Buying a van in the Nashville area was not a smart idea. He decided to return to Atlanta, Georgia, to the dealership he had used when he had bought his old van. Maybe it wasn’t smart to repeat past moves, but he was willing to risk it.
The rental car created a digital trail, but he was not worried. In all his years, the cops had never come close to finding him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thursday, August 27, 6:00 a.m.
Bonnie Guthrie smiled as she signed her name on the bail bondsman’s paperwork. The bail bondsman’s name was Ralph, and he reminded her of a guy she had dated when she’d lived in New York during a summer of decadence after leaving home for good.
Ralph stacked his papers into a neat pile. “It shouldn’t be much longer, Ms. Guthrie. I’ll deliver this check to the magistrate now, and you should be out real soon.”
“You’re amazing, doll.” She ran her fingertips lightly down her breasts.
“Do you need a ride?” Ralph asked.
“A ride? That’s full service.”
“We’re accustomed to transporting our clients to a destination within twenty miles.”
“Well, that would be lovely.” She winked. “Remind me to write an online review for you.”
“Always appreciated. The judge wants you back in two weeks for a preliminary hearing.”
“I’ll be here,” she lied. The truth was she planned to find Elena. Sonny did not know it yet, but his future was tied up with Bonnie and that little girl. And once he had Bonnie and his “sister” back, he would stop doing whatever it was with the severed fingers. The boy had never been right after she had dumped Melina, but she had never figured he was this messed up.
All Sonny had to do was produce the key, and the three of them would have enough money to live in style in Mexico. She could have told Melina the name Sonny was using now, but she had kept quiet to protect him. They could search Dean Guthrie all they wanted, but it wouldn’t lead them to Nashville.
She might be partly responsible for his messed-up mind, and she had a chance to help him, the kid, and herself. Win-win for everybody.
Ralph escorted her to his car and opened her door. She slid into the front seat, showing him the full length of her tanned legs. She was glad to be out of jail.
“Doll, I’m starving,” she said. “What say I treat us to breakfast?”
Melina hustled back to her town house after an early-morning run. It would have been smarter to catch some shut-eye in the few hours she had, but she had to burn off steam. Her mother used to say Melina needed to run to get the wiggles out.
She kicked off her shoes and opened a can of tuna fish. She set it out on the patio table for the neighbor’s cat.
She switched on the television to a weather channel that offered the right amount of background noise so that she did not feel alone. As coffee brewed, she opened her laptop; then she poured herself a cup and dumped in two teaspoons of sugar.
As she sipped her coffee, she clicked on the DNA website and logged on to her account. Her name appeared, and beside it in red letters were the words New Information.
“New. That can’t be good,” she whispered.
If her job had taught her anything, it was that the situation could always have more surprises. She held her breath as the icon bounced back and forth before the section opened. She scanned the list and saw that she had several fourth-cousin matches. The initial burst of excitement faded as she calculated that tracing those relatives would mean going back to their shared great-great-grandparents. It was possible but would take a ton of man-hours.
Still, she clicked on the cousin located in Ohio. He did not have a picture attached, but she noted he was sixty-two years old. The next cousin was not much more promising. She lived in North Carolina and was in her early seventies. No picture attached to her profile either.
She fished out her phone and pulled up Andy’s contact information. She wanted to ensure that Andy was cross-checking her DNA against the killer’s.
She took another sip from the coffee cup, copied the link to her test results, and attached it in an email to Andy. She paused for a moment and then hit send.
An email response from Andy came back almost immediately. I’m on it.
“Ready or not,” Melina said.
One way or another, she was going to learn something about her past.
Her phone rang and she half expected to see Andy’s name. Realizing it was her mother, she wondered if this woman had an inkling of what she had done. She felt like a traitor and closed her computer screen.
“Mom.”
“Don’t go by the hospital to see Elena today. She’s not there anymore.”
Melina sat forward. “Where is she?”
“She’s with Dad and me. Dad pulled a few strings, and social services agreed to let her come home with us. We picked her up late last night.”
Relief washed over her. “Isn’t that going to be a lot on you with Dad laid up?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Her mother’s voice sounded buoyant, as if she welcomed the challenge.
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing you can do, honey. I’ve got this under control. She’s sleeping in your old bed now.”
“Did you turn on the purple night-light?” Her mother had bought it for her when she was about six, and it still remained in her old room.
“Of course. Put a fresh bulb in yesterday.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Just wanted to let you know so you can focus on the job.” Her mother dropped her voice a notch. “The poor thing was exhausted when we got her home. We watched a movie and ate dinner. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. But a dream woke her up within the hour.”
Melina remembered how the fatigue had always mingled with the fear of dreams. “Has Elena said anything that might help me?”
“Not yet, but if she does, I’ll pass it on.”
“Good.” She sipped her coffee. “I look forward to catching this guy.”
Ramsey met Melina at the TBI offices. He had two coffees waiting, one for himself and the other for her. He had already learned Agent Melina Shepard was more approachable if caffeinated.
“Thanks,” she said, prying off the lid. “I can really use this.”
“Didn’t sleep well?”
“I dabbled on the genealogy website, trying to trace my family tree. I had very little luck. I emailed off what I had to Andy. She’s already on it.”
“Good. Your time is better spent with me.”
“I came to that conclusion very quickly.”
Ramsey drove Melina to the medical examiner’s office. They showed their badges, though the guard recognized Melina. “Agent Shepard, we meet again,” he said.
Melina tucked her badge in her pocket. “No offense, but I can’t say I’m glad to be back,” she said with a smile.
The guard nodded with a slight grin. “No offense taken.”
As Melina and Ramsey walked toward the elevators, she said, “I was here a few times over the winter. A van filled with undocumented workers was found. All the occupants were dead. It took several visits here to sort out identities and causes of death.” When he arched a brow, she added, “Asphyxiation. The truck had a faulty exhaust system and the occupants kept it running to stay warm. They all expired from carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“How did missing persons get involved?” Ramsey asked.
“I tried to match up the dead to their families. I was able to locate families for three of the victims.”
She had worked days, fearing some of the women and men had left behind children and loved ones. In the end, she had been forced to stop and move on to a new case.
They rode the elevator down to the lower level, where the medical examiner performed his autopsies. They gowned up and met the doctor in his autopsy suite.
He stood by the badly decomposing body of Jennifer Brown. Her skin had loosened and drooped from her arms and her abdomen. The decaying process had also darkened her skin and shrunk her cuticles, which gave the impression that her nails had grown. Her left ring finger was missing.
Her head rested above the block tucked under her neck, arching her bruised chin upward. Her blond hair was brushed back, and her eyelids were closed.
“We were just about to start,” Dr. Connor said.
“Thanks for waiting on us,” Ramsey said.
“After seeing that jar full of fingers, I’m happy to expedite this investigation,” Dr. Connor said.
“How long has she been deceased?” Ramsey asked.
“I took her liver temperature, and I estimate she died last Monday to Wednesday.”
“Over a week,” Melina said. “She died before Bonnie stole the pickle jar. Are her prints a match to one of the unidentified fingers?”
“Yes,” the doctor said.
“Cause of death?” Ramsey asked.
Dr. Connor moved to the top of the table. He tilted the head, angling it so that the bruised neck was exposed. “Unless I find evidence to the contrary, I’d say strangulation.”
“The bruising around her neck is defined,” Melina said. “It’s consistent with a choke hold.”