Willie—Police Chief Mullins—sat behind Garth’s desk, his attention focused on the papers and photographs lying on the desktop in front of him. As a general rule, the chief didn’t come to headquarters on a Sunday afternoon. But there was a good chance the CPD was dealing with a serial killer and not your regular run-of-the-mill murderer. Both the mayor and the DA were probably breathing down Willie’s neck.
She often wondered if Willie missed being an investigator, if he missed working with his old partner, her dad. Of course, no one had forced him to take the police chief position. He could have taken the route her uncle Garth had and turned down chances for promotion just so he could stay in the field.
“I don’t want a desk job,” Garth had said more than once. “And I sure as hell don’t want to play politics.”
But Willie excelled in his new position. He had an even temper, an easygoing manner, and a keen intelligence that made him an excellent diplomat and a great leader. Garth was smart—street smart and book smart—but he was also temperamental, moody, not easy to get along with, and known for his hard drinking and womanizing.
“Thanks,” Tam said to the person on the other end of the line just before she ended their conversation. “Pete Tipton said that if or when another similar murder occurs, the TBI will send in a crime scene vehicle, either from Nashville or Knoxville. A third murder would erase all doubts about our having a serial killer on our hands.”
“Is there any doubt now?” Garth grumbled.
“He’s killed twice that we know of,” Willie said. “He’ll kill again. It’s only a matter of time before he kidnaps another woman.”
“And we don’t have a clue who he is or when and where he’ll strike again.” Tam looked from her father to Audrey. “What’s in that sack?”
Audrey placed the sack on Tam’s desk. “Sandwiches from the River Street Deli. One for each of us.”
“You’re not part of this investigative team,” Garth told her. “We’ve got a job to do. So thank you for the sandwiches. Leave them with us and go.”
“No,” Willie said. “Stay. We can take a break, long enough to eat together.” He looked right at Garth. “I want to talk to Audrey. I had Tam ask her to stop by. There are things she needs to know.”
Garth mumbled under his breath, but didn’t contradict his boss. Instead he said something about getting coffee and disappeared around the corner.
“He’s frustrated,” Willie told Audrey. “We all are. You know how Garth is.”
“Yes, I know only too well,” Audrey replied.
Tam opened the sack and removed the four sandwiches, but before handing them out, she looked to Audrey for information.
“Here, let me do that.” Audrey handed Willie a sandwich. “Roast beef, rare.” Then she placed a sandwich in front of Tam and laid another aside for herself. “A couple of their Elana Ruz sandwiches for us—turkey, cream cheese, and strawberry preserves.”
Tam sighed deeply. “If you weren’t already my best friend, you would be now.”
Audrey and Tam exchanged smiles.
Garth returned with two cups of coffee, gave one to Willie, and kept the second cup. “I figure you girls will want to doctor up your coffee to suit yourselves. I’ve got no idea how either of you want it.”
“I’ll get us both a Coke,” Tam said. “Does that suit you?”
“A Coke’s fine,” Audrey replied
“I’ll make yours regular and mine diet.”
Audrey nodded. She and Tam had different body types and different metabolisms. Tam was always dieting. Audrey had never dieted. But she suspected that eventually, probably in her fifties, that would change.
When Tam walked off, Audrey noticed that Willie was once again engrossed with some of the papers and photos spread out on Garth’s desk.
“Would I be out of order to ask what you’re looking at?” she asked.
“You know better than to ask,” Garth told her.
“Sorry.” Audrey eased away from the desk.
“It’s something we chose not to share with the media.” Willie glanced from Garth to Audrey. “But Audrey isn’t the media.”
“She’s not one of us, either,” Garth reminded the chief.
Choosing to ignore Garth’s comment, Willie said, “It’s something that we all find odd about how both bodies were staged.”
“Everything’s odd,” Garth said. “There’s nothing normal about it either.”
Willie glowered at Garth before turning back to Audrey. “It’s about what the two women held in their laps.”
“Jill Scott was holding a doll, right? Or at least that’s what everyone assumes. That’s what the reporters said. So, what was Debra Gregory holding?”
“The media present at the scene where Jill Scott’s body was discovered were kept at a distance and assumed they saw a doll lying in her lap.” Willie shuffled through the photos in front of him, chose two, and held them up to show Audrey. “It wasn’t a doll.”
Audrey stared at the crime scene photograph of Jill Scott. It took her brain several seconds to grasp the reality of what she saw. Her mouth parted to release a soft, startled gasp.
“It’s a … a skeleton.” Audrey took the photo from Willie and studied it more closely. “Oh my God! The killer laid the skeleton of a small child in Jill’s lap.”
“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Tam said as she came back into the office.
“Then it’s real,” Audrey said, barely believing her own eyes. “It’s the actual skeletal remains of a human child?”
Tam set two colas on the desk, one by her sandwich and the other by Audrey’s. “All too real. We’re waiting on DNA results in the hopes we can identify the child, but the UT Body Farm has identified the remains of the child found with Jill Scott as a white male, probably between the ages of twenty and thirty-six months.”
“What about Debra Gregory? Was there a …?” Audrey couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
“Yes, there was another child found in her lap,” Tam said. “About the same size.”
Willie stood and placed his big hand on Audrey’s shoulder. “Pete Tipton will examine the remains, take DNA samples from bone and teeth, and forward them to the lab.”
Audrey suddenly felt as if someone had dealt her a body blow hard enough to knock the wind out of her. For a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t allow herself to accept the impossible possibility. Not now. Not after twenty-five years.
“Is there any chance that one of those little bodies could be …” She swallowed hard. “Could be …” She couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t say the unthinkable.
“It’s possible,” Tam said. “We’ll know as soon as the DNA testing is completed.”
“Oh, God, does my father know?” Audrey asked.
Whitney Poole hated her job, especially when she drew the Sunday lunch shift at Callie’s Café. Crowds