The three grave sites were cordoned off, with a crew working on the first site. The team had dec
ided to start at one end and work to the other, handling one grave at a time.
The excavation process was tedious because it wasn’t a matter of digging up what the ground-penetrating radar had located. The soil would have to be carefully removed layer by layer so that no evidence, including clothing and jewelry, was lost.
The crew had dug down eighteen inches into the soil. The grave had been shallow, but excavating it had taken nearly an hour.
Hayden hadn’t spoken to Faith for a couple of hours. He’d been busy searching the house and the grounds and coordinating a more extensive background search on Sam Delany. But she was glad for the solitude. So far she’d done a good job of controlling her emotions, but as Pollard had planted each flag into the ground, she had found it harder to keep her mind on point. Three sets of initials. And now three graves.
Pollard was working with Angie Chesterfield on the first site. Faith and Angie had crossed paths several times, and she’d found Chesterfield, a petite redhead, to be efficient and smart. While Pollard methodically scraped away the soil, she documented the discovery with her digital camera. She never looked in Faith’s direction or spoke in tones louder than Pollard could hear.
The community that took care of the dead was a small one, and news had traveled quickly that the body in the grave might be related to Faith. She understood why they distanced themselves from her while they worked. She’d have done the same. But she didn’t like it. It made her feel vulnerable.
Minutes later Pollard and Chesterfield stopped work. Stillness fell over the technicians as they leaned back and glanced at each other.
Faith pushed away from the vehicle, and as she tugged on fresh latex gloves, she strode toward the team. She looked into the eighteen-inch hole they’d dug to find an exposed human skull. Her breath caught in her chest. Everything around her vanished as she mentally juxtaposed the skull to the Josie Jones mug shot.
The tech gently brushed the dirt away from the bone with a soft-bristled paintbrush. Each swipe of the brush perhaps brought Faith closer to the secrets shrouding her birth. She’d always wanted to know, needed to know, her birth mother. Many times she’d imagined their first meeting, but the scenarios had never been anything remotely like this.
She was aware of Hayden moving beside her, and she knew if he touched her, she’d shatter. She may have looked cool and controlled, but she was barely hanging on right now.
Hayden didn’t speak to her but watched as the tech unearthed the bones. He’d lived in a moment just like this one when Sierra had died, and though their losses were different, he seemed to understand that words, no matter how well intentioned, would fall short and ring hollow. Still, having him close was comforting. It made her feel a little less alone, less adrift in a life that now appeared to have been built on sand and lies.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the tech remove the top portion of the skull. The lower jaw, no longer attached by ligaments and muscle that had decomposed a long time ago, stayed anchored in the soil.
“Dr. McIntyre, would you like a closer look?” Chesterfield asked.
PJ’s information, the mug shot, and the initials on the back of the dresser were all parts of an equation that added up to the harsh fact that this skull belonged to her birth mother. This calculation could of course be proven wrong, but deep in her bones she knew it wasn’t.
That conclusion led to another argument. She was too close to this case and should not be present at the crime scene. And maybe sooner rather than later she would recuse herself, but for now, she felt an obligation to Macy, Josie, and the faceless women who’d been imprisoned in that forgotten basement cell to be here and bear witness.
“Yes, I would like a closer look,” she said. Again, Hayden didn’t speak, but she heard him shift his stance and felt the tension radiating from his body. He might not have liked her response, but he understood it enough not to challenge it.
As Chesterfield shot more photographs, Faith knelt down and held out her gloved hands, accepting the skull. Her heart raced, and she turned it around and peered into the eye sockets.
She didn’t speak until she was certain her tone and inflections were carefully under control. She pushed aside her feelings and focused on the facts. “The nasal bridge and aperture are high and slim, respectively. This suggests the victim was likely of Caucasian descent.”
“Hard to be sure with a look.” Hayden played devil’s advocate, a roll well suited for his analytical mind.
Professionally she understood it, and personally she appreciated it.
“You’re correct, Captain,” she said. “Though each race has its own unique characteristics, defining this individual’s race with a cursory glance isn’t scientifically sound. It will take more analysis in the lab to confirm the individual’s ethnic origin.”
But if he’d asked her to put money down, she’d have bet large. She ran her thumb over the brow ridge. “The bone is relatively smooth, and the brow ridge less pronounced, suggesting a female. The orbitals have a sharper ridge, which also suggests a woman. But again, the final call can’t be made until we examine the pelvis.” A female’s pelvis was broader to accommodate childbirth. And if these bones were indeed female, there could be markers on the pelvic bones that would indicate childbirth.
“Any idea about cause of death?” Hayden asked.
“There’s no damage to the skull,” she said. Head trauma would have left cracks, but if the manner of death did not impact her bones, determining cause could be difficult, if not impossible. “I’ll need the full set of remains to make a definitive statement.”
Faith handed the skull back to Chesterfield and studied the faint outlines of the bones just below the thin surface. The woman had been laid in the ground in a fetal position. Had whoever buried her been rushed? Were they stunned by her death, or had her ending been planned since the day she’d been locked in the room?
“This is going to take some time,” Hayden said. “We won’t solve any of this today.”
Pollard nodded. “We’ll be out here today and the better part of tomorrow. We’ll start sending the remains to the medical examiner’s office as soon as we excavate each site.”
“Yes, this can’t be rushed. I don’t want any potential evidence lost.” Faith rose, brushing the dust from her gloved hands. “I could stay, but you have this under control. If you need me, I’ll return to the site immediately.”
She turned from the grave, grateful not to be hovering. She yanked off her gloves and wiggled her fingers, wishing she could forget the weight of the skull in her hands.
There was never any such thing as an easy death investigation. Death, even when it was a mercy, was never stress-free. She’d learned over the years to guard her emotions. Country music, Nancy’s steady comments, and the exhaustion after a long run all kept her mind on an even keel. However, this site would require every tool in her bag of tricks.
“I’d like to show you something we found in the basement room.” Hayden’s long strides caught up to her easily as she reached the forensic van.
“What is it?” She tossed her gloves in a disposal bag.
“It’s better if you see it,” he said, giving no hint.
She braced, truly not wanting to return to that wretched prison. “Of course.”
He guided her back toward the house and up onto the porch. They each paused on the front steps and pulled on fresh gloves as well as paper booties. This house was now an active crime scene and the less contamination they brought into it, the better.
Her eyes adjusted to the interior as she followed Hayden through the house and down the basement stairs. Inside the room a light flashed as a forensic technician snapped photos.
Hayden motioned for her to pause as he entered the room and spoke in low tones to the technician. The man soon appeared at the door, nodded to her, and stepped aside. Hayden stood behind him and signaled her forward.
In the room she noticed the dresser was still away from the wall. But she
also noted that a ventilation grate behind it had been removed and was encased in a plastic evidence bag.
“What did you find behind the grate?” Her voice sounded so professional that for a moment she wasn’t sure that it didn’t belong to someone else.
“Two magazines,” Hayden said. “They both date back to 1987. They’re on the table.”
She shifted her focus to the small round table and the two magazines. Both were fashion magazines and featured headlines such as “Beauty Blitz,” “100 Ideas for Spring,” and “How to Talk to a Boy.” The smiling girl on the cover had rich dark hair and wore a red sweater, striped miniskirt, white tights, and flats. A thick gold chain with a heart dangling from it hung around her neck. A black-and-white composition notebook in her hand, she stared coyly at the camera.
Hayden carefully folded back the wrinkled cover of one of the magazines to the title page. Words were written in a teenager’s loopy style all along the margins.
The first entry was dated 1988, the year Faith was born.
My name is Josie Jones. I’m nineteen. I am your mother, but you will never know me.
“Josie wrote messages in this magazine,” Faith whispered.
“Yes,” Hayden said.
Pain, sadness, and anger hitched in Faith’s throat as she scanned the words scribbled in fading ink. She imagined the young girl sitting at this very table, locked in this room, pregnant, and alone. Somehow Josie had known she wasn’t going to get out alive. “Does she name the man holding her?”
“She called him Daddy. He must have never told her his name.”
“Does she say who fathered her baby?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet. It’s going to take some time to go through this.”
She turned to the next page, and in the white margin, the top line on the left page read,
I’ve begged and pleaded with him to let me go. He swears he’ll let me go, but he has lied before.
She pressed her trembling hand to the page and felt the deep creases the pen tip made in the thin, glossy paper. “She never stood a chance once she entered this room. None of them did.”