ng ended almost midnote. My family remembered whose birthday this was: Detective Alex Cross’s.
Caroline was my niece, my brother’s only daughter. I hadn’t seen her in twenty years; not since just after Blake died. That would have made her twenty-four now.
At the time of her death.
The floor under my feet felt like it was gone. Part of me wanted to call Davies a liar. The other part, the cop, spoke up. “Where is she now?”
“I just got off the phone with Virginia State Police. The remains are at the ME’s office in Richmond. I’m sorry, Alex. I hate to be the one to tell you this.”
“Remains?” I muttered. It was such a cold word, but I appreciated Davies not over-handling me. I walked out of the room, sorry I’d said even that much in front of my family.
“Are we talking homicide here? I assume that we are.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“What happened?” My heart was thudding dangerously. I almost didn’t want to know.
“I don’t have a lot of details,” he told me, in a way that instantly gave me a hint—he was holding something back.
“Ramon, what’s going on here? Tell me. What do you know about Caroline?”
“Just take one thing at a time, Alex. If you leave now, you can probably be there in about two hours. I’ll ask for one of the responding officers to meet you.”
“I’m on my way.”
“And Alex?”
I’d almost hung up the phone, my mind in splinters. “What is it?”
“I don’t think you should go alone.”
Chapter 3
RUNNING HARD, AND using my siren most of the way, it took less than an hour and a half to get down to Richmond.
The Department of Forensic Science was housed in a new building on Marshall Street. Davies had arranged for Detective Corin Fellows from the State Police CI Bureau to meet us there—Bree and me.
“The car’s been towed to our lot up at division headquarters on Route One,” Fellows told us. “Otherwise, everything’s here. The remains are downstairs in the morgue. All the obvious evidentiary material is in the lab on this level.”
There was that terrible word again. Remains.
“What did you bag?” Bree asked him.
“Troopers found some women’s clothing and a small black purse wrapped in a mover’s blanket in the trunk. Here. I pulled this to show you.”
He handed me a Rhode Island driver’s license in a plastic sleeve. The only thing I recognized at first was Caroline’s name. The girl in the photo looked quite beautiful to me, like a dancer, with her hair pulled back from her face and a high forehead. And the big eyes—I remembered those, too.
Eyes as big as the sky. That’s what my older brother Blake had always said. I could see him now, rocking her on the old porch glider on Fifth Street and laughing every time she blinked up at him. He was in love with that baby girl. We all were. Sweet Caroline.
Now both of them were gone. My brother to drugs. And Caroline? What had happened to her?
I handed the driver’s license back to Detective Fellows and asked him to point us toward the investigating ME’s office. If I was going to get through this at all, I had to keep moving.
The medical examiner, Dr. Amy Carbondale, met us downstairs. When we shook hands, hers was still a little cool from the latex gloves she’d been wearing. She seemed awfully young for this kind of work, maybe early thirties, and a little unsure of what to do with me, what to say.
“Dr. Cross, I’ve followed your work. I’m very, very sorry for your loss,” she said in a near whisper that carried sympathy and respect.
“If you could just give me the facts of the case, I’d appreciate it,” I told her.