“Blockages?” Brock’s voice was loud. He had been holding the camera.
Sara listened to her younger self explain the findings. She sounded so damn sure of herself. Eight years later, Sara seldom spoke with the same conviction. The price for having lived those ensuing years was that she had come to understand that there were very few situations that could be viewed with absolute certainty.
Jeffrey said, “We think the killer was trying to paralyze the victims.”
A lump came into Sara’s throat. She had not thought far enough ahead to realize that she was going to hear Jeffrey’s voice again. It carried with the same deep resonance that she remembered. She had felt her heartbeat falter at the sound.
Her younger self was lifting up Leslie Truong’s shirt, finding a dislocated rib.
Sara let her gaze travel down until she was staring at the flashing clock on the VCR.
She heard her younger self tell Brock, “Get closer on this.”
Sara parted her lips. She took in a deep breath. She could feel Will’s eyes on her. Could almost hear the self-doubt troubling his mind. He was slightly taller than Jeffrey, but not as classically handsome. Will was more fit. Jeffrey more confident. Will had Sara. Did Jeffrey still have her, too?
On the video, Brock said, “Ready.”
Sara looked up at the TV. Brock was helping her roll Leslie Truong onto her side. Jeffrey was behind the camera. He had zoomed wide to get the full length of the body. Dirt and stray twigs were stuck to the young woman’s bare backside. Younger Sara was postulating about whether the girl had pulled up her pants, or if the killer had done it for her.
“Wait.” Faith stood up. “Pause it. Go back.”
Sara looked for the buttons, but Faith took the remote.
“Here.” She clicked the frame into slow motion. “By the trees.”
Sara squinted at the set. There were people in the distance, approximately fifty feet away. They were standing behind yellow police tape. She couldn’t make out Brad Stephen’s face, but she recognized his crisply starched uniform, his goofy gait, as he tried to cordon back the spectators.
“This guy.” Faith paused the image. She pointed to one of the students. “He’s wearing a black knit hat.”
Sara could make out the hat, but the face was a blur.
Faith said, “Lena’s notes outlined the witness statement she took from Leslie Truong at the Caterino scene. Truong reported seeing three women and one man in the woods. She couldn’t remember anything about the man, except that he was a student wearing a black, beanie-style knit cap.”
Sara walked over to the set for a closer look. The videotape was old, the technology even older. The man’s face was pixelated down to an amorphous blob. “I recognize Brad because I know Brad, but that’s it.”
Faith was looking at Amanda, a pleading expression on her face.
Amanda’s lips pursed. The chance that something could be done to enhance the image was slim. For Faith’s benefit, she said, “We’ll have IT look at it.”
Faith stopped the video. She punched the eject button. “I can take it downstairs now.”
“Go,” Amanda looked at her watch. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Faith grabbed her purse. Sara heard her running down the hallway. Like all of them, she was desperate for something to break.
“Will,” Amanda said. “I want Faith on her desk tomorrow. There are plenty of phone calls that need to be made. We’ve got thirteen different jurisdictions to butt heads with. We’ll meet in my office at seven tomorrow morning and establish the parameters. Yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Nick,” she said. “Will can catch you up on what you missed. My last order is for all of you. Go home. Get some sleep. Today was hard. Tomorrow will be harder.”
Nick and Will both gave her a “yes, ma’am.”
Sara started gathering up the paperwork from Leslie Truong’s autopsy. She listened with half an ear as Will told Nick about the formation of a task force. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Sara prayed it was not her mother, because she knew she couldn’t put off finding Tommi Humphrey any longer.
The text was from Brock, a question mark followed by—
Think this was meant for Cathy? I can ask around if you like?
Sara had accidentally sent Brock the text meant for her mother. She tapped out a quick apology, then copied and pasted the note to Cathy.
Surprisingly, her mother wrote back in seconds—
Sweetheart, I have already left a message for Pastor Nelson. As you know, it is very late in the day for most people to return a phone call; however, Marla thinks that Delilah remarried and moved out of state after Adam died. Daddy sends his love, as do I.—Mama. PS: Why are you arguing with your sister?
Sara stared at the postscript. Tessa had told their mother that they were arguing, which meant that the situation was more dire than Sara had wanted to admit.
“Something wrong?” Will asked.
Sara looked up. Nick was gone. They were alone in the room. “My mother’s trying to find Tommi for me.”
Will nodded.
And then he stood there, waiting.
Sara said, “I’m sorry about—about Callie Zanger. That must’ve been—”
“You drove back home today.” He picked up the empty file box and put it on the desk. “Did you have time to see anybody?”
“No, I had to drive back to meet the Van Dornes, then I got stuck in traffic, which took forever.” Sara felt a flash of guilt, as if she was hiding something from him. She decided to put it out in the open. “The storage facility is across from the cemetery.”
He stacked the folders and dropped them into the box.
“I didn’t go in.” Sara had stopped that regular habit years ago for the sake of her own sanity. “I put flowers on his grave once a year. You know that.”
He said, “It was weird watching you on the tape. You looked different.”
“I was eight years younger.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Will closed the box. He seemed like he
