“Yes, but I wanted to apologize to her.” Kat cupped her hands to her face. “Greg, I’m sorry I said all those things. That day I saw Sellwin touching Jenn, I don’t know what I saw, okay?”
“But that’s just it,” Greg said. “With the things you saw and the things Sellwin said to me, I just—I just got a real bad vibe about him and—” Greg shook his head. “I mean, who could’ve taken Jenn? And if she’s alive, where is she? I’m just so lost, Kat.”
“Greg, listen to me. Since Jenn’s been missing, you’ve been through hell. We all have. Then this news that she may not be dead comes and you’re in shock. We all are. Nothing makes sense.”
“They’re saying that Jenn has a relative, and we know it can’t be true.”
“I thought about that,” Kat said, “and I have an idea. There might be a way we can check that out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you move any of Jenn’s stuff? Make any donations?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to do anything like that. It’s all so raw.”
“Come upstairs. I’ll show you what I mean.”
As they went up the stairs, Greg thought of how Jake had said he’d wished upon the angel chime then Greg tried to decipher what the chime meant to Jenn. But it was in vain. Upstairs, he followed Kat down the hall to a storage closet, one he seldom used. She opened it to shelves of extra sheets, towels for guests, cleaning supplies, and an assortment of storage totes and boxes. The U-shaped storage area was large enough for a person to walk into and close the door behind them.
Kat reached to the corner of a top shelf and pulled down an aged cardboard box that Greg was not familiar with. It was about the size of a milk crate. It had wispy traces of fingerprint powder.
“I think police gave this a cursory look,” Kat said. “It looks like they didn’t pay much attention to it when they searched the house in the early days. Guess it wasn’t important at the time.”
She set the box on the floor in the hall where she began sifting through the contents: an album with a few old photos, bundles of cards, letters secured with ribbons.
“The pictures are mostly of Jenn’s parents at their house.” Kat flipped through it, then she untied the bundles, shuffling through the collection. “These are birthday cards and sympathy cards, saved from the funeral after the fire. I think her grandmother kept all of this and Jenn saved it.”
Greg looked through everything with surprise.
“You never saw this stuff?” Kat said.
“No. In Jenn’s office downstairs, I found some clippings and things she’d kept on the fire, but I never saw this all tucked away in here. I never go in here, never look in here.”
Greg stared at Kat, rummaging through the box.
“How did you know about this?”
She stopped, a little smile coming to her face.
“You won’t believe me.”
“Tell me.”
“A couple of years ago, I was here in the house, watching Jake while you and Jenn were out. He loved playing hide-and-seek. I hid in here and when he found me and opened the door, I raised my hands up high and jumped to scare him. I hit the shelf and knocked some boxes down. They spilled out. I tidied things up and put them back. That’s how I knew what was here.”
Greg held his sister in his gaze for a long moment as if deciding whether to believe her. Feeling his stare, Kat turned to him.
“It’s the truth, Greg. Jesus.”
Sixty-Five
Cleveland, Ohio
Claire Kozak steadied her fingers over her keyboard and began typing messages while waiting for the emergency meeting to begin at the Justice Center.
That Jennifer Griffin was not the woman killed in the freeway incident had shocked investigators on the case; others were pissed off. There were mutterings about a “massive, embarrassing screwup,” as people took their seats around the table in the Cuyahoga County Sheriff’s Department.
As problematic as the misidentification was for law enforcement, Kozak considered the anguish for Jennifer’s family, especially her son, Jake.
The boy was only eight and had faced what he thought was his mother’s death and funeral.
Her stomach fluttering, Kozak pressed Send. She started another message on her tablet, to her lieutenant in Clarence, adding to the strategy she’d outlined for him yesterday following the turn in the case. On an urgent front, it meant Kozak and Carillo had stayed another night in Cleveland to attend that morning’s meeting.
Kozak typed quickly, read what she wrote, then sent it as Sergeant Frank Renner started. His jawline pulsing, he undid his collar button and loosened his tie.
“No need for a roll call. Let’s get to it,” Renner, the senior officer with Cuyahoga County, began. “Finger-pointing and venting won’t get us anywhere. We pick things up from here. Before I hand off to Detective Marge Bayne, let me say that much of the work we’ve done remains unchanged. Marge.”
Bayne, her face tight, unsmiling, went through work done on the investigation, noting what would stand, and what was needed.
“The focus is obvious,” she said. “To identify the victim killed on the freeway and investigate for links to the missing New York woman.”
She turned to the two Cleveland FBI agents at the table.
“We reiterate that Quantico’s analyzed the DNA extensively,” Special Agent Alice Jordan said, “and confirms the DNA from the fatality does not belong to the missing woman, but the two profiles are genetically related. In our effort to identify the freeway DNA, the FBI is processing it through all federal databases, and will extend the search to DNA databases in Canada and Europe. Warrants are being prepared to search commercial genealogical DNA databases, as well. This will take time, but we’re moving on it.”
Bayne nodded to the agent, then turned to Kozak and Carillo.
“And,” Bayne said, “given that the grave in Buffalo could now be considered a crime scene with buried evidence, we need you to—”
“Already on it,” Kozak said. “We’re securing the cemetery and posting a patrol. We’ll also initiate the exhumation process. It will take time.”
“Additionally, Detective Bayne,” Carillo said, “our case analysts are working with county and state officials in New York to review hospital, divorce, birth, death, and any records concerning Sofia Ann Korvin.”
“Who is that?” a Cleveland detective asked.
“Jennifer Griffin’s biological mother,” Kozak said. “Sofia and her husband, Leo Korvin, Jennifer’s biological father, died in a house fire almost thirty years ago in Buffalo. We provided a report on the fire in the case files we shared with you. Jennifer was their only child, the sole survivor. She was raised by Leo Korvin’s mother, who was Jennifer’s grandmother.”