Jan Burke - Kidnapped

“Hmm. I begin to see the picture.”

“And then there is Altair. I’ll admit he’s good. I’ve seen him at work on training exercises that Sheila couldn’t control.”

“Ones you devised?”

Another quick smile. “Yes. So the talent in the dog is there, and he is well trained. She’s not a bad handler, although she uses a lot of body language-I think sometimes she cues the dog in training exercises.”

“So?”

“She doesn’t seem to be as experienced as she should be, given the amount of time she’s been at this. And Altair’s too perfect. No team I know of makes as many finds as Sheila and Altair.”

“I take it you’ve pointed this out to other people in the SAR group?”

“Yes. Supposedly I’m jealous.” He sighed. “Remember that I said she’s been patient and skillful? I, on the other hand, have been impatient and clumsy at trying to discredit her.”

He might have said more, but the others were walking toward us then. Caleb was smiling. I wondered what had changed his mood. Reed held out the small bag with the teeth in it. “Caleb says you’re going back to the coroner’s office tonight. You want to include these with what you’re testing? Or should I have Vince leave them under his pillow and see if the tooth fairy leaves him a buck apiece?”

“A buck?” Vince said. “Jeez, I only got a quarter a tooth when I was a kid.”

“I think it’s higher in some households now,” I said as Ben took the bag and studied its contents for a moment. A look passed between him and Caleb, but I couldn’t read it.

“Are they children’s teeth?” I asked anxiously.

“At first glance,” Ben said, “it looks as if they are. But that’s preliminary.”

“You know more than you’re saying.”

“Just the opposite. I’m not saying more than I know. Certainly not guessing aloud so that you can fill a page of newsprint with speculation.”

I knew this mood, and so did Mark. We headed back to the paper.

AS we drove, Mark asked me about Sheila Dolson.

“She’s strange. Something’s not quite right about her. Ben suspects she’s a phony, at least to some degree. I have to say I agree with him, but I also think she’s…”

“What?”

“I was going to say calculating, but she’s not just calculating, she’s cold. That SAR group may have seen her charming side, but my own impression is that there’s a real mean streak in her. And I’m not just saying that because she almost ran me off the road today.”

“This whole deal is strange,” he said. “You think she planted those teeth there?”

“If she did plant them, it’s either a hell of a lucky guess or a real problem, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Next-of-kin notification just took place. Your story will hit tomorrow’s morning paper. The most anyone has heard from the media is that the remains of an unidentified man have been found on the Sheffield Estate. Come to think of it…”

“What?”

“How did she learn about the search there in the first place?”

“A scanner?”

I shook my head. “No. I was the only reporter there. John said we learned of it from a tip. Every other reporter in town was covering the story you were on-the boys in the river.”

“Yes. If any of the major networks had heard about it, they might have sent a camera crew over, as long they were in the neighborhood.”

“Exactly.”

“Did Anna know Ben was there?”

I was speechless.

Mark smiled. “As my mama used to say, ‘Better close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies.’”

So I stopped gaping, but I didn’t feel any less dumbfounded.

“Is that silence a yes?” he asked.

“It’s a-I can’t believe it. It would go against-I mean, he might easily have told her where he’d be, or she could have heard him talking to the coroner when he got the call, and she obviously knew he was going to be tied up there for a few hours, because she used that time to move stuff out of the house. That bitch!”

“Oooh. I can see who’s going to get Irene Kelly when the two of them divvy up their friends.”

“Never in doubt. Not given what Ben and I have been through together.”

He grew suddenly serious. “No, of course not. Sorry.”

Ben and I were among the few survivors of an expedition to the mountains that had gone horribly wrong. Unfortunately, one of the other survivors was a serial killer. That man inflicted the wound that caused Ben to lose the lower half of his left leg. I just lost at least half my sanity, but Ben helped me back from that, too. It’s not too much to say we’ve saved each other’s lives, but that’s not nearly saying enough about our friendship.

“No need to apologize,” I said to Mark. “I’ll be sorry to lose Anna’s friendship, if it comes to that. I hope it doesn’t. But to go back to what you were saying earlier, it would be…let’s say, unlike Anna to talk to someone about where Ben was working on a crime scene, but not impossible.”

“I’ll ask Sheila about it when I talk to her. But that wasn’t what was bothering you when you were talking about the next-of-kin notification.”

“Sorry, got distracted. Here’s the thing. Ben sifts through the soil at a scene where there are remains. Children’s bones are small and could be carried off by scavengers, but I find it hard-almost impossible-to believe that Ben found absolutely no trace of a child’s remains if they were there.”

“Okay, not impossible, but I agree, especially because she went to the same search area. And I’m with you and Ben about Sheila-the bullshit buzzer is going off for me, too.”

“So if she planted those teeth and pretended to find them-which would be easy enough with Anna standing so far from her-and the teeth belonged to a child, how did she know about the missing boy? The coroner hasn’t even issued a press release about the father. So if Gerald Serre’s name isn’t out yet, why would you assume the body of an adult would be accompanied by the body of a child?”

His response was gratifying. I didn’t even remind him about what his mother said on the subject of catching flies.

“If they can get DNA from them,” he said, “they’ll prove that.”

“If-but it’s not always possible to get it from teeth. Besides, the county lab is doing all the DNA work now. And they’re backed up. DNA will take weeks if not months.”

“This will get high priority, I’m sure, but you’re right, even if they rush it, we’re looking at a week at least.”

“So, Mark-let’s find out all we can about Sheila Dolson.”

“Better leave it to me, Kelly. John won’t like you getting yourself too far into this story.”

Knowing he was right, and was perfectly capable of doing the job, did not in any way ease my sense of frustration.

Monday, April 24

6:47 P.M.

A CONDOMINIUM IN LAS PIERNAS

CLEO SMITH slept odd hours, waking and rising as suited her needs. At a time of day when others would be sitting down to family meals, she was asleep in her large, antique feather bed. She awakened the moment the phone rang. By the time it rang a second time, she answered it with typical alertness. The person on the other end of the line heard no drowsiness in her voice as she said in a cool and neutral tone, “Yes?”

“There was a disturbing report on the news this evening.”

A man’s voice. She knew the voice. Giles. While she had been ready to hang up on a misdialer, nothing about this caller caused her to relax. She turned on a small lamp next to her bed. It gave off a soft, low light.

“Really?” she said. Noncommittal again.

“A man’s body was found on the Sheffield Estate.”