The Missing

It took several minutes of thinking, but finally, the woman touched the jacket. The terror, the pain and fear – all of it seemed to collapse. She hugged the jacket against her chest, burying her face in the fabric and rocking back and forth, back and forth.

The ambulance was here now. It had pulled up to the bottom of the driveway without the sirens or spi

‘You really found a way out?’ the woman asked.

‘I did. And I’m going to take you out with me.’

Every part of Darby’s body screamed at her not to do it, but she ignored the warning and held out her hand.

The woman gripped it fiercely. Two of her fingers had been recently broken and had healed at sharp, painful angles. Splinters covered her arms.

The woman was watching the ceiling again.

‘There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore,’ Darby said. ‘You’re going to hold my hand and we’re going to walk out this door together. You’re safe.’

Chapter 10

Much to Darby’s surprise (and her considerable relief), the woman didn’t scream or put up a fight when she stepped out into the driveway of blinking lights. She squeezed Darby’s hand.

‘Nobody here is going to hurt you,’ Darby said, reaching for her umbrella. She didn’t want to risk having the rain wash away any potential evidence. ‘Nobody here is going to hurt you, I promise.’

The woman pressed the jacket against her face and started sobbing. Darby slipped an arm around the woman’s waist. Her bones felt as frail and as delicate as a bird’s.

Taking slow, careful steps, she guided the woman toward the waiting ambulance. Standing by the front doors were two EMTs. One of them was holding a syringe.

There was no way around this part. They had to sedate her. Best to do it out here, in the open, in case things turned nasty again. It would be harder to confine her inside the ambulance’s tight space.

Both EMTs circled behind the woman. Cops were hovering close by, ready to intervene, if necessary.

‘We’re almost there,’ Darby whispered. ‘Just keep holding my hand, and everything will be fine.’

The EMT sunk the needle into the woman’s buttock. Darby tensed, bracing herself for the worst. The woman didn’t flinch.

When the woman’s eyes fluttered, the EMTs took over.

‘Don’t strap her in yet,’ Darby said. I’m going to need her shirt and to take some pictures.’

Coop was already standing outside with his kit. There wasn’t much space to work in the ambulance. Darby, small and petite, got inside while Coop stood near the back doors. They wore masks to help with the odor. The woman’s sick, raspy breathing could be heard over the rain pelting the ambulance roof.

Mary Beth handed Darby the camera. She took pictures of the woman lying on her back, then closeups of the tear marks on the black T-shirt.

Using a pair of scissors, Darby cut a straight line up the T-shirt’s neckline, and then made two more cuts, one to each armpit. She slid the T-shirt off the woman’s body, exposing her chest. The pale skin, marred with thick scars and sores and cuts that hadn’t healed, had sunken far below the ribs.

‘It’s a miracle she didn’t die of heart arrhythmia,’ Mary Beth said.

Darby moved the woman onto her side. She folded the T-shirt and dropped it inside the evidence bag Coop was holding.

‘Let’s get fingernail scrapings,’ Darby said.

Darby did an oral swab on the insides of the woman’s cheeks. Coop used a wooden toothpick under the woman’s thumbnail. It tore in half and started to bleed.

‘What the hell happened to her?’ Coop asked.

I wish to God I knew.‘Let’s get her fingerprinted,’ Darby said.

Chapter 11

The Serology Lab is a long and airy rectangular room of black-slab countertops often referred to as benches. The high windows overlook some green hills, twin basketball courts and, directly below them, a concrete promenade with picnic tables where people ate lunch in the nice weather.

Leland Pratt, the lab director, was waiting for Darby by the door. He smelled of shampoo and some citrus-scented cologne – a welcome relief from the atrocious body odor that was still lining her nose and clothes.

‘It’s all over the news,’ he said as he followed her to the bench in the back corner where Erin Walsh, the head of the DNA unit, was set up. ‘Who’s handling the investigation?’

‘Mathew Banville.’

‘Then the girl’s in good hands,’ Leland said. ‘What about the Jane Doe you found underneath the porch?’

‘That made the news?’

‘They’re playing video footage of you helping her to the ambulance. They didn’t mention her name.’

‘We don’t know who she is – we don’t know anything.’

Darby handed Erin four marked envelopes. ‘Blood from the kitchen doorway. Buccal swab for Jane Doe. These last two envelopes are the comparison samples, Carol Cranmore’s toothbrush and her comb. If you need me, I’ll be across the hall.’

‘Keep me updated on everything,’ Leland said.

‘I always do,’ Darby said and left Serology. She dropped off the envelope with the tan fiber to the Trace section and then went to assist Coop.

Because the shirt was biologically contaminated with blood and other bodily fluids, Darby suited up. Next she put on a mask, safety goggles and neoprene gloves.

The small, dark room was filled with the faint hum of the rain. The shirt had been placed inside a fume hood.

‘Take a look at this,’ Coop said, stepping away from the illuminated light magnifier.

A white sliver marked by dry blood was caught in the fabric. Using a pair of tweezers, Darby freed the sliver and turned it over under the magnified light.

‘Looks like a paint chip. This patch here is probably rust.’

Coop nodded. ‘The T-shirt is a mess,’ he said. ‘We’re going to be in here all day collecting samples.’

Half an hour later, they had collected two more slivers.

The secretary’s voice came over the speaker: ‘Darby, Mary Beth on line two.’

Darby collected the glassine envelopes. ‘I’ll run these down to Pappy.’

Mary Beth was seated in front of her computer, working the keyboard and mouse. Her blond hair was now a dark red.

A black footwear impression was on the monitor. Darby could make out the grooves in the soles and the cuts and gouges from stepping on such things as tacks and nails and glass. All of these individual marks, along with gait characteristics, made a boot impression as unique as a person’s fingerprint.

‘When did you color your hair?’ Darby asked as she sat down.

‘Yesterday. I needed a change.’

‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with Coop, would it?’

‘Why would you ask me that?’

‘Because you were eating lunch with us when he a

‘Bear with me for a moment. I’m almost done.’

Darby leaned in closer. ‘Coop only dates women who can string no more than four words together at a time. It’s a policy with him.’

Mary Beth pointed to the monitor. Inside a circle were lines drawn to resemble a mountain top and, below it, what appeared to be the letter R.

‘This is the manufacturer’s stamp,’ Mary Beth said. ‘Some companies stamp their name and logo into the soles of their footwear. I’m pretty sure this is the company logo for Ryzer Footwear.’

I’ve never heard of them.’

‘But you have heard of Ryzer Gear.’

‘The ones that make those ridiculously expensive winter jackets?’

‘They’re the same company,’ Mary Beth said. ‘When Ryzer started out – this is going all the way back to the fifties, I think – they started out making boots for the military. Then they branched out into hiking boots. That’s all they did for a number of years. You could only buy them through their catalogue. The boots were very upscale and highly overpriced. During the eighties they were swallowed up by some global corporation, and Ryzer Footwear became Ryzer Gear. They still make hiking boots, but they also sell stuff like weatherproof coats, wallets and belts – they even came out with a kids’ line of clothing and accessories. They’re like a very upscale Timberland for the high-society set.’