Page 28 of Her Dying Secret

“I’m here to help with your Jane Doe.” Turner drummed his fingers against his thigh. “I read all the reports. I’m up to speed.”

“Fine,” said Noah. “But if you want to help, your time would be better spent on other things while we talk to Dr. Feist about the autopsy. Go upstairs and interview Mira Summers. Find out what she was doing meeting Seth Lee at the Tranquil Trails produce stand last year. We need to know the connection between them and whatever she knows about him, like where we can find him and whether he’s got a kid with him. Also see if she remembers anything about the attack now that she’s had some rest. Then go back to the stationhouse and check on the warrants that are outstanding. Mira Summers’s phone records and the GPS report for her vehicle as well as the results of the geofence warrant. Our priority is finding the child who made the drawing as soon as possible.”

Turner didn’t respond right away, giving Noah an assessing look. For a long moment, the only sound in the hallway was the tap-tap-tap of Turner’s fingers against his suit pants. Again, Josie wondered if he would push back. He never liked being told what to do, and he enjoyed provoking people just for the sake of it. As though he liked to see just how angry he could make all of them.

Noah said, “I’ll expect a briefing when we get back to the stationhouse.”

With that, he pushed open the door to the morgue and ushered Josie through, leaving Turner alone in the hallway.

Josie took a deep breath in and out. Noah touched her lower back briefly, easing some of her agitation. Just being in the same vicinity as Turner made her irritable, which made her feel idiotic. This wasn’t middle school, and he wasn’t some asshole bully on the playground. She didn’t even let criminals get under her skin this much. Why did he raise every hackle she had? Thinking about what the Chief had said the night before, she wondered if it was because of Mett. Was Turner really that irritating, or was it simply that he wasn’t Mett? Or a bit of both?

“Focus on Jane Doe,” Noah said softly.

Nodding, Josie walked over to the stainless-steel autopsy table that held a shrouded body. A moment later, Anya walked in from her office, which adjoined the exam room. She wore her customary dark blue scrubs with her silver-blonde hair tucked beneath a matching skull cap. Her laptop was tucked under her arm. She flashed them a smile as she set it onto the metal countertop lining the back of the room.

“Sorry to hear about the home study.” She opened the computer and punched in an access code.

“It’s not a big deal,” Noah said.

“It will just get rescheduled,” Josie added.

Anya looked over her shoulder, gazing at them with skepticism. It hadn’t been a secret to any of their friends how nervous they’d been about this part of the application process.

“We’re fine,” Josie assured her.

Anya turned back to the laptop, where a set of X-rays filled the screen. “Distracting yourself with work. I can relate. Before I give you my findings, good news. Hummel just called. He took Jane Doe’s prints last night. He finally had a chance to run them through AFIS this morning and got a hit.”

A buzz of excitement spread through Josie’s limbs. “Who is she?”

With a few clicks, Anya brought up a page on NamUS, the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, a public database utilized by law enforcement, medical examiners and families of missing people to resolve missing persons cases. Often that involved matching a missing person to unidentified deceased persons or remains. Someone had obviously uploaded all of Jane Doe’s information into NamUS.

“April Carlson,” Anya announced, pointing to a photo of a woman with long, shiny brown hair and a wide smile. It wasn’t her driver’s license photo. This looked as though it was taken by a professional photographer. April wore a long, flowing blue skirt and a short-sleeved white blouse. She sat on the steps of a gazebo near a lake with the sun setting in the background. Her legs were drawn up and she leaned forward. One of her arms hugged her waist and the other was bent, elbow on her knee. Her hand curled loosely into a fist that supported her chin. A gold scarab bracelet circled her thin wrist, the stones shimmering in the soft light. Josie hadn’t seen one of those in ages. It was probably vintage. Beautiful. But nothing compared to April’s radiant brown eyes. The very sight of this effervescent woman made Josie’s heart sink. April Carlson didn’t deserve what had happened to her—wasting away to nothing and then being impaled. No one deserved that.

Noah read the details out loud. “Forty years old. Single, no children. Family contact is listed as her mother, Teresa Carlson. She was an elementary school teacher.”

Which meant even though she had no children of her own, she had had access to them.

“Went missing from her home in Newsham just over a year ago. That’s, what? A half hour from here? Forty-five minutes, maybe. Heather Loughlin is the lead.”

Detective Heather Loughlin was an investigator for the Pennsylvania state police. In areas of the Commonwealth where local police departments were not equipped to handle major crimes like homicides or missing persons, the state police took over. Josie had worked with Heather on multiple cases. She was no-nonsense, efficient, and never made them wait on the results of an inquiry.

Anya said, “I already called her. With there being a child involved, I figured you’d want to speed things up. She sent over Carlson’s dental records right away. They’re a match. She’s a couple of hours away on another case but said she can be in Newsham in an hour to brief you, if you can meet her there.”

“We can,” Josie said, unable to tear her eyes from April Carlson’s vibrant smile. “I’ll text her and get an exact meeting spot before we leave here.”

“Thank you,” said Noah. “In the meantime, why don’t you take us through the results of the autopsy.”

TWENTY-ONE

Anya walked over to the table, flipped on the hanging light above the body, and then gently turned the sheet down, folding it across April Carlson’s shoulders.

“Wow,” Noah said.

On the exam table, under fluorescent lights, April looked twice as disturbing as when Josie had seen her. Sallow, gaunt cheeks. Teeth that seemed to be trying to climb out of her mouth. Bruised circles under her eyes. Hacked hair, showing pieces of her scalp. Her collarbones looked ready to poke right through her delicate skin.

Anya winced. “Yeah. Sometimes gory is easier to take, especially if you know the person went quickly. This woman—she was dying long before she was stabbed.”

“She was tortured?” asked Josie.

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