“The identification of Jacob Ness’s username and password have been pivotal.” A slight nod toward Flora and Keith. “The good news about online forums is that they’re searchable; once we have a username, we can trace much of the subject’s online activities. Unfortunately, the web is a steadily evolving environment. I haven’t had luck identifying any particular group from seven years ago.”
“What about posing as Ness online, waiting for one of his former associates to contact you?” Keith asked immediately. Kimberly understood the question; nine months ago Keith had used that strategy to assist with another homicide investigation. They had been fortunate that Ness had used a pseudonym for his online activities, meaning many of his dark web contacts didn’t realize he was a serial killer who’d been killed in an FBI raid years ago.
“I’m in ongoing virtual conversations with two different subjects at this time,” Su replied coolly. “So far, their interest is purely porn, which I’m guessing was their previous relationship with Ness. Given the seven-year gap, I’m sure other participants are wary of Ness’s sudden reappearance, so success might not be overnight, but I have faith in the strategy.”
“Can I study the laptop again?” Keith asked.
“What do you hope to find?” the computer expert asked.
“What could a second pair of eyes hurt?” Keith countered.
Agent Chen studied her civilian counterpart for a moment or two. “I will see what I can do,” she said abruptly.
Battle of the nerds, Kimberly thought. “Other questions?”
“What next?” the sheriff, Hank Smithers, asked.
“We go to Niche,” Kimberly replied. “Expand the search grid around the first set of remains.”
“You think there might be others,” the sheriff said.
“Jacob is a suspect in the disappearances of five other women. Lilah Abenito isn’t the only victim, just the one who was found first.”
“Shh . . . rimp,” the sheriff muttered, editing his curse nicely.
“There may indeed be more graves,” Kimberly continued. “Also, the forensic anthropologist is working on narrowing the time of death to give us a tighter investigative window. Meaning recovering additional pieces of the skeleton would help.”
Sheriff Smithers nodded. “I can get us a dog team, as well as local searchers. There are people in the area who know those woods like the backs of their hands.”
“Perfect. Then, computer aside, we’re looking at old-fashioned groundwork. Checking property records. Circulating Ness’s photo. Fifteen years is a long time—”
“Not in my county,” the sheriff interrupted. “What it lacks in size, it makes up in memories.” He glanced at D.D. “I’d work on that accent if I were you. And for the love of God, don’t mention you’re from the North.”
Kimberly honestly couldn’t tell if the man was joking or not. But she figured D.D. didn’t care one way or the other.
“If Jacob was in the mountains, how’d he get there?” Kimberly continued now. “Does he own a vehicle we’ve never discovered to go with this property we never found? Does he have an associate, maybe a personal connection in the area who helped him out? We need to be flashing Jacob’s photo to motel owners, bartenders, retail clerks. If he was staying in a local cabin, he’d have to come to town for food, booze, drugs. Before, we were searching northern Georgia. Now, we have a town. Let’s hope that leads to the break we’ve been waiting for. Any questions?”
No one raised a hand. With a final nod, Kimberly closed up her binder, signaling the meeting was over. She’d just risen to standing when Flora spoke up.
“How sure is this Dr. Jackson that the remains belong to Lilah Abenito? You said the skeleton isn’t even complete . . .”
“In addition to facial recognition, Dr. Jackson was able to match a childhood injury from Lilah’s medical file to a healed break on the skeleton.”
“Okay,” Flora said.
Kimberly eyed her suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m going to meet Lilah Abenito,” Flora announced. “Best place to start, right? With the victim?”
Then, without awaiting permission or approval, Flora got up and left.
CHAPTER 6
FLORA
D.D. DRIVES. THE RENTAL CAR is in her name and I wasn’t going anywhere without her, that much was clear. Keith sits in the back. I could tell he was torn about joining us, his concern for me warring with his desire to track down that agent and get his hands on Jacob’s laptop. But in the end, he chose me. Should I be flattered?
No one speaks. We stare out our windows, study the bright sky and the miles of concrete that seem to be Atlanta.
I was here once before. In a local hospital after the raid on Jacob’s motel room. Then I was debriefed at the FBI field office, which wasn’t even this field office but a tall, black glass monstrosity that looked like Corporate-R-Us. At least the new brick campus appears governmental. But none of it feels familiar. None of it triggers . . . anything.
I’m still a mountain girl. Which makes the next part of our day—heading north to search hiking trails for human remains—all the more difficult to take. The woods should be a place of respite.
Now all I can think about is Jacob marching some poor girl up a trail to her own death.
* * *
—
THE FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGIST IS DR. Regina Jackson. She is a brisk black woman, not surprised to see us, so apparently SSA Quincy phoned ahead. She wears dark blue Crocs, turquoise scrubs, and a white lab coat. She shakes our hands and studies us as hard as we study her. I don’t know much about forensic anthropology, just what I’ve seen on TV. I’m surprised by her surgical scrubs and wonder if we’ve interrupted a dissection.
Then, I can’t help but stare at her thick black hair, pulled back in a tight bun, for any bits of flesh, fragments of skin. Keith is equally wide-eyed, but then, he treats all meetings with real-world crime experts with the wonder other people reserve for star athletes. Prior to meeting me, most of his experience with investigations came from searching the internet for articles on cold cases. Now he’s a regular at BPD headquarters, sitting in on FBI meetings and shaking hands with a forensic anthropologist. Should I be concerned he’s attracted to me for the company I keep?
We clear security, then Dr. Jackson leads us down the kind of long sterile hall that I associate with hospitals, morgues, and government buildings. The floors are polished concrete, the walls painted cinder block, the hanging lights fluorescent. By end of day, everyone must have massive headaches.