But she still looked, convinced she’d instinctively recognize it.
Thor was off leash, constantly running ahead, circling back, and stopping to investigate fascinating smells. Every few minutes he’d halt and look for Rowan, checking to see that she was keeping up. She grinned, amused at her dog’s protectiveness. She spotted a stick, picked it up, and called him. He instantly changed direction, bounding toward her over rocks and downed trees, his gaze locked on the stick.
She threw it, and the stick bounced off a tree and went careening in a different direction. Thor altered course on a dime and rocketed after it. The game continued for several minutes as they continued their trek.
When her GPS showed she’d reached the location, she stopped the game, to Thor’s great disappointment. The air always felt different in that area. More somber and heavy. In her gut she was convinced that Malcolm’s last hours had been spent nearby.
Jerry Chiavo had confessed to Malcolm’s kidnapping and death, calling her brother’s death an accident, but had claimed he couldn’t find the spot in the woods where he’d buried the boy’s body in a panic. Several times Jerry had returned to the woods with detectives near where Rowan had been found, trying to locate Malcolm’s grave, but he’d only led them in circles.
Rowan knew it was unlikely that she’d ever find anything of Malcolm’s in the forest. But she had to try. The act of looking appeased her soul and lessened her survivor’s guilt.
If Malcolm hadn’t left me to find help, Ken would have found both of us.
Malcolm had tried to help her and died for his efforts.
The least she could do was search for him.
Ken had been uncomfortable with her constant searches as she grew older. Several times he’d pleaded with her to let it go, convinced it was an unhealthy mental process. Rowan disagreed. It brought her peace. The search was cathartic. Her expectations were low; she understood the odds. But going through the movements was a balm for her heart. The pain would slowly build throughout the year, and on Malcolm’s birthday, the search would take it away.
She wouldn’t give up.
Rowan and Thor spent several hours trekking through the area, working a grid pattern. Five years ago she’d started using colored ribbon, marking the areas she’d searched. Every year she used a different color. This year was blue. That morning she passed weathered yellow, lime-green, orange, and red ribbons tied to various trees.
What if Jerry Chiavo lied about not remembering the location of Malcolm’s grave?
It was very possible. Exhuming Malcolm’s remains might reveal indications of murder, not an accident. Jerry didn’t need another murder sentence. He’d already received three.
Jerry had killed their babysitter, Carissa, and two other young women.
Carissa’s vehicle and his own greed had led to his arrest.
Jerry hadn’t been able to make himself abandon Carissa’s Nissan. It’d belonged to her parents, but she had used it while babysitting Malcolm and Rowan. The car had been only two years old, and Jerry had believed he could eventually sell it. He’d hidden the vehicle in a shed on his property, hoping to wait out the vehicle’s BOLO. Instead, five years later, a neighbor he was feuding with had reported the vehicle he’d found while covertly searching Jerry’s property for his missing chain saw. The neighbor had thought it suspicious that Jerry never used the new-looking car under the tarp and checked the VIN, assuming it was stolen.
The county sheriff had taken Jerry into custody the next day.
Inside the vehicle had been the backpack Rowan’s mother had filled with activity books, crayons, and paints. Jerry had never disposed of it.
Rowan finished searching the grid and moved to stage two of her yearly expedition.
Stage two was returning to the area where Carissa’s body had been found three days after the kidnapping. Hikers had discovered her on the banks of a small river. Nude and strangled.
The location at the stream was another mile from Rowan’s grid.
Rowan visited the site to remember Carissa. When the carjacking happened, Carissa had begged several times for Jerry to let Rowan and Malcolm out. Not once had she asked for mercy for herself. Rowan’s memories of their babysitter were good ones. She’d loved to entertain the kids. She hadn’t been the type who spent the entire time on the phone while making the kids watch TV. Board games and outdoor projects had been Carissa’s loves. Rowan’s too.
The thought of the young woman’s body carelessly abandoned hurt Rowan deep inside. But Rowan had found that sitting for a few minutes beside the river and remembering Carissa was always a soothing end to her yearly quest.