Dr. Henson frowned. “So we can assume the bones were positioned very late yesterday or early this morning.”
“Arranged like Lincoln Logs.”
She cocked a brow. “Only you could equate bones to a child’s toy, Detective Kier. Jung would have a field day with your childhood.”
Unfazed, Malcolm held her gaze. “The childhood was normal. But I wasn’t a normal kid.”
“Who was?” Garrison said. “Sane people don’t stare at bones at one a.m.”
Dr. Henson nodded, seeing the greater truth behind the words. “So they weren’t exposed to the elements?”
“Not here,” Malcolm said.
“Interesting.” She glanced into the bag and picked up the skull. “Your victim is female.”
Malcolm’s interest peaked. “How can you tell?”
“The narrow brow line and the high cheekbones are both characteristics consistent with a female. I’d also guess that she was Caucasian and around thirty.”
He scribbled down what she’d just said. “Because why?”
Dr. Henson traced her finger down the center of the skull. “Narrow nasal passage is consistent with the Cau-casoid race, and see these lines in the top of the skull?”
“Right.”
“That doesn’t happen until mid-twenties.”
“Really?”
“Bones will tell you a story if you know how to read them.” Carefully, she replaced the skull in the bag. “The bones aren’t brittle or old as a body long dead would be.”
“Any guess on time of death?”
She raised a trim brow, and for the first time he saw amusement dance in her eyes. “Sorry, that will take a little more work.”
“Worth a try.”
“I would suggest you contact Missing Persons and ask them to search for Caucasian women between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five.”
Malcolm unclipped his cell phone from the holster on his hip. “Doc, they were first on my call list.”
Chapter 2
Wednesday, October 5, 6:01 A.M.
Missing Persons had four possible Jane Does that could have matched Malcolm’s victim. The first two were hookers, the third a drug addict, and the fourth an actress. Malcolm tried to contact the people who’d issued the reports on the hookers and drug addict, but no one answered the numbers provided in the report. Not surprising. Hookers and drug addicts lived on the fringe, and associations and friendships were tentative at best. It also made them easy prey for killers.
Last on his list was the actress. Sierra Day. The man who’d called in the report, Terry Burgess, was the manager of the West End Theater, and he was also directing Sierra’s latest play.
When he dialed Burgess’s number, he was surprised to hear an alert, if not angry, “What!”
“This is Detective Malcolm Kier with Alexandria Police.”
“Okay.” His tone bordered on brittle.
Malcolm’s hackles rose, but he kept his voice even. “I’m calling about a missing persons report you filed.”
“Right.Yeah. Sure. Sierra Day. Did you find her?”
“That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. Can we meet?”
“It’s really not a good time. I’m at the theater and up to my ass in work. We open in nine days.”
“We need to meet now.” His steely tone was the verbal equivalent to him baring teeth.
“Sure. I’m at the theater.” Burgess sighed and gave the address.
Malcolm jotted the address down, hung up his phone, and glanced at Garrison. “Another charming citizen who believes he’s doing us a favor.”
“Let it roll off your back, man.”
“Easier said than done.”
Garrison shrugged. He gave good advice, but they both knew he also took the job too personally at times.
“According to Burgess’s missing persons report, Sierra Day, the lead actress in his upcoming play The Taming of the Shrew, failed to show up for play practice.”
“When was that?”
“Ten days ago. When she missed an important photo call, Burgess called the cops.”
“She’s been missing a week and a half? The bones had no traces of flesh. With the cool weather a body wouldn’t decompose that fast. Doesn’t seem to fit.”
“No, but she’s our only lead now.”
By the time Malcolm and Garrison arrived at the West End Theater in Old Town it was just after six-thirty in the morning. They’d woven down side streets skirting the morning commuter traffic that clogged the Washington Beltway.
Parking in Old Town Alexandria, the historic section of the city, was challenging at midday but just after dawn fairly easy. The cobblestone streets and centuries-old town houses housed trendy shops, restaurants, and museums that were a magnet for tourists who streamed into the area.
At this hour the historic district remained asleep except for a few coffee shops that catered to the locals working in the area’s service industries, hotels, and diners.
Garrison pulled down a side street and parked right in front of the old brick building that was home to the West End Theater. Located on a corner, the theater building was freestanding. A wrought-iron fence bordered a backyard featuring a simple stone stage surrounded by seats made of the same stone, reminiscent of an old Greek theater. In the summertime the trees would be lush and full, the grass green, and the random planters filled with brightly colored flowers. But now fall had stripped the trees, leaving their branches nearly barren and the ground covered with brown leaves.
Malcolm glanced at the laptop computer screen mounted between their seats in the front of their Crown Vic. “According to the theater’s website they’ve been here since 1934.” He shook his head as he stared at the building. “I’ve passed this place enough times but never stopped. Olivia has been after me to attend a play with her, but I keep dodging.”
“Can’t say I’m a theater person, either. Mom and my sister dragged me to a play a couple of months ago. I dozed off.”
“They catch you?”
“My sister Carrie did, but she didn’t narc to Mom.” Carrie, adopted by Garrison’s parents from foster care when she was five was now fifteen. She was a precocious child whose brown eyes reflected the losses she’d suffered. As Garrison liked to say, she was fifteen going on fifty.
“Not much gets past teenagers. Or kindergarten teachers.”
“Olivia bust you for something?”
He shrugged. “She dropped the M word right before I went out of town. I knew the steaks and homemade bread were too good to be true.”
“She wants to get married.”
“Yeah. But she did say that I don’t have to marry her right now. She’s just looking for some kind of timetable.”
Garrison looked amused. “A deadline.”
“She likes to have all the facts.”
“So what did you say?”
Malcolm opened his car door and got out. “I kept smiling and saying how great the food tasted and how great she is.” Why he couldn’t just say yes worried him. Good or bad, he made his decisions quickly and with no regrets. Except this time.
Garrison followed and closed his door. “You’ve been seeing a lot of her. She seems to fit your profile.”
“Profile?”
“Pretty. Great cook. Easygoing. Wants kids.”
“I like her. She’s easy to be around.”
“So do I hear wedding bells?”
Malcolm slammed his car door and locked it. “I should be asking you that question. You and Eva have had a thing for well over a year.”
“Hey man, Eva and I are opposites. Draw charts and grids to analyze us, and you’d figure us for failures.”
“And yet you keep seeing each other.”
Garrison shook his head. “The woman drives me crazy.”
“That good or bad?”
“Both. We got into it at King’s last night.” Eva worked at King’s as a waitress/bartender and office manager. At twenty-eight, she’d just started
her junior year in college. She made no attempt to hide the fact that she’d first entered college at seventeen but a decade in prison for a murder she’d not committed had delayed her education. The real killer had been caught, Eva’s conviction had been overturned last year, and she rarely looked back. Fiercely independent, she didn’t shy away from conflict and had an IQ that was off the charts.
“She’s still volunteering at that halfway house for ex-cons?”
“Yeah.” Garrison shook his head. “Damn dangerous. They had a knifing there last week.”
“Eva in the middle of it?”
“Oh, she broke it up. I only found out about it yesterday. The uniform that had been on scene told me.” The darkening of Garrison’s gaze testified to his frustrations.
“Eva’s a little too fearless.”
“Must run in the family.” Eva’s older sister was Angie Carlson, Esquire. Defense attorney. Brilliant, hardworking, and tenacious, many in the department called her “The Barracuda.” Malcolm had only crossed swords with her a few times, and the encounters confirmed she would do whatever it took to defend her client.