Amanda rolled her hand to keep him talking.
Nick asked, “What made y’all exonerate Nesbitt so fast?”
Will realized that he had not been told about Heath Caterino, Beckey’s son. This wasn’t a naysayer situation. Amanda was keeping the information in a tight circle because the boy could be in mortal danger.
“Good question.” Amanda had always been an agile liar. She barely missed a beat. “Our labs found an old DNA report from the Truong autopsy. We ran it against an envelope that Daryl Nesbitt mailed to Gerald Caterino. There wasn’t a match.”
Nick pulled at his beard. He was clearly looking for holes in the story.
Will knew the real story, and he saw a gaping hole that none of them had spotted. “Why are we so sure Daryl is the one who licked the back of the envelope?”
The office was silent except for the fan on Amanda’s computer.
“Fu-u-uck.” Faith turned around to look at Will. “Con’s gonna con.”
“Nick.” Amanda picked up the phone on her desk. She stabbed in a number, telling him, “Go to the prison right now. I want a fresh buccal swab from Daryl Nesbitt in the lab by noon.”
She waited until Nick was gone to put down the phone. She told Faith, “Speak.”
“The lab report Gerald Caterino gave me was the original, not a copy. He sent Heath’s buccal swab along with the envelope from Daryl Nesbitt to an AABB-accredited, court-recognized commercial lab. They specialize in paternity cases. The report was definitive. Nesbitt was completely ruled out as Heath’s father.”
“Will is right. That information is predicated on trusting that Nesbitt is the person who licked the envelope.” Amanda turned to Will. “Thoughts?”
“Nesbitt’s been in prison for eight years. Cons know more about forensic procedures and DNA than most cops do.”
Faith added, “He’s a chess player. Even Lena Adams figured that out. Nesbitt strategizes. He works people against each other. We know he’s got access to the internet through contraband phones. He could’ve found out about Heath and done the same math that we all did.”
Amanda nodded. She had made her decision. “Nesbitt’s DNA is already in our database because he’s a convicted sex offender. We need a clean chain of custody on Heath Caterino’s DNA. I don’t want to file a subpoena for obvious reasons.”
Faith said, “You want me to ask Gerald Caterino if he’ll volunteer to let me take a swab of his kid’s mouth? The kid he pretends is his own child because he’s terrified Beckey’s attacker will find out?”
Will said, “I can—”
“I’ll do it,” Faith said. “Will’s on the exhumation. He’s waiting for the subpoena on the security footage. We’ve both got jobs to do.”
“Good,” Amanda said. “I’ll put another team on the call lists. You can follow up with them when you’re back.”
Faith dropped the papers on the coffee table.
Will’s body tensed as she left. He didn’t know if he wanted to stop her or go with her.
Amanda said, “Wilbur, in this moment, it is immaterial whether or not Daryl Nesbitt’s DNA matches Heath Caterino’s. What we have in front of us is an exhumed body that might offer new clues and a subpoena that could allow us access to a video that reveals the face of a killer.”
Will knew a dismissal when he heard it. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked toward the stairs. His muscles were still tensed, but the short burst of urgency had come to a screeching halt. All that he was left with was anxiety. He didn’t like the idea of Faith being alone. He was irritated that he hadn’t thought to verify the DNA from the lab test. He was anxious, because Amanda was right. Nesbitt hadn’t murdered fifteen women and terrorized five others in the last eight years.
So who had?
Someone with intimate knowledge of the crimes. Someone who was connected enough to Daryl Nesbitt to frame him. Someone who was clever enough to cover his tracks. Someone who had a collection of hairbands, combs, brushes, and ties.
Acolyte? Copycat? Nutjob? Murderer?
Two days out, Will was asking the same questions they’d had back in the prison chapel.
He exited through the door at the bottom of the stairs. The morgue was behind the headquarters building in a metal structure that looked like a hangar. The wind whipped at his jacket as he walked up the sidewalk. Will kept his eyes on the ground. There wasn’t much to look at in the sky. Dark clouds. Thunder. He could feel tiny slivers of rain stabbing at his face.
A black mortuary van was parked at the loading dock. Both sets of doors were open. Gary was helping the driver transfer Shay Van Dorne’s casket onto a rolling table. When Will had thought about the exhumation, he had visualized broken chunks of dirt and debris, maybe a Crypt-keeper hand sticking through rotted wood. The metal casket was pristine, the black paint still mirror-glossy. The only indication that it hadn’t just come off the display room floor was the string of cobwebs hanging off one of the corners. A spider had managed to get sealed inside the vault.
Will walked through the front lobby of the morgue. Glass windows looked into the autopsy suite. Two medical examiners were already at work. They were dressed in yellow aprons and blue scrubs. White surgical masks. Colorful hats. Off-white exam gloves.
Sara was in a tiny room at the end of a long hallway. Crime scene photos served as art on the walls. The back office was meant to be a temporary workspace for anyone who needed it. Desk. Phone. Two chairs. No window.
Will slowed his pace so he could take her in.
Sara’s arms were stretched out to the desk. She was staring down at her iPhone. She’d changed into scrubs. She was wearing glasses. Her long, auburn hair was pinned up in a loose bun on the top of her head. Will studied her profile.
I can see where her
