The Vanishing Season (The Collector #4)(84)

No wonder he looks like he’s clenching his jaw.

The K-9 handler moves away, so I step in and introduce myself to the ME, who gives me a startled look. His suit is rumpled, and he looks a little like he stuck his finger in an electric socket. “Oh my, you do look so much like young Miss Bailey!”

“Yes.”

At this point it’s not even worth arguing that a second look would disprove most of the resemblance.

“Agent Sterling. I actually have a request, if I may.” I open the bag to show him the quilt, explaining Xiomara’s wish. Almost as an afterthought, I highlight Karwan’s connection to Erin.

He takes the bag from me carefully, almost cradling it against his chest despite the handles. Scattered, but compassionate. “Of course. An amazing woman to do this in the midst of her own grief. Yes, we’ll keep this safe until Miss Bailey is ready for transport. Her brother shouldn’t have to see that.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that she isn’t Karwan’s sister, but I keep it back. Of course she is. Family’s more than blood. Shira and Mercedes and Priya are as much my sisters as any I might have had if my parents had had more children.

He calls over his assistant and gives him the bag, along with strict instructions not to lose it or set it down.

With everyone ready, half of us troop through the fence to the backyard. Manny and two of the uniformed officers join us, the others staying near the vehicles to ward off any curious onlookers who may arrive. Wilson leaves Rogers with the property owner and follows us back. There’s a large oak in one corner of the backyard, almost exactly where the various fences would meet if they weren’t truncated to allow the tree to grow naturally. Within the tree’s shade, an old swing set creaks with slightly rusty chains. The yard looks maintained but largely unused.

“Any place in particular we should start?” asks one of the FBI techs, draped partially over the handles of the GPR.

They’re all looking at me. Right. Being part of the original team, I’m technically ranking at the moment, aren’t I?

“Not really,” I answer. “Kendall was in a corner, but that doesn’t mean Erin will be.”

It feels strange to simply stand there and watch, and I don’t know why. We’re not usually the ones finding the bodies anyway. We may locate them in unfortunate circumstances, but there are reasons we have forensic techs. Or maybe I’m just feeling wrong-footed in general. I want to reach for Bran’s hand, but he and Ian are focused on Karwan, each with a hand on the agent’s back.

Erin is not in a corner, but rather parallel to the back fence, about a third of the way along the property line and a few feet in. The tech whistles when the bones take shape on his screen. His partner scurries over with small flags to stake out a digging perimeter.

Karwan stares at the wire-mounted flags, unconsciously straining against the other two men to try to see the screen. Tears stream down his ashen face.

“Sachin?” I ask softly. “You know it’s okay not to look.”

“Erin . . .” He shakes his head. “I need to be here for Erin.”

“You are here for Erin. Do you think she needs you to see her like this to know you’re here for her?”

He blinks and turns his head slightly to look at me.

“It’s okay not to look. It’s okay to keep the memory of her as she was instead of what you’ll see here.”

Swallowing back most of a sob, he spins on his heel and faces the back of the house. Ian and Bran both turn toward him, bookends in profile, supporting Karwan but still watching the techs. Erin was in this house for almost two years, but she was here in the ground before Faith went missing. No one knew to look for her here.

The techs are experienced; it doesn’t take them very long to unearth the plastic-wrapped bundle not quite four feet down. The plastic sheeting is intact enough to lift, but the bugs have been at it over the years. The GPR was only going to show bone, stone, or metal, not flesh. I think, though, from the sound as they move the bundle and from too many of Cass’s lectures over lunch, that bone is all that’s left. Through the discolored plastic, there’s a little bit visible of a heavily stained and decayed quilt.

I can hear Bran speaking urgently in Karwan’s ear, distracting him from the sound of the moving bones.

“The skeleton looks about the right size,” the ME says quietly, giving Karwan a look to make sure he can’t hear. “I’ll know more once I unwrap the remains, but it’s within the range of likely growth for that age. If he was making them ill, it very likely stunted their growth. Do you see here, with the skull?”

I lean over to look at the still image captured with the GPR.

“Some of the teeth have fallen out. There was bone loss while she was still alive. Once the root nerve decayed, the teeth weren’t well seated enough to stay in place. And here, and here,” he continues, his finger tracing along ribs and arms, “there’s significant loss of bone density, some curving.”

“Any signs of external harm?”

“No breaks recent with the death, it looks like; they’d be obvious even like this. Once I can examine the bones themselves, I’ll be able to give a rough date to any knits or scars. I can say this is more likely to be Erin Bailey than not.”

“How?”

“See the knee? Just here?”