“I have to get ready.”
John nodded again, but she could see another question rising within him.
“Are you still going to visit your dad again?”
“Yes,” she replied. “As soon as I get a break from work.”
Her words trailed behind her as she walked to the hallway and shifted her focus to the case.
***
Tara stepped out of her car as the salty wind brushed against her face. She had just arrived at Dewey Beach, and she could already see that Warren was there, his car parked amongst the row of police vehicles and forensics vans. News crews littered the street, some doing live shots while others looked toward her as she made her way to the beach.
She stepped over the yellow tape that lined the entrance and then trudged up the walkway as sand snuck into her shoes. She could see Warren just over the hump, speaking with a man in a sheriff’s uniform whose jet-black hair danced in the wind. As she saw Warren, it reminded her of the texting conversation they had yesterday. He knew about her visit to New York. He was concerned. It was only a matter of time before he would bring it up in person, and Tara didn’t yet know what she planned to say. But she also knew she had time, since this case would be their focus now.
Warren and the sheriff kept looking toward her, and then their eyes would veer off to the side of her. She followed their gaze to the right to see forensics and a detective standing atop the sand dunes. As she moved closer to Warren, his eyes turned to her again and remained there. She could see a slight smile form at her presence.
“This is Agent Mills,” he said once she was close enough.
The sheriff nodded and then reached out his hand to introduce himself. “Sheriff Patel,” he said.
Warren assured her that he had just gotten to the scene only fifteen minutes before she did, and he was just getting filled in.
“Well, what do we know?” Tara asked. Farther down the beach, she could see yellow tape whipping in the wind.
“A woman was on the beach after the storm yesterday with her six-year-old daughter,” the sheriff said. He had a short beard, salt-and-pepper, with a whiteness that shimmered at the touch of the sun, now beginning to peek through the stormy clouds. “Their dog ran up onto the sand dunes and started digging. The daughter followed. Turns out he was digging up the leg of the victim, which is just a bone at this point.”
“Oh my god. That’s horrible,” Tara said.
Warren nodded. “I spoke to her on the phone right before you got here. She didn’t have anything new to say. She just seemed a bit distraught over what her daughter saw.”
“And it’s presumed to be the remains of Alyssa White?” Tara asked.
“That’s what it looks like, but you can speak to the forensic anthropologist yourself.” He motioned to the dunes in front of them, where Tara could see a woman crouched down and speaking to another person.
But then Tara’s eyes drifted down the beach to where another part was sectioned off with yellow tape. She had to squint to see law enforcement moving amongst the sand, like ants.
The sheriff caught her gaze. “Yeah, and then we found that body. It’s about a quarter mile down the beach.” He looked between Tara and Warren. “A young female victim. She was reported missing eight days ago. She’s a local, works at a coffee shop—never came home from work.”
“You sure there’s no other bodies?” Warren asked.
The sheriff nodded. “We’ve run cadaver dogs up and down this beach for hours. We would’ve found it by now.”
Warren then turned to Tara. They agreed to go speak with the anthropologist, and then they would make their way down the beach to where the second body was found. They walked toward her. The beach was littered with objects thrown from the ocean—seaweed, buoys, boardwalk boards—all tossed there by the strong force of the storm. The remains of a wooden-slat fence lined the sand dunes, showing just how far the water had risen on the beach. What once was used to control erosion, to protect the dunes, was now pulled apart, consumed by the sand it was meant to control. Tara stepped over the slats.
As she and Warren trudged up the small hill, a woman kneeling in the sand looked up. Her dark hair was tied neatly in a knot at the base of her neck. She smiled as they approached. Tara sensed a familiarity between them.
“Warren.” The woman beamed.
Warren smiled in return, blushing slightly, something Tara had never seen his face do before. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he asked.
She nodded before Warren proceeded to introduce them. Dr. Lyn Harris worked for the FBI, specializing in forensic anthropology. She was middle-aged, and Tara had the sense that she’d worked for the bureau for quite a while, as had Warren. Her face looked vaguely familiar. Tara had probably seen her in passing at one point or another. But she could also sense something else. It was the way Dr. Harris’s eyes lit up as Warren approached, the way Warren’s gaze receded at the notice of her. Warren cleared his throat, as if to ease the awkwardness, and Dr. Harris’s face abruptly shifted to a sterner look, as if remembering why they stood there.
Two other forensic analysts moved around them, collecting the markers surrounding the skeletal remains.
“I didn’t want to move the remains before you got here,” Dr. Harris said. “I’ve just been taking some pictures. But I am going to have to bring the remains back to the lab soon to do testing.”
“Any clue of the cause of death?” Warren asked as he and Tara moved closer. They kneeled in the sand, which was still damp with rain. The wetness seeped through Tara’s pants,
