at work. They were dressed in yellow aprons and blue scrubs. White surgical masks. Colorful hats. Off-white exam gloves.
Sara was in a tiny room at the end of a long hallway. Crime scene photos served as art on the walls. The back office was meant to be a temporary workspace for anyone who needed it. Desk. Phone. Two chairs. No window.
Will slowed his pace so he could take her in.
Sara’s arms were stretched out to the desk. She was staring down at her iPhone. She’d changed into scrubs. She was wearing glasses. Her long, auburn hair was pinned up in a loose bun on the top of her head. Will studied her profile.
I can see where her heart is.
Will should be ashamed of himself, because Sara had literally gotten down on her knees and repeatedly said that she loved Will and that she had chosen Will, but none of that had meant nearly as much as Nick Shelton casually stating that Will held Sara in the palm of his hand.
She still had not seen him. She put down her phone. He watched her open the top desk drawer. She found a tube of lotion. She started to smooth it onto her hands, then along her bare arms.
Will had lingered long enough for a guy who kept telling himself he was not a serial killer. He announced his presence by telling Sara, “Amanda wants me to witness the autopsy.”
She smiled up at him. Not her usual smile. Unsure.
She said, “Mom found an email address for Delilah Humphrey. I don’t know what to say.”
Will didn’t know what to say either. He had to find a way to put things right with Sara. This disconnection was dragging on too long. He took the chair beside the desk. He let his knee touch her leg.
Sara looked down, but the leg touch didn’t seem to be enough.
“My, uh—” Will cleared his throat. He held out his uninjured hand. “My skin is a little dry, too.”
Her eyebrows knit, but she played along. She massaged lotion onto his hand. He watched her fingers gently smoothing his skin. Will felt the tension in his shoulders start to smooth out, too. His breathing slowed. So did Sara’s. Slowly, finally, the air changed in the windowless room. He could tell she felt it, too. She smiled as she gently squeezed each of his fingers, then used her thumb to follow the lines of his palm. Will’s mother had been into astrology. He had found a palm-reading poster among her belongings. He thought of the names as Sara traced them.
Life line. Fate line. Head line. Heart line.
Sara looked up.
He said, “Hey.”
She said, “Hey.”
Like that, the plug slid back into the socket.
Sara leaned over. She pressed her lips to his palm. She was an unusual woman. She’d had a thing about Jeffrey’s handwriting. She had a thing about Will’s hands.
He asked, “You want me to help with the email?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She picked up her phone again. “Can I read you what I have?”
Will nodded.
Sara said, “There’s the usual reacquaintance stuff. I gave her my cell number in case she doesn’t want to put anything on the record. Then I wrote, ‘I know this is difficult, but I would like to speak with Tommi. Anything she says will be on background, the same as before. Please ask her to get in touch with me, but only if she’s comfortable talking. I understand and respect her right to refuse.’”
Will thought about Delilah’s reaction when she read the email. There wasn’t a reason for the mother to write back, let alone get her daughter involved. “Should you tell her why?”
“That’s the part I can’t decide.” Sara put down her phone again. She held onto his hand. “Tommi never believed that Daryl Nesbitt was her attacker. I showed her his booking photo. She said it wasn’t him. No hesitation.”
Will dropped the same bomb that had sent Nick and Faith careening in opposite directions across the state. “We’re re-testing DNA samples from Nesbitt and Heath Caterino.”
Sara’s lips parted in surprise. She saw the gaping hole more quickly than Will had. “You think Daryl had someone else to lick the envelope flap.”
“We know that Nesbitt likes to play games, and he definitely has an ax to grind. I’ve never met a con who didn’t blame somebody else for the mess he was in.”
“He blamed Jeffrey for the loss of his foot. He sued for damages as part of his lawsuit.”
“What about the evidence?”
Sara listed it out. “The hammer matched the brand and set that was found in Nesbitt’s garage. He lived two streets over from the woods. He was familiar with the town. Two victims had his number in their phones. He had no alibi for the attacks. He worked on a construction site near the fire road. He drove a dark van like the one Tommi remembered. Of course, it was doubtful that Tommi would testify. Then there was the shed.”
Will reminded himself to be careful. He wasn’t going to trample on her dead husband’s memory. At least not to her face. “I understand that he had his back to the wall because of the third missing student, Rosario Lopez. But you take away the fog of war, and that’s not a great case.”
“You won’t get any disagreement from me. That’s why Jeffrey didn’t push the district attorney to press charges.” Sara explained, “With Nesbitt locked up, he thought more witnesses would come forward, or more evidence would be found. He worked the case for another full year trying to find something, anything, that would hang the attacks on Nesbitt. But no one came forward and he couldn’t make the case, and eventually, Nesbitt managed to add attempted murder to his jacket, so …”