outside social life in her apartment because being on call for Kelvin Vander stopped her developing outside interests.” Shaking his head. “Fifty grand to teach one kid… what if Selena’s involvement with this family is what got her dead?”
“Selena and three other women with no right hands?”
Reed didn’t answer. Moments later: “No outside social life but there was that bustier et cetera. Like you said, Loo, maybe she partied somewhere else. And so far, the only place we know she spent time was the Vander house.”
“Drilling the kid on Bartok,” said Milo, “then sneaking off to the pool house for a quickie with the karate coach.”
“Or Huck. Or Mr. Vander himself, for that matter.”
Milo said, “The plumber, the pool boy, the florist, the gardener.”
Reed kept silent.
“Sure, call the accountants and get anything you can about the staff. Until we get I.D.’s on the other victims, we’re freeze-dried, anyway.”
“Fifty grand,” said Reed, “could’ve led to expectations by the boss. Huck says Vander’s out of the country, but the rich don’t do their own dirty work, they hire out.”
Milo said, “Rich, ergo evil.”
“I just think those people can get entitled.”
“To you and me, Moe, fifty K is serious money. Guy like Vander pays more to insure his pots and pans. But sure, go for it, see what you dig up. Also, check in with the anthropologists.”
“Will do,” said Reed. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“For what?”
“The training.”
“First of all, we’ve shared enough frustration for you to call me Milo. Second, I’ll send you a bill for the training.” Stretching and laughing. “Fifty K sound reasonable?”
CHAPTER 8
Back in his closet-sized office, Milo re-read the e-mail from engrbass345. Booting up his desktop, he plugged in
“Time to backtrack her e-mail address… bingo… website of Emily Nicole Green-Bass-looks like she owns a vintage jewelry store in… Great Neck, New York… here’s a picture of her with shiny stuff. Family resemblance, no?”
Thin-faced woman in her fifties behind a display of bracelets. Big eyes, pointy cleft chin. Short, white hair brushed forward in uneven bangs.
Selena Bass, at the middle age she’d never reach.
“Genetics,” I said.
“This is gonna be fun.” Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone.
He hung up ten minutes later, yawning.
Nothing casual about the intake of air. Exhausted.
Emily Green-Bass had screamed, sobbed, hung up. Redialing a minute later, she’d apologized. Cried some more.
Milo stayed with her, chewing on an unlit panatela. When she grew silent, he began pressing for facts.
Selena was the only child from her second marriage. The first had produced two sons, one of whom lived in Oakland. Which is where she was now, visiting her brand-new granddaughter.
“I thought this was the happiest moment of my life,” she said.
She hadn’t seen Selena in five years. The e-mail was one of a handful exchanged recently.
Selena getting in touch.
Milo asked why it had taken so long and she broke into fresh sobs.
“I’ll fly down tomorrow.”
At four p.m. a deputy chief named Henry Weinberg called to find out how the marsh murder investigation was progressing.
Milo put him on speaker. “So far, nothing plus nothing, sir.”
“Then it might be time to go to the media, Lieutenant.”
“I’d rather hold off until the anthropologists have a bone to throw us.”
Silence on the other end.
Milo said, “That way-”
Weinberg said, “I heard you, Lieutenant. Nice pun. We put you in front of the cameras, are you going to do stand-up?”
“God forbid, sir.”
“God
Dr. Hargrove was still at the marsh. Dr. Liz Wilkinson answered the phone.
“Oh, hi, Lieutenant. We’ve made some progress on Jane Number One. From the nasal bridge, most probably a black female, age estimate between twenty and thirty-five.” She could’ve been describing herself, but there was nothing but science in her voice.
Milo jotted. “Anything else?”
“She’s probably had at least one baby and she suffered a fracture of her right femur severe enough to warrant a metal implant. We didn’t find the titanium, but we did find the screw holes. I wouldn’t be surprised if she limped.”
“Recent fracture?”
“There’s been substantial bone growth around it. Years, not months, and it happened when she was an adult. The only other interesting finding is a broken hyoid. And, of course, the missing hand.”
“Strangled.”
“Most likely. Our guess is she’s been submerged for several months, but that’s all it is: a guess. Eleanor-Dr. Hargrove is still there, working with Lisa-Dr. Chaplin-on the other two sites. But it’s going to take time, too much disarticulation and we don’t want to miss anything. I’m here because Eleanor asked me to write up what we’ve got so far. I’ll e-mail you what I just told you.”
“Thanks.”
“One more thing, Lieutenant. Just as I left the marsh, that volunteer-the guy with the beard-showed up again. The officer on guard kept him out and there were some words. I’d like to begin early tomorrow-soon as the sun’s up-and I’ll be alone because Eleanor and Lisa can’t make it until nine. It would be nice to avoid distraction.”
“I’ll make sure someone’s posted before you arrive.”
“Thanks. It’s a beautiful place but it can get a little… ominous.”
He logged on to the department’s Missing Persons list, searched for black females in the age range Wilkinson had given him, found five disappearances, the most recent half a year ago. No mention of limps or broken legs, but he printed the data anyway.
“Time to start looking at other counties. Hopefully she’s not a throwaway no one gave a damn about.”
Lighting up, he clouded the tiny room with illicit smoke. Coughed and loosened his tie, spit a shred of tobacco at his wastebasket and missed, and grabbed for his keyboard.
Typing silently and furiously.
I left without a word.
