“Every word, utterance, record that concerns them, anything. Everything.”
“I’ve got a friend in the library at the Cleveland Plain Dealer and I’ll call Mavis, our genealogical contractor. We’ll comb the city directories, the public library, municipal records, voter lists, court records, wills, etcetera. A lot of stuff is on CD now, so we should be able to get data flowing pretty fast.”
“Good, I also need you to confirm and locate St. Ursula Savary College.” He spelled it. “It’s a private Swiss boarding school near Montreux, or Lausanne. If you find it, I know there’s a time-zone challenge, but get them to check records, albums, alumni clubs, anything to confirm the registration of an American student named Anne Braxton, of Cleveland, Ohio, for the same period, some thirty years back, give or take.”
“But we did a big search for Anne Braxton when she was murdered and found nothing about her.”
“I know, Kel, just search this new information, please.”
“How soon do you need this?”
“I need it now.”
Chapter Fifty
T hey were getting closer.
Grace Garner stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork. Eating her salad quickly at her desk, she checked the time, wishing her phone would ring as she reevaluated the facts before her upcoming case status meeting.
Kay Cataldo’s discovery had given her a solid break.
The physical evidence told them that Sharla May Forrest and Sister Anne Braxton’s killer wore size-11 tennis shoes issued by the Washington Department of Corrections. Everything pointed to an ex-con. Maybe one who was recently released, or had violated custody.
They had ruled out Cooper. And after talking with Roberto Martell, Grace and Perelli canvassed the bar where Martell said the suspect had encountered Sharla May. Martell’s story held up, according to a waitress and a bartender.
Grace and Perelli then went back to the shelter to interview John Cooper again. A picture was emerging. The suspect was a white male in his forties with a muscular build and a tattoo on his neck. And considering the knife used to kill Sister Anne came from the shelter, where Cooper had witnessed him upsetting her, the killer had to have had some connection to the nun.
Was he someone she’d counseled in prison? Or a nut job out of control?
The answer was somewhere with the Department of Corrections. How long had it been since she’d requested the DOC’s help?
Too long.
Grace checked the time before her meeting. Perelli was in the records room gathering summaries of cold cases to support a theory he was developing. Grace stared at her phone, hoping against the odds that the DOC had some way of helping them zero in on her guy, or develop a suspect list.
Why haven’t they called back yet? This was not good.
She jabbed another tomato and grappled with another problem.
Jason Wade.
His messages seemed almost desperate. Where had he been? They hadn’t spoken in a long time. She had to take some of the blame. She had to admit that she liked him. A lot. They were both loners. They both felt like outcasts. They were right for each other. But she’d hurt him and in the process got hurt herself. What goes around, comes around, kiddo, she told herself. Maybe when all this was over she would talk to him. Really talk to him. Maybe they could give it another shot? For now she focused on her case.
Grace finished her salad and started making notes when her line rang.
“Homicide, Garner.”
“Steve Scannell, with the DOC in Olympia.”
“Did you get anything?”
“You’re asking us to find a needle in a haystack. I’ve had my people go at your request five ways to Sunday and we can’t pinpoint things the way you’d like.” Scannell was high up the command chain of the DOC’s Prisons Division.
“What can you tell us so far?”
“Sister Anne’s order has been very active with our religious and spiritual programs for years.”
“That should help.”
“It helps complicate things.”
“Well, can you give us a list of all the prisoners she’s visited?”
Scannell sighed.
“It doesn’t work that way. In some cases she had one- on-ones, in others she was with a spiritual group providing services to a prisoner group.”
“Well, can I get a list of names?”
“Detective Garner, we have fifteen institutions and fifteen work releases. We’re talking a prison population of some seventeen thousand statewide. Over the years the Order has visited every facility. In some cases, several times. In some cases, there are sign-up logs, in some cases, like when they addressed groups, no sign-up was required.”
Grace tapped her pen and thought.
“Let’s try this, Steve. We know we’re looking for someone who’s been out for at least three months. He’s a male, white, has a tattoo on his neck, and wears a size- 11 tennis shoe, approximately six feet tall, muscular build.”
“That’s too general. Do you have a specific release date?”
“No.”
“Type of release?”
“No.”
“Do you know his offense, or length of sentence?”
“No.”
“Do you by chance have an offender classification, or institution?”
“No.”
“Then, I’m afraid that’s way too general.”
“Couldn’t you run a program or search?”
“Grace, listen to what I’m telling you. Every month we average anywhere from fifteen hundred to eighteen hundred releases of all types. Across the state we have nearly forty-three thousand offenders under field supervision, nearly eleven thousand in King County alone.”
“I get it. Needle in a haystack.”
“Give us something specific and we can lock onto this guy in a heartbeat. Meanwhile, I’ve got all of my senior custody staff going full bore on this, getting my captains to check with their lieutenants, their CCOs, and Correctional Unit Supervisors.”
“I appreciate that.”
“If we find something, you’ll be the first to know.”
Chapter Fifty-One
I n the side mirror of his rented Ford Taurus, Ethan Quinn watched Henry Wade’s pickup pull out of the West Pacific Trust Bank half a block down Yesler.
Quinn set his video recorder down, started his sedan, and wheeled round into traffic, careful to keep several cars between him and Wade’s truck.
As he gathered speed, Quinn’s heart rate picked up and he exhaled slowly. This was the biggest
