Officers filter around the yard, which glows in the light of the bright lamps. Despite its being called an excavation, no large machines are waiting to dig out massive chunks of the land. Contrary to what TV crime shows would have you believe, those are rarely used to recover bodies at potential crime scenes. The use of a tool like that can lead to damage and loss of evidence if the investigators don’t know how deep to dig.
Instead, the process is slow and painstaking. Layers of the dirt are removed slowly and carefully. That’s what’s happening now. I can see the tarps spread on the ground around the tree and two officers with spades digging down into the dirt.
An officer comes toward me and I let go of the fence to shake his hand.
“Detective Billings,” he says. “You’re Emma Griffin.”
“Yes,” I say. “Have you found anything?”
“Not conclusively. But we’re still early in the process,” he says.
I nod and look over at the dig again. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve found that dogs are generally accurate when it comes to identifying places of interest. Does that mean a body was buried out here? That’s still yet to be seen.”
“Please keep me updated,” I tell him.
He nods and shakes my hand again. “Will do.”
Twenty-Eight
“Cadaver dogs were brought to the area behind the old elementary school today in what we’re told is the ongoing investigation of the disappearance of Ashley Stevenson, a local girl who went missing five years ago. Law enforcement declines to comment on the exact nature of the investigation or what, if anything, has been found. You might remember Ashley’s name came up during the recent horrific discovery of a series of murders uncovered at Arrow Lake Campground that rocked the local community.
“Though officials can confirm Ashley was not one of the victims of those alleged serial killers, the appeal by her mother has generated renewed interest in the case. While the FBI has been brought in to investigate the deaths at the campground, sources confirm Agent Emma Griffin, who has been involved in several high-profile cases in the last few years, is involved in both investigations.
“We’ll bring you any updates on this developing story as soon as they are available.”
He sat in his recliner, leaned back with one leg propped in front of him, watching the news. Archival footage of Thirteen’s mother making her plea to the public played in the upper corner of the screen. Occasionally pictures broke in. A big smile. A sleepy, bewildered look from beneath a red and white checked comforter. Three friends playing together in the sand.
They were the kinds of pictures meant to humanize a name said so many times across the airwaves it started to become white noise. It was the same thing that had happened five years before. The news was saturated with the desperate, dramatic story of a bright-eyed young teenager who seemed to vaporize into thin air. But only for a short time. Then it faded.
Now the story was back; they were pushing as hard as they could to force that name into people’s thoughts and conversations, as if that would make a difference. As if talking about her would make her reappear.
He looked over at his girlfriend where she sat on the couch, mindlessly crocheting a baby blanket. She was staring at the screen, too, and he wondered what thoughts were going through her mind. He turned back to the TV and the image of bright lights flooding a neglected schoolyard.
“Looks like you lost your buried treasure,” he muttered. “Keep looking. Keep looking.”
Twenty-Nine
When Misty opens her front door the next morning, she looks as if she hasn’t slept. Tugging a long, thin cardigan tighter around her body and dabbing at her nose with a tissue that has seen far better days, she steps back and gestures me inside.
The house smells like many layers of coffee. Cup after cup, brewed throughout the night. There’s something sweet among the bitter notes. On the table are two bowls of partially-eaten oatmeal heavily laden with milk and brown sugar. They’ve tried to eat breakfast.
Tried.
“Why haven’t we heard anything?” she asks.
“The investigation team wanted to take their time and make sure to search the area thoroughly. I don’t want to make any premature conclusions. They worked through the night searching the entire area. They asked that I be the one to tell you what they found,” I say.
John reaches out and grasps his wife’s hand, squeezing it tightly as he prepares himself to hear what I have to say.
“They did find evidence of human remains. But it’s not Ashley. The team found fetal remains. Most likely a stillbirth prior to viability. But the medical examiner is going to have to make a final conclusion about that,” I say.
I’m expecting Misty to seem relieved. Instead, she’s overcome. Her face goes pale and she lets out a sob before her knees buckle under her. John swoops in to grab her before she hits the floor and brings her over to sit on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, pressing one hand to her chest while covering her eyes with the other.
“Don’t apologize,” I tell her. “Are you alright?”
John watches his wife for a few seconds before looking up at me with sadness in his eyes.
“Misty lost a baby years ago,” he explains. “It’s still very difficult for her. Anytime she hears that a woman lost a child, it really gets to her. It’s been especially difficult since Ashley went missing.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I say. “I know this isn’t easy for you. Everything that’s happened over the last couple of weeks must be extremely difficult. But we’re doing everything we can to find out what happened to Ashley. This isn’t going to be easy to hear, but I do need to ask both of you for a DNA sample.”
I didn’t relish the idea of making that request
