“No,” I told her. “I’d rather have you here in case he has questions I can’t answer.”
I glanced at the time before locating Jared’s number. I had spent far longer in Harriet’s basement lab space than I had expected, and unless she’d found refuge in a coffee shop, Twink Winkleman could well be frozen to her unheated car seat by now. Since it was already close to noon here in Anchorage, that would make it a little later in the afternoon in the Seattle area. I found myself hoping that priests had something urgent to do at this time of day so Jared wouldn’t answer the phone, but of course he did.
“Hey, Mr. Beaumont,” he said at once. “Have you found him?”
His voice sounded chipper and happy. Now was no time to remind him to call me Beau.
“I’m afraid I have some potentially bad news for you,” I replied. “I’m sitting here in Anchorage in a forensic-anthropology lab with the director, Professor Harriet Raines. She has some unidentified human remains dating from 2008 that may or may not be a match for Christopher.”
What followed was a moment of stark silence. “You’re saying Chris is dead?” Jared asked finally.
“He may be dead,” I cautioned. “We’re going to need a sample of your DNA in order to know for sure.”
Additional silence followed. I’ve done more than my share of next-of-kin notifications through the years. Initial reactions from loved ones can be all over the place, ranging from absolutely nothing to screaming hysteria. I prefer the latter, because in those moments my heart is usually screaming, too.
“I sent my DNA sample to Ancestry.com yesterday,” Jared said when he finally spoke. “I don’t have any idea how long it takes to get a profile back.”
I had to give the guy credit. He’d gathered himself far more quickly than I could have, switching within a matter of seconds from hearing the shocking news to looking at all the practicalities.
“We’d like to move a little faster than that,” I told him. “I’ve been in touch with one of my friends at the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab, a DNA tech named Gretchen Walther. Professor Raines here has forwarded the applicable case number to her. If you could drop by her office this evening sometime, she can take a swab and create a profile. That would be the fastest way to get this settled.”
“How do I find her?” Jared asked.
“I’ll text you her number and address as soon as we finish this call. She’s expecting to hear from you. That way she can tell you where to be and what time.”
“Should I call Grandma Hinkle and tell her?” Jared asked.
“No, not yet,” I told him, “not until we know for sure. I’m sorry about this, Jared, so very sorry.”
“But you said the remains are from 2008? If Chris has been missing all this time, how come we never knew a thing about it?”
“Because he fell through the cracks,” I replied. “According to Chris’s girlfriend at the time, he’d been saving up money for a trip back to Ohio, primarily because he wanted to talk to you. According to her, he was finally starting to realize that the versions of events told by your two sets of grandparents couldn’t both be correct and that the truth lay somewhere in the middle. I also think he was coming to understand that he’d been wrong in believing that had you boys been in the house at the time of the incident, you might have been able to prevent your mother’s murder. Danitza said Chris specifically wanted to apologize to you about blaming you for what happened.”
I heard a slight sputter on the phone that sounded suspiciously like a partially suppressed sob. That was followed by another long pause. “Chris had a girlfriend?” Jared asked in a hoarse voice that was little more than a whisper.
“He did,” I answered. “Her name is Danitza Adams Miller. She goes by Nitz. Earlier, on the day Chris disappeared, Nitz and her parents had both learned that she was pregnant.” For the next few minutes I filled Jared in on everything I had learned about the case since my arrival in Anchorage.
“Did Danitza ever have the baby?” Jared asked when I finished.
“It turns out that baby is now a twelve-year-old boy,” I answered. “His name is Christopher James. Nitz calls him Jimmy, and he looks a lot like you.”
There was another choked sob. “Sorry, Beau,” Jared said quickly. “I need to go. Send me the number for the lady at the crime lab.”
“Will do,” I said into the phone, but Jared had already hung up by then, and I couldn’t help but be grateful for that. I hate hearing grown men cry.