The Vanishing Season (The Collector #4)(46)

“I’m surprised they haven’t done that already,” murmurs Gala.

“City like Chicago, that’s a huge endeavor, and not a lot of manpower to devote to it. They get files digitized as they can. Atlanta is being resistant, Vic says.”

“Because she was classified as a runaway?”

“Because the FBI wasn’t involved in the initial investigation, and they don’t think there’s enough evidence to reopen the case or cede jurisdiction.”

Bran growls and thumps his fist against his knee. “Unsolved kidnappings don’t close. Technically it’s not reopening anything.”

“Vic’s giving it to the Jackal.”

Ian tugs at his beard. “The Jackal?” he asks, clearly undecided if he wants to know.

“Agent Hank Jekyll is a unit chief at the Atlanta office, and a friend of Vic’s,” I tell him. “He doesn’t approve of pissing contests between branches of law enforcement, so if he’s forced into one—”

“He pisses to win,” Bran says, finishing the joke that floats around Bureau offices the Jackal has never even been to. I heard it in Denver before coming here.

“So we’ll have Caitlyn’s file within a couple of hours. Twenty-one years ago, they’ll probably have to scan it in.”

“I don’t know if we have enough information yet for this to be significant,” Gala says, frowning at her monitor, “but there’s something that stands out about some of the dates.”

“What’s that?”

“Erin went missing in ninety-three. Two years later, Faith goes missing. Two years later, McKenna goes missing. Two years later, Caitlyn. Every other year.”

Hmm. I look at Bran, but he’s glaring at the table. “Make a note of it, but put a pin in it for now. Until we fill in the longer gaps, there’s no way to know if that’s a pattern or missing data points.”

“Got it.”

Yvonne has the proud smile again. I don’t know if we’re actually allowed to have two dedicated technical analysts—a lot of the teams don’t even have one, just rotate through the pool—but I have a feeling she’ll be asking for Gala to be assigned to her. Hell, I’ll ask for Gala to be assigned to our team when all this is done; she has a solid instinct for this.

The first alarm on my phone goes off, making us all flinch.

“And look at that,” Yvonne laughs. “You didn’t even need it.”





16

A bit after one, Ian convinces Bran to take him to pick up lunch for all of us. Bran argues at first, wanting to be here, and initially Ian patiently uses logic to explain why picking it up is better than delivery. Then he huffs and crosses his arms against his chest, muscles pressing against his sleeves despite his age, and Bran abruptly stands to attention, or near enough to it.

“You need to move around,” Ian tells him. “You need air, and space, and the freedom to wear a hole in the damn sidewalk. You and I are going outside. You will pace as much as you need to pace, and then we will pick up lunch for ourselves and the ladies and bring it back.”

Bran stops arguing.

“I’ve got another possible name,” Gala announces a few minutes later.

“Tell me.”

“Shelby Skirvin, from Louisville, Kentucky. Disappeared three years ago while walking home from her grandparents’ house. Same kind of neighborhood, also a two-parent home. Date was November 2.”

“FBI involvement?”

“No.”

The photo is certainly convincing. “All right. Send it to Vic so he can request her file.”

She scribbles the information on a piece of paper and slides it over to Yvonne. “I’m recharging my courage,” she explains sheepishly.

“For Vic?”

“In general. This morning was a lot.”

“Fair enough.”

Half an hour later, we add Joanna Olvarson of Oklahoma City, missing since ’07, and Tiffany King of Seattle, Washington, Missing Children’s Class of ’99.

Ian and Bran bring back lunch just before three o’clock, great big foil containers from the family-style Italian place that hates to-go orders if you’re not an on-duty FBI agent. Bran picks at his food despite Ian’s stern command to eat.

We’re still multi-tasking lunch and research when the table console rings with an incoming call. I reach out and poke it with the crunchy end of a breadstick. “Sterling.”

“I’m sorry, no, it’s going to have to be Eliza.”

“Sachin,” groans Bran.

“McKenna’s file and my notes on Erin are on their way, and I have some other possible names for you.”

“That why you took so long?” he grumps, and looks both scared and intrigued.

“It is. Do you remember Carl Addams?”

“Lurch? He’s in White Collar here in Quantico. We get lunch sometimes.”

“He’s married to my cousin, so we keep in better touch. His father was a detective in Charleston. He died last year and Lurch is going through all his papers, and he found out that his father had still been working a couple of old cases, only one of which was actually his.”

“Kidnapping?”

“That’s what I called and asked him. He knows about Erin, and he mentioned his dad worked a case like that that he couldn’t let go of. He went home and opened up the boxes. First file is Diana Shaughnessy, twenty-nine years ago, Charleston.”