Page 10 of 1st Shock
As always.
"Tell me," I say. "Wait. Let's go to the conference room so we can lay it all out."
I'm a visual person. I need everything in front of me and if my sister has gotten a hit or two from the various alphabet soup law enforcement databases she uses, I want to see what she has, absorb it and form conclusions.
I follow her down the short hallway, her feet moving amazingly fast on those stilt heels until she bursts into the room, her excitement flying off her like fireworks on July 4th.
I can't help but feel the energy, but I've been in this game long enough to know I can't get ahead of myself. Too many disappointments have crushed my ability to open up to the chance of success. I remain cautiously optimistic.
Charlie smacks the folder down, flips it open and spreads four sheets of paper side by side. "These are all hits. Four unsolved murders. The first three are females, blonde, not raped."
A wispy flutter cruises along my arms and I quickly skim the information. By the time I get to page four, we're into the good stuff. Skeletal remains found near interstate 495, otherwise known as the Capital Beltway, a road that intersects with I-270, and loops around D.C. in an almost perfect circle.
Charlie taps the page I'm reading. "She's an unidentified female."
"Another cold case."
"Yes."
So many damned cold cases.
I move back to the first victim. Ainsley Sinclair, a sophomore in college studying engineering. Charlie has also printed a color photo of Ainsley and I study it for a few seconds. Her platinum blond hair against a tanned face gives her a sunny, California-girl appearance. I flick my gaze back to page one for her personal details. Nope. Born and raised in Maryland.
"They're all blondes," Charlie says. "Well, except for the unidentified victim. Hers had already decomposed so we don't know her coloring. But, she fits the pattern. Young, female and probable strangulation."
A niggling on the back of my neck alerts me that something, I'm not sure what, is about to happen. Maybe we'll discover a clue, or we'll find, no matter how excited Charlie is, that these cases have nothing to do with each other.
I go back to Ainsley, check the location where her body was recovered. River Road.
Hmmm.
My sister is quiet, but I can feel her gaze on me. She knows I'm thinking,knowsto let me gather my thoughts and not to interrupt my flow.
Finally, I look at her and she understands this is permission to charge ahead in her Charlie way.
She waggles her fingers. "What are you thinking?"
We store a computer tablet in the credenza and as Charlie talks, I grab it. A few taps at the screen shows me an image of the roadways around D.C. so I carry it to the giant whiteboard hanging on the wall at the far end of the room. I set the tablet on the lip of the board that holds markers, then scoop one of them up and draw a large circle. To the left of that, I place an intersecting line and label it River Road.
"Meg?"
I snap the marker against the board. "Roll with me here. Ainsley was discovered on River Road. Read the locations where the others were found."
Behind me, I hear the rustle of paper that indicates my sister is about to humor me. "Daphne Meadows was in the trees along the GW Parkway. Near the Beltway."
I check the image on the tablet and zoom in, finding where the Beltway intersects with the GW then draw another line before I turn back to Charlie. "Next."
Charlie sets the report down, grabs another page with fingers that move too quickly and can't quite grab it. Too much adrenaline. She slows down and slides it to her. "Arlington Boulevard West. Mark it."
I don't know all the exits along the Beltway, but I've driven it enough to know general areas. Somewhere on the middle-right of my circle is where Arlington Boulevard intersects.
Charlie studies my rendition and nods in approval.
Still standing next to the table, she rests her hands against the surface and reads the next profile. "Our unidentified victim. Come on, come on," she says. "Where are you?"
Her voice is clipped, her energy contained. Like me, she’s learned not to get too far ahead of herself in case we're wrong.
This time, we're not. I can feel it.
