The Vanishing Season (The Collector #4)(85)

“Is that metal?”

“Her records state she was in a car accident when she was five. Her knee was badly damaged, requiring some hardware to be put in.” He pulls the file from under his arm and flips it open, turning pages until he gets to a reproduction of an X-ray. His square, somewhat stubby finger points to the surgically installed hardware. The proportions seem completely different, a close-up X-ray of the knee versus the significantly smaller, still image. It’s compelling, though.

“How long do you think it will take to make a solid identification?”

“Not long. Not when we have the records in hand to compare. We’ll extract DNA from the marrow, if we can, and run it if you have something to compare it against.”

“Her mother and sister both contributed samples. They don’t have anything left that’s hers.”

The techs are gentle as they move the remains into a black body bag and lift it to the waiting gurney. While there’s a general attempt to be respectful with every body, this is their job. They see a fair number of bodies, and the . . . well, awe, for lack of a better word, wears off after a while. There’s something about children, though, that demands extra reverence.

Ian has tears sliding down his cheeks into his whiskers. He makes no effort to wipe them away or turn his back. “All this time.”

Karwan stands, back straight and rigid, and weeps into his hand. Twenty-seven years ago, his little sister’s best friend, the sister of his heart, disappeared. Today, she was finally found. Someday that knowledge will help and comfort.

The ME takes the paper bag back from his assistant, and then, glancing at Karwan, turns to me and holds the bag open. “Agent Sterling, if you please?”

I nod and pull out the quilt, beautiful and pristine. Holding it carefully in my arms, I walk around the knot of men so Karwan won’t have to turn and look at the excavation site. “Sachin? Xiomara has a quilt for Erin. Is it okay if we tuck her in?”

He scrubs at his face with both hands, though it doesn’t stop the tears. “Is she—”

“She’s covered.”

He’s shaking as he takes the quilt from me, but he squares his shoulders and walks directly to the gurney off to one edge of the yard. Manny joins me at the far side, Bran and Ian staying on either side of Karwan, and together the five of us carefully unfold the quilt. The gurney is narrow, barely half the width of the quilt, so we fold the edges under to preserve the rainbow Mariner’s Compass. We gently tuck the quilt around Erin, Ian and Bran making sure it’s slid neatly under the bag on that side so that Karwan doesn’t have to. The rest of us back away, but he stays a moment longer, hand floating over the quilt where her head is.

I shake my head, trying to clear the sense-memory of Shira’s father smoothing back our hair and kissing our heads after he tucked us into bed.

When Karwan steps away, Manny and his officers, and the ME and his assistant, step to the sides of the gurney and carefully, solemnly, roll it over the grass and through the fence, looking rather like an honor guard.

Bran catches Karwan in a hug, his eyes wet as he braces his friend against a fresh onslaught of grief. He looks afraid.

I can’t fault him for that.

“What time is your flight?” Wilson asks in a hushed tone at my shoulder.

“Eleven-thirty.”

He checks his watch. Quarter to ten. “Do you have more you need to do here?”

I glance at Ian, watching the gurney disappear around the corner of the house. “No, not really. We already made our farewells with his parents. They have people with them, and Manny will update them with what we found.”

He nods slowly. I follow his gaze back to Bran and Karwan. “Poor bastards,” he says, barely loud enough for me to hear. “I can’t even imagine.”

“No one should have to.”

“Good luck in Omaha.”

“Thanks.”





28

Detective Matson calls his wife to check in with her, let her know that Manny will be coming by later with information. I can make out her tone but not her words; she’s worried about him. I don’t think anything’s going to keep him from being there for Faith, though. Wilson promises me regular updates before handing us off to Agents Spencer and Parker for the ride back to the airport. We break a handful of traffic laws of varying importance, but at ten twenty-four we’re in the line for security.

Bran hasn’t said a word since we walked out of the backyard.

I glance between him and Karwan. “Okay-ish?” I ask.

He smiles slightly, because that’s Priya’s word, and nods. Karwan just blinks at me, eyes still bright and damp.

Good enough.

Our three-hour flight to Omaha takes off at eleven-forty and lands at one thirty-two central time. It is, in fact, snowing in southeastern Nebraska, here on the first of November. We make a bathroom stop to change into the warmer clothes Priya packed us, draping our coats over our bags until we get closer to outside. Eppley isn’t a large airport, but why sweat before you have to?

Karwan leads us to the exit. He flew out of this airport barely twelve hours ago to join us in Tampa.

Just before the outside doors, an Amazonian redhead in a suit and heavy navy blue peacoat raises a hand in greeting. “Holding up, boss?” she asks.

“I’ll keep,” he says, his voice still rough from tears. “Agent Fisher, this is Agent Sterling; she’s on the ranking team. This is Agent Eddison and retired Detective Matson. They’re here off-duty.”