The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(40)

The hiking boots came into view again, and Rowan cowered under her arms.

“This is from your brother, girl! Now you’ll know how much he hates you!”

Malcolm doesn’t hate me.

“No, please,” said Malcolm. “Let me do it! I can do it better!”

Fire exploded in her leg and shot up to her brain.

Stars danced in her eyes, and then her world went black.





21


It was nearly 8:00 p.m. as Evan worked at his desk, crafting his interview questions for Jerry Chiavo. Noelle had run out to grab some Thai food. The two of them hadn’t noticed they’d worked through dinner until Noelle’s stomach grumbled loudly. Evan had an appointment to visit the Oregon State Penitentiary the next day and was reading everything he could find about the murderer.

He speed-read through decades-old murder binders, noting Sam Durette had made the majority of the entries as the lead investigator on the women’s deaths.

I should talk to Sam again before the interview.

Reading about a case was one thing; talking to the investigator was another. Evan set the binders aside and picked up the kidnapping files on the Wolff children for the second time that day. They were thick. Evan shuffled through papers and stopped at Sam’s notes from an interview with Rowan Wolff. Age five. He’d skimmed it that morning, but now Evan forced himself to slow down and read every word. Rowan’s mother had been present as Sam questioned the child. This had taken place six months after Rowan had been found.

Sam had noted Rowan was alert, sharp, and not fearful of him. Which didn’t surprise Evan since Sam had visited her frequently after she’d been found. The detective had worked hard to gain the little girl’s trust.

Rage grew in Evan’s chest as he read Rowan’s description of her kidnapper’s games. He’d made the children hurt each other. Punished Malcolm in front of her and then blamed Rowan, claiming it was her fault he had to beat her brother. There was little food. Little to drink. Isolation in a hot shed that often got very cold at night. Rocks. Sticks. Fights.

Jerry broke her leg by slamming it with a heavy rock.

Evan looked away from the page.

My God, what he did to those kids.

He was surprised Rowan had turned out normal. Someone else would be locked away in a mental hospital. Or in prison because they’d learned to hurt others.

His phone rang and he immediately grabbed it, desperate for a distraction from the horrors he was reading about.

“Bolton.”

“This is Detective Jason Glass with the Shasta County sheriff’s office. You’re handling a Jane Doe found two days ago in Deschutes County, correct?”

Evan pushed Sam Durette’s notes away. “I am. You’re with Shasta County as in Northern California?”

“I am. I’ve been handling a case of a seventeen-year-old runaway who vanished five months ago. Jillian Francis. Her basic description matches your Jane Doe.”

“Which parts of the description?”

“Five foot five, one-twenty-five, blonde hair, green eyes.”

“That lines up.”

“Hair might be dyed a hot pink in places.”

“No, don’t have that. But you said it’d been five months. Any distinguishing marks?” Evan held his breath.

“Two tattoos. A yin-yang on her neck and a daisy—”

“On her ankle.”

The line went silent for a long moment. “Shit. This isn’t how I wanted to find her.”

“What’s the story?”

“Fight with the parents. Took off. A witness claims they saw her get in an eighteen-wheeler at a rest stop. Said the pink hair caught their notice and that she seemed quite young.”

“And somehow she ended up in Oregon. Do you have dental records?”

“I sent them to your email two seconds ago. Along with photos of Jillian and her tattoos.”

Evan made a few clicks with his mouse and a moment later was studying a school photo of a blonde girl. “How old is this school photo?”

“A year ago. She was to start her senior year of high school this month.”

Evan tried to see the girl’s face in his memory of the Jane Doe. Maybe. “Gotta tell ya, she’d been dead about a week when we found her. Visually I can’t make an ID.”

“Understood. But the tattoos are clear?”

Evan opened the photos of the tattoos and immediately recognized the daisy, even though it had been distorted on the autopsy table. “I saw the daisy. It’s a match. I didn’t personally see the yin-yang because of her position during the autopsy, but I know it’s in the photos from the report. I assume you want a dental comparison before notifying the family?”

“I want it, but this family wants to be told if the tattoos match up. That’s proof enough for them. Frankly, for me too, but we’ll move forward with the dental. Do you know what happened?”

Evan hesitated to tell the detective that Jillian might have been a victim of a serial killer. He had no proof. Just two other nearly identical dead women several weeks apart. “Not sure. She was found in a remote part of the Cascade Range by a hiker. Nude. Strangled. Half in a creek.”

“Dammit.”

“Detective.” Evan paused. “There might be more to it. It’s a theory I’m pursuing, but at the moment that’s all it is: a theory. I hesitate to even share it with you.”