A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(4)

“Which girl survived the attack?” asked Eddie.

“Britta. The oldest,” answered Mercy. “She was hit in the temple with the weapon but survived the blow. He knocked out several of her front teeth, but she must have been unconscious during the blow and didn’t react. He probably assumed she was dead.”

“Blessed Jesus Christ,” Darby murmured. “The world we’re in . . .”

“Where does she live?” asked Jeff.

Mercy took a breath. “I looked her up. She moved to the outskirts of Eagle’s Nest last summer. Before that she lived in Nevada, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico.”

Everyone at the table exchanged glances. “She lives here now,” repeated Darby. “After how many years of living away?”

“As best as I can tell, this is the first time she’s been back. An aunt in Nevada took her in after the murders years ago.”

The room was silent. Mercy’s stomach had done a small spin when she learned Britta Verbeek had returned after decades of living elsewhere. She suspected the other agents were feeling the same thing.

“Weird,” Eddie finally commented.

“That’s putting it mildly,” said Darby.

“I’m trying to reach her,” said Mercy.

“And we still don’t have a lead on the identities of our current case?” asked Darby. “Those remains were all bone, so they’ve been dead for a while. Who doesn’t report an entire missing family?”

“Don’t assume it’s another family,” Jeff pointed out. “It could be a mix of individuals.”

Mercy nodded. Individuals had been her initial thought, and she’d considered that the site might have been a serial killer’s dumping ground. It wasn’t until she remembered the past family murders that she’d wondered if this was another family. “I pulled a list that includes missing children between five and twelve in our county. Dr. Peres—the forensic anthropologist—gave me a narrower age frame, but I widened it a bit, and I went back thirty years. I wanted to include the time frame of the other murders.”

Eddie sighed. “How many names on the list?”

“Five for Deschutes County.”

“Only five children unaccounted for in thirty years?” Jeff asked. “That’s not horrible.”

“Unless you’re one of their parents,” added Darby.

“Touché,” admitted Jeff. “You’ve been in contact with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children?”

“Yes,” Mercy stated. “I’m waiting on a callback.”

“Do you know how difficult it will be to follow a trail thirty years old?” Eddie’s eyes were hopeful, but he slowly shook his head in sympathy.

“I do.” It was a challenge. One she wanted to tackle.

“I’ll help you look into Grady Baldwin’s family and friends,” said Darby. “And get an in-depth history on Britta Verbeek.”

“Thank you,” said Mercy. “I know he has a brother still in the area. Don Baldwin.”

“When will the road be open?” asked Jeff.

“They can’t get started on repairs until the medical examiner releases the scene,” Mercy stated. “And that won’t happen until we’re positive we have every shred of evidence collected.” The rugged slope of the hill flashed in her mind. “It will be a difficult scene to process. How far down do we look for evidence? The water could have washed it miles away.”

“We’ll have to work with what we have,” said Jeff. “I think the skulls found so far will be very helpful. When will the forensic anthropologist have an initial report?”

“Tomorrow,” said Mercy. “But I’m going to stop by there tonight to meet the odontologist, and I’ll try to get more information from Dr. Peres.”

Jeff glanced at the time and tucked his pen in his pocket, signaling the meeting was over. Eddie and Darby immediately headed out the door, Darby typing one-handed while she walked, balancing her laptop on the other hand.

“Any work getting done on your cabin?” Jeff asked Mercy conversationally as he shoved in his chair.

Mercy swallowed hard. Her boss hadn’t known she owned a cabin in the Cascade foothills until it recently burned to the ground, destroyed by her friend’s brother during his hunt for a woman he believed had ruined his life. The woman had survived; Mercy’s cabin had not. A decade of Mercy’s prepping and hard work had gone up in flames as her cabin burned. It’d been the source of her sanity, a place she could run to if the world started to crumble.

A safe house. Prepared with years of food and fuel and a solid defense.

Mercy had grown up looking over her shoulder for the end of the world. Her parents had ingrained in her to take nothing for granted and taught her the skills to feed and protect herself in a crisis.

Jeff thought she had a mountain getaway. A place to escape for a weekend of skiing. He didn’t realize she had created a fortress with enough stores to last at least five years. She didn’t correct Jeff’s thinking; she didn’t correct anyone’s assumptions.

Her secret was hers. If the United States’ food sources or power grid collapsed, she couldn’t save everyone. For the sake of her own survival, only Truman and her family knew her secret.