Chris Mooney - The Missing

'Correct.'

'According to the case file, Riggers was investigating about a dozen or so possible suspects. What made him move Grady to the top of the list?'

'A tip came through on the hotline about Grady. The caller, a regular customer at the garage where Grady worked, called in and said he saw a pearl necklace on the floor of Grady's car. The necklace appeared to have blood on it.'

'But why didn't the caller report it to the police? Why did he call the hotline?'

'Because one of the missing women, Tara Hardy, was last seen wearing a pink cardigan sweater and a pearl necklace,' Evan said. 'That picture ran in the papers for weeks. It was all over the TV. The caller thought it might have belonged to her. The hotline was being flooded with calls. Everyone was trying to cash in on the reward money.'

'And then what happened?'

'Riggers, wanting to be the hero, took it upon himself to search Grady's house. Riggers found clothing belonging to several of the missing women and left to get the search warrant. The problem was one of Grady's neighbors saw Riggers invite himself into the house.'

'Making the evidence he found inadmissible.'

'If he had played by the book, we probably would have nailed Grady before he killed himself

'Did his suicide surprise you?'

'It did at first. Later, we discovered his family had a history of mental illness. His mother was bipolar. If I remember correctly, his grandfather committed suicide.'

'I saw that in the notes.'

'My guess is Grady got spooked after Riggers went through the house. The day he killed himself, we went to the garage where he worked with a search warrant. I think he felt the walls starting to close in on him and took the easy way out.'

'The case file mentioned that Riggers was bothered by the fire,' Darby said. 'He thought someone might have killed Grady and started the fire to burn away evidence.'

'The fire bothered me too. What bothered me more was what Grady used to kill himself – a twenty-two.'

'I'm not following.'

'Cops generally use a twenty-two as a throw-down piece. You ever hear a twenty-two go off? Makes a small pop, you can barely hear it. If someone slipped inside Grady's house and shot him, you wouldn't hear it, especially if something like the TV or the radio was turned on. There were rumors someone clipped Grady. I'm sure you heard them.'

'No.'

'I was at Grady's house the night of the fire,' Evan said. 'I was watching his house. I would have seen someone.'

Darby had seen Grady's house once, at night. She had driven there on her own, about a month or so after coming home. She had hoped seeing the blackened shell of the house would somehow keep the nightmares away. It didn't.

'There's one question you can answer for me,' Darby said.

'You want to know if Melanie Cruz was on one of those tapes.'

'The audiotapes were given to the federal lab for analysis. No copies were ever forwarded to Boston police.'

'The heat from the fire either damaged or destroyed most of the recordings. It took months to have them enhanced. We had the victims' families provide us with voice samples for comparison purposes. Melanie's parents gave us a home movie. Because of the condition of the audiotape, we couldn't get an exact match, but our voice expert agreed that, in all probability, the voice on the tape belonged to Melanie Cruz. The parents didn't feel the same way.'

'They heard the tape?'

'They insisted on it. I played the part where Melanie… She was calling out for help. The mother shut the tape off and said, "That's not my daughter." She said her daughter was still alive and we had to find her.'

Darby saw a snapshot of Helena Cruz turning her back to a cold blast ofwind, clutching the sheets with Mel's picture against her chest so they wouldn't blow away.

'Did Mel say anything on the tape?'

'Not much that I recall,' Evan said. 'Mostly I remember her screaming.'

'Was she in pain?'

'No, she was scared.'

Darby could tell there was more. 'What did Mel say?'

Evan paused.

'Tell me,' Darby said.

'She kept saying "Put away the knife, please don't cut me anymore."'

Images flashed through Darby's mind – Mel's terrified face, the black tears from her mascara running down her cheeks. Stacey Stephens lying on the kitchen floor, blood spurting between the fingers clutched against her throat. Mel screaming as the man from the woods cut her.

Folding her arms around her chest, Darby stared out the window at the fast-moving traffic and thought back to that cold winter evening in the Serology Lab. The box of evidence from the Grady case sat on the counter. She remembered holding the rag that had been used on Melanie – the rag that would have most likely been used on her if she had gone downstairs.

'If you decide to go ahead and examine Grady's case for your dissertation, let me know,' Evan said. 'I'll make you copies of everythingwe have, including the audiotapes.'

'I may take you up on that offer.'

'Tell me about your conversation with Rachel Swanson.'

For the next twenty minutes, Darby took him through her first encounter under the porch, finishing with what had happened in the hospital room.

Evan didn't speak. He seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. Darby could feel the man's fierce intelligence at work. To be so freakishly smart might be a gift, but Darby was sure it was a lonely one.

'Banville is mulling over the idea of using a reporter to set up a trap,' Evan said.

'You don't sound convinced.'

'If we blow the trap and he slips away – if he suspects we're on to him – he won't wait to kill Carol Cranmore.'

Since 9/11, every package and letter coming inside Boston Police headquarters was taken downstairs to the basement levels and X-rayed.

Darby paced the well-lit marble lobby full of patrolmen and detectives. The pacing helped keep her mind clear and focused.

Twenty minutes later, she was running the package, a medium-sized brown padded mailer, up the set of stairs. She didn't want to waste time waiting for the elevator.

Two white adhesive labels were on the front. The one in the center contained Dianne Cranmore's name and mailing address. The label in the upper left-hand corner contained only two words: 'Carol Cranmore.'

Both labels were the same size. Both had been fed into a typewriter – most likely one of those old-fashioned manual models that used an ink ribbon. Darby saw the spots where the ink had smudged on some of the words.

Coop had everything set up inside Serology. Waiting with him were Evan and Leland Pratt. Coop, clipboard in hand, stepped aside to give her some room.

Darby set the mailer on a sheet of butcher paper. After measuring the mailer, she took several pictures, first with the lab camera, then with the digital. The digital pictures would be emailed to the federal lab where Evan had people waiting.

Darby flipped the mailer over and looked for a manufacturer name or any unusual markings. All it said was 'No. 7.'

'Sometimes the manufacturer stamps its name inside one of the glued seams,' Evan said. 'Check when you take it apart.'

Darby pinched the pull tab between her gloved fingers and opened the mailer. Small gray particles – the shredded filler used for the padding – swam in the air. She turned the mailer over and gently shook out its contents.

A folded white shirt fell onto the butcher paper.

Darby pried open the mailer's lip. There was nothing else in there.

She unfolded the shirt. A cold balloon of fear filled her stomach when she found the pictures, three in all.

Darby transferred the pictures to a separate sheet of butcher paper resting under the soft afternoon sunlight coming in through the windows.