Page 66 of Girl Lost
The faces of the victims stared up at him, young lives snuffed out too soon. How many more were out there? How many more families were living in agonizing uncertainty? “Have you identified the other victims?”
“Three out of the five so far.” Santos pulled out another file. “Besides Carlie, Sadie Rollins from Panama City Beach and Jennifer Woods from New Port Richey. So far, no two victims are from the same city. All reported missing but assumed runaways.”
Luna glanced at Corbin. “These girls go missing in one town and turn up right here in Millie Beach.”
This was organized, methodical. How far did it stretch? “Have you reached out to bordering states to see if the other two victims are in their missing persons records?” If the crimes crossed state lines, they could ask the FBI for additional resources.
Santos nodded. “I’ve got calls in and sent an email with their photos. I also detailed my findings and asked other medical examiners to reach out if they have anyone matching our victimology. So far, nothing’s turned up.”
“If I may,” Luna said. “We know about Carlie, but the girls who have been identified, can you compare how long they were missing before they died?”
Smart question. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Corbin watched Santos sift through the files, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I’m afraid I can’t give you a definitive answer at this stage. We’ve only just received the bodies, and I haven’t had the opportunity to perform the autopsies on Miss Rollins or Miss Woods yet.” Santos pulled a small calendar out of her desk drawer and flipped through the pages. “What I can tell you is based on when the police reportswere filed, it looks like Rollins and Woods were missing between six and eight weeks before they were found, which should help in determining approximate time of death.”
Six to eight weeks. Same as Carlie. What had happened during that time? What had these girls endured before their lives were cruelly ended? And how many more were out there right now, waiting to be found?
Corbin’s gaze drifted back to the photos on the screen. Young faces, full of promise, now forever silenced. Was this the work of a calculating criminal enterprise or something even darker? A serial killer with a grotesque signature?
The possibilities churned in his gut. Organ harvesting meant multiple players, a network. A serial killer ... that was a different kind of monster altogether.
And what about Trinity? Was she mixed up in all this somehow? “We have something we’d like to run by you.”
Santos laced her fingers and waited.
“You’re familiar with the Warrior program at the Kingdom MMA Gym?”
“Stryker’s program, yes.” A bit of red rose up her neck to her cheeks. “He and I had coffee together a few times.”
Stryker dating? That would be an investigation for another day. “A student in the program has gone missing. She has a history as a runaway, but we learned that she’s been the recipient of a heart transplant. Is it possible ... I mean, can you check to see if she would’ve been a match to any of these victims?”
Santos blinked a few times, and he could tell she was trying to remain professional. “Yes, that’s something I could do, provided you have her medical records. We can start with something basic like blood type.” The phone on her desk rang, and Santos said, “Excuse me.”
She picked up the phone, spoke a few words, then hung up. “Commissioner Tinch is here. He’s waiting outside the lab. If you’ll go ahead and meet him, I’ll get Carlie ready.”
They left her office, and Corbin led Luna to the hallway, where the commissioner paced outside the autopsy room. The man seemed to have aged a decade in the past few hours. His usual commanding presence was gone, replaced by slumped shoulders and red-rimmed eyes. A network of broken blood vessels spiderwebbed across his left cheek.
His heart ached for the man. No one should have to ID their child in a morgue. Though it was better than seeing his daughter’s body in the shallow grave. That was an image that would never be erased from Corbin’s mind.
“Are you ready, sir?”
The commissioner gave a faint nod.
Corbin pushed open the door. The smell of antiseptic cut right through his exhaustion and jolted him awake. The harsh fluorescent lights of the medical examiner’s office cast an eerie glow over the sterile room where steel examination tables and rows of medical instruments lined the walls. Luna kept herself close but out of the way. Giving them space.
Dr. Santos greeted them with a somber nod. Her face wore the mask of professional detachment, but Corbin caught the flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she looked at the commissioner. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Commissioner Tinch.”
On the gleaming metal table lay a sheet-covered form. Corbin’s throat tightened. He’d seen countless bodies in his career, but this ... this was different. This was personal. This was failure.
Dr. Santos moved to the head of the table. “Are you ready?”
The commissioner inhaled and released a breath. “Yes.”
Dr. Santos folded back the sheet, revealing Carlie Tinch’s face. A chill snaked down Corbin’s spine, and it had nothing to do with the frigid temperature in the room. He heard the commissioner’s sharp intake of breath.
Carlie looked peaceful, almost as if she were sleeping. Her blond hair fanned out on the table, framing a face that still held traces of childhood softness. She was just a kid.
“Oh, my sweet girl.” The commissioner reached out a trembling hand, stopping just short of touching Carlie’s cheek.
