Pretty Girls Dancing(84)

“Jesus Christ, Claire.” David’s voice broke as he brought his free hand to his eyes.

“DNA tests will be run tomorrow.” The female agent—Medford?—was talking. “But we have a preliminary match on the dental records. We’re fairly certain the victim is your daughter, Kelsey.”

A loud sob broke from David, and his shoulders shook. Claire slipped her arm around him.

“No, that’s not right,” she told him certainly. Then she turned to the agents. “It’s not Kelsey.”

“I know this is unbearably hard,” Mark began.

“No. You know what’s hard, Agent Foster?” She could hear her voice growing strident. Was helpless to temper it. “What’s hard is receiving eight calls from police in different parts of the state telling us they had human remains—that’s what they called them—unidentified human remains that they were going to try to match to Kelsey’s DNA samples. Eight times in five years, because we haven’t had a call in a while.” Because everyone had forgotten all about the Willards, wrapped up in their cocoon of misery awaiting their daughter’s return. “And every time—eight times—they were wrong. Like you’re wrong now.”

She gently extricated herself from her husband. Stood. “I want to be taken to her.”

Mark looked pained as he rose. “Mrs. Willard, please. The DNA tests tomorrow will be all that’s necessary. You don’t have to put yourself through this.”

“Yes. I do.” The words quaked. “Because you’re wrong, and I’m going to prove it to you. That girl isn’t Kelsey. She’s not my daughter. My daughter is alive.”





David Willard

November 15

3:06 p.m.

David sat in the back seat of the sedan next to his wife. No one in the vehicle said a word. What was left to say? He’d done his best to talk Claire out of this. But there was no reasoning with her. He was used to dealing with his wife on the verge of collapse. Used to managing her hysterics. But she wasn’t hysterical now; she was eerily calm. Fixed in her certainty despite the proof of the dental records the agents had mentioned. That calm was more unsettling than hysterics would have been.

There had been phone calls to make. Arrangements to set in place. The morgue was in the basement of the hospital. He hadn’t known that Allama County Hospital had a morgue, although he should have. But no one thought about things like that unless circumstances forced them to.

Years ago, every time they’d gotten one of those phone calls about unidentified remains had been a special sort of hell. Claire would be overwrought, contemplating all the horrible ways their daughter, if it turned out to be Kelsey, could have died. He had never been able to stop his wife from using the intervening time to look up everything she could about the discovered body. Which only fueled her endless cycle of emotional frenzy that had exhausted them both.

No one who hadn’t lost a child in the same manner would ever understand. Loss was a fanged beast that could devour a person whole. He’d had to step back from the constant agony, or it would have consumed him. As it had consumed his wife.

But this time was different. They’d finally reached the end of the interminable road they’d been traveling. There was no way to brace himself from the despair that awaited them. It was only at this moment that David realized he’d somehow managed to convince himself that this day would never come.

Mark pulled in to the hospital parking lot. The same hospital where David had welcomed the birth of both of his daughters. First Kelsey, red-faced and squalling, fists pumping as she screamed her displeasure to the world. And then Janie. Quieter even then. Watching the world with wary eyes and a guarded expression.

A sob clogged his throat. He didn’t want to go in there. Would have given anything to avoid the next hour of his life. What was the purpose, when he already knew the outcome?

They sat there for a moment, no one talking. Then Mark spoke. “It’s your choice. But this is unnecessary. Later today, the body is due to be transported to Madison County Hospital in London, where a pathologist will perform the forensic examination followed by the autopsy. The tests—”

“If it were your child, would you wait?” Claire’s voice rang out, clear as a bell.

The agent didn’t answer. Turning off the car, he got out and waited for them to join him before leading them inside the building.

Time slowed. The long trek to the elevators. The slow descent. Then their arrival in the basement. Cold, concrete floor. Musty smells. Walls that hadn’t been painted in decades. Mark had used his phone to send a text before entering the building, and there was a man standing outside in the hallway with a lab coat on. Waiting for them. Without conscious thought, David slipped an arm around Claire’s shoulders as the stranger ushered them into a sterile room with metal gurneys and foreign equipment that he didn’t want to examine too closely. The hospital employee said nothing as he led them to a line of metal doors in the wall. Smaller ones across the top. A few larger ones on the bottom. He unlocked a bigger door and pulled out what looked like a long metal drawer holding a dark bag with a small Ziploc next to it. Slowly he lowered the zipper of the larger bag. Parted it.

“That’s not Kelsey. It can’t be.” Claire sounded more desperate than certain. David forced himself to look at the remains for a moment before hissing in a breath and averting his eyes. For the first time he indulged in a brief fantasy that his wife was right. There was nothing recognizable about the body. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe the matching dental records were wrong.