My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(15)

“We’ll take a closer look,” Calloway said. “I’ve sent a bulletin to every police department in the state, as well as Oregon and California. Canadian Border Patrol has also been notified. We faxed Sarah’s graduation photo.”

James Crosswhite ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Somebody passing through?” he asked. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Why would someone passing through take the county road?” Tracy said. “They would have stayed on the highway.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed but she caught his gaze too late. He stepped to her and took hold of her left hand. “What is that? Is that a diamond?”

“Yes.”

Her father looked away, jaw clenched.

Calloway intervened. “You’ve reached out to her friends?”

Tracy shielded her hand behind her thigh. She’d spent hours calling everyone she could think of. “No one has seen her.”

“Why didn’t she take her guns?” her father asked, though seemingly to himself. “Why wouldn’t she take one of the pistols?”

“She had no reason to feel threatened, James. I’m guessing she ran out of gas and started walking toward town.”

“You’ve searched the woods?”

“Nothing to indicate she slipped or fell.”

Tracy had never thought that likely. Sarah was too athletic to have tumbled off the side of the road, even in the dark and the rain.

“Sit tight,” Calloway said.

“I’m not going to sit tight, Roy. You know I’m not built that way.” He turned to Tracy. “Get that flier we talked about made up and get it down to your mother. Find a photograph that looks like Sarah, not her graduation picture. Bradley can make the copies for you at the pharmacy. Tell him to run off a thousand to start and put it on my store tab. I want them everywhere from here to the Canadian border.” He turned to Calloway. “We’re going to need a topographical map.”

“I’ve called Vern. He knows these mountains better than anyone.”

“What about dogs?”

“I’ll look into it,” Calloway said.

“Somebody coming home from somewhere? Someone who lives here?”

“Nobody here would do such a thing, James. Not to Sarah.”

Her father looked about to say something else but stopped as if he’d lost his train of thought. For the first time in her life, Tracy saw fear pass over him, something gray and dark and ethereal. “That kid,” he said. “The one they just paroled.”

“Edmund House,” Calloway whispered. He stood, as if paralyzed by the name. Then he said, “I’m on it.” Calloway quickly slid apart the panel doors, hurrying across the marbled foyer to the front door.

“Jesus,” her father said.





[page]CHAPTER 13





The Spartan interior of the coffee shop beneath the building that housed the new offices of the King County Coroner on Jefferson Street reminded Tracy of the coffee shops in hospitals, before someone had decided that, just because a relative was sick, it didn’t mean their family had to suffer too. Apparently intended to be some sort of modern decor, the floors were linoleum, the tables stainless steel, and the chairs plastic and uncomfortable. Kelly Rosa hadn’t suggested the café for its ambiance. She’d chosen it for its location: close to, but not actually her office.

Tracy scanned the café tables but did not see Rosa. She ordered black tea and sat at a table near windows with a view of the sloped sidewalk, answering e-mails and text messages on her iPhone. Within a minute of sitting, she recognized Rosa making her way down the sidewalk, despite the hood of a green raincoat protecting her from a light sprinkle. Rosa lowered the hood as she entered the coffee shop and spotted Tracy. She did not look like a person who hiked through hillsides and swamps to find and examine the remains of persons long dead. She looked like a middle-aged soccer mom who drove a minivan, which Rosa did when not searching for human remains.

Rosa gave Tracy a hug before sliding off her coat.

“Can I get you anything?” Tracy asked.

“No, I’m good,” Rosa said, sitting across from her.

“How are the kids?”

“My fourteen-year-old is taller than me. Not a big accomplishment, I know, but she takes great pleasure in hovering over me.” If Rosa hit five feet, it was only by the width of one of her blonde hairs. “My eleven-year-old is starring in the school play. The Wizard of Oz.”

“She’s Dorothy?”

“Toto. She thinks she’s the star.” Tracy smiled. Rosa sat forward and gripped Tracy’s hand. “I’m very sorry, Tracy.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you making the time.”

“Of course.”

“You’ve confirmed it’s her?” It was a formality, but Tracy knew from experience that Rosa would have had to run an X-ray of Sarah’s jaw and teeth through the Missing and Unidentified Person’s Unit and the National Crime Information Center.

“Two positive hits.”

“What else can you tell me?”

Rosa exhaled a sigh. “I can tell you that big sheriff doesn’t want me telling you anything.”

“He said that?”