The Missing

‘And his fee for this service?’

Darby told him the price.

Leland’s eyes widened.

‘What did Banville say?’

‘I haven’t talked to him yet,’ Darby said.

‘Good luck selling him on that.’

‘If he won’t pay for it, I say we pick up the tab. The person who abducted Carol Cranmore has done this sort of thing before – at least twice.’

Leland was already shaking his head. ‘There’s no way I’ll be able to get a purchase authorization –’

‘Let me explain. The woman under the porch, Jane Doe, she thought I was this woman named Terry Mastrangelo. I had Missing Persons run the name through their computer. Terry Mastrangelo is twenty-two, lived in New Brunswick, Co

‘How long has she been missing?’

‘Over two years.’

Leland sat up in his chair.

‘Terry Mastrangelo also has a son named Jimmy,’ Darby said. ‘He’s eight now, lives with his grandmother. That’s all I know. I don’t have access to the actual case file, so Banville will have to request it.’

‘It wouldn’t hurt him to take a look at VICAP, see if there’s anything mentioned in there, like your footwear impression.’

Darby was sure Banville had already consulted the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. ‘Here’s a copy of Terry Mastrangelo’s picture.’

Leland studied the piece of paper.

‘You definitely share a similar look,’ he said. ‘You both have fair skin and auburn hair.’ He placed the paper on his desk blotter. The woman you found underneath the porch, do we have any news on her condition?’

‘Not yet,’ Darby said. ‘As for her prints, they’re still ru

‘So the person who abducted Carol Cranmore is most likely keeping her somewhere – probably the same place where Terry Mastrangelo and the porch woman were kept.’

‘Now you know why I’m in such a rush to identify the footwear impression we found.’

‘I talked with Erin,’ Leland said. The blood you found on the wall is AB negative. Carol’s blood is O positive. Erin also found dried blood on the tan fiber and several spots on the T-shirt. The blood on the fiber matches the blood on the wall.’

Darby wasn’t holding out hope for a match on CODIS. The Combined DNA Identification System, while state-of-the-art, was relatively new; only the most recent cases were stored in there. Because of a lack of funding – each DNA extraction test cost hundreds of dollars – the majority of rape kits and DNA evidence sat in evidence rooms across the country.

‘Trace said the tan fiber is used in commercial rugs. That’s all I have.’ Darby stood.

‘Hold on, I want to talk to you about something.’

Darby had an idea what was coming.

‘Abduction cases are pressure cookers. Once the media finds the link between Carol Cranmore and Jane Doe – and you and I both know they will – they’ll be camped out here, and we’ll have people like Nancy Grace doing a countdown every night on TV until Carol Cranmore’s body is found.

‘I know you’re living with your mother at the moment to help ease her through her… situation,’ Leland said. ‘A case like this is very demanding on someone’s time. You may not be able to spend that much time with her. You have plenty of vacation time – and there’s family leave.’

‘Do you have a problem with my job performance?’

‘No.’

‘Then I guess you’re having reservations because my former partner was convicted of planting evidence on the Nelson rape case.’

Leland clasped his hands behind his head.

‘Not only did I tell you – repeatedly – that I was i

‘I’m aware of that.’

‘So why are we having this conversation again?’

‘Because putting you on this case could bring us more media attention. You’re already on TV. I’m worried that the media is going to resurrect the Nelson case and drag it back into the spotlight.’

This case is going to have media attention whether I’m on it or not.’

Leland didn’t say anything, leaving Darby with the sense – and not for the first time – that he had privately come to some sort of conclusion about her. Leland Pratt was the kind of man who preferred observing people when they weren’t paying attention, recording their words and gestures and cataloguing them in that locked-up place where he held his true judgments of people. Darby, for better or for worse, often caught herself working twice as hard to impress him. She hoped she could impress him now.

‘I can run this thing, Leland. But if you still have some lingering doubts, if you don’t trust me, then put it on the table and talk about it. Stop denying me access to cases because you’re afraid I’m going to embarrass the lab. It’s not fair.’

Leland stared at the framed certificates and diplomas hanging on the wall behind her. Finally, after a long moment, he turned his attention back to her.

‘I want to be updated at every turn. If I’m not in my office, leave a message or call me on my cell phone.’

‘Not a problem,’ Darby said. ‘Anything else?’

‘If Banville won’t pick up the tab for the footwear specialist, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.’

Darby stepped into the office she shared with Coop. He was on the phone, flipping through a comic book. He had changed into jeans and a T-shirt with the slogan ‘Beer Is Proof That God Loves Us and Wants Us to Be Happy.’

‘I don’t remember Wonder Woman having breast implants,’ Darby said after Coop hung up.

This is the new improved Wonder Woman.’

‘Great. Now she looks like a stripper.

‘I see you’re not wearing your happy face. Would you like to play with the Play-Doh? I’m telling you, it’s great for stress.’

‘Our boss has some serious doubts about my abilities.’

‘Let me guess: the Nelson case.’

‘Bingo.’ Darby gave him the condensed version of her conversation with Leland.

‘Why are you gri

‘You remember that girl Angela I dated a few months back?’

The lingerie model from The Improper Bostonian?

‘No, that was Brittney. Angela was the British girl, the one with the diamond belly button ring.’

‘It’s amazing how you can keep them all straight.’

‘I know, I should belong to Mensa. Anyway, Angela and I were out for drinks one night, and I was telling her about work and mentioned Leland’s name. Seems the word prat over in the U.K. means idiot or fool. Try to keep that in mind as we move forward.’

Chapter 14

There was one stop Darby wanted to make before heading home.

Scrubbed clean, her hair still damp from the gym shower, Darby stepped into the main lobby of Mass General, Boston’s largest hospital. She didn’t need to stop by the information desk; she knew her way to the intensive care unit. She had been there once, to say good-bye to her father.

The sign posted outside ICU’s double doors read TURN OFF ALL CELL PHONES AND ELECTRONIC DEVICES BEFORE ENTERING. Darby shut off her phone, showed her ID to the male nurse sipping coffee behind the reception desk and asked about the condition of a woman brought in last night from Belham. He didn’t know – he had just come on shift – and pointed to the patrolman sitting in a chair outside a room at the end of a long corridor.

There is no privacy in ICU. Glass windows look into each room. Family members, faces shocked and scared, wait to take turns holding a loved one’s hand or, in most cases, to say good-bye.

Memories of her father crowded Darby’s thoughts, growing stronger when she passed the empty room where her father had died.

The old patrolman glanced up from his golfing magazine and examined her ID card. A web of broken blood vessels lined his nose.