Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Read online

  “I’ll cross my fingers for you.” Bree slid off the stool. “I’m off to work.”

  She took a second cappuccino in her to-go cup.

  Dana handed her a paper bag. “Scones for the crew at the scene.”

  “Thanks.” Bree’s phone buzzed.

  Matt’s name popped onto the screen.

  “What’s up?” she answered.

  “Are you on your way?” he asked.

  “Leaving now.”

  “Good.” Matt paused. “The doc found something you’re going to want to see.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bree drove out to the site. The promised rain had not materialized overnight, and humidity weighted the air. At nine in the morning, it was already past eighty degrees. The ME’s vehicle was parked behind the anthropologist’s SUV and Matt’s Suburban. On the other side of the road, a news team was setting up to give a report. Local media was fascinated with her family’s tragedy. The newly discovered graves would undoubtedly attract more reporters.

  A new deputy had replaced Juarez that morning. As Bree stepped out of her vehicle, the deputy met her in the street.

  “See that the press stays in the street,” she ordered as she signed the crime scene log.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  Bree headed around the side of the house, past the barn, and into the woods.

  The heat was oppressive, and a mosquito buzzed past her face. By the time she emerged in the clearing, she was sweating and swatting at a bite on her neck.

  Considering the early hour, the team had made an impressive amount of progress. A grid had been laid out with string. Grad students squatted in the ditch, sifting dirt. Matt, Dr. Jones, and the anthropologist conferred next to a tarp. A few dozen bones of various sizes were arranged on the tarp. Bree recognized a skull and some pelvic bones. A second skull sat in a cardboard box next to the tarp. A few students were setting up a second dig on the other side of the clearing.

  Was it another body?

  Dr. Jones waved, and Bree joined the ME, Matt, and the anthropologist, Dr. Sam Bernard.

  Bree had met Dr. Bernard the previous day. He was tall, fit, and deeply tanned. A broad-brimmed safari-style hat shielded his face. His glasses were wire-rimmed, with clip-on sunshades. He wore dusty cargoes and even dustier boots. The back of his T-shirt was already soaked through with sweat. How Dr. Jones still looked fresh in her scrubs and sneakers, Bree did not understand.

  “Morning, Dr. Bernard.” Bree stepped up beside Matt and greeted everyone. “Looks like you’ve all been busy.”

  “Please call me Sam.” The anthropologist rubbed his palms together. “We’ve gotten really lucky. But before I get into the details, a quick update on our progress. Yesterday, we took aerial photos with a drone, cleared surface debris, and marked off our grid. Serena expressed concern there could be additional graves, and we found a slight depression in the ground over there next to that tall pine tree.”

  Bree felt her eyebrows rise as he called the ME by her first name.

  Dr. Jones blinked. Was that a blush, or was the heat finally getting to her?

  Sam pointed across the clearing. “A depression can indicate a place where a body might be buried. Decomposing remains leave a void in the soil. The ground sinks or compacts into that space over time. These depressions that are formed are also called compaction sites.”

  Sam moved toward a wheeled machine the size of a small lawn mower with a screen mounted at waist height. “The ground is relatively flat in this clearing, so we decided ground-penetrating radar was the best tool to map this site.” He tapped on the screen. “GPR data showed something is buried in that location.” He motioned toward the second dig. “The depth and shape of the hole are consistent with this burial. However, the object looks too small to be adult remains, unless the victim is curled on its side—or it’s a child.” He indicated a blurry grayscale image on the screen.

  Bree’s stomach rolled. “Or a dog.”

  “Possibly.” Sam nodded. “We’re working on that excavation too, so we’ll have that answer later today or tomorrow.”

  Bree gestured over the clearing. “How many days do you think it’ll take?”

  “Two, maybe three to do it properly. As far as excavating this grave”—Sam turned his attention back to the bones on the tarp—“we’re just getting started, but we’ve been incredibly lucky to have found both skulls and pubic bones, along with some long and small bones. Let’s talk about the bones first. Then I’ll address the personal effects we’ve uncovered.” He took a breath. “So far, we believe we have the remains of two victims here. From the recovered pubic bones, we’ve determined one is male and one is female. This skull recovered from this grave belongs to the male.” He pointed to the skull in the cardboard box. “Based on age, size, and overall context of the find, the skull found in the loft likely belongs to the female skeleton. We’ll confirm with DNA, but I believe it’s reasonable to proceed on that assumption at this time.”

  Bree eyed the holes in the foreheads of both skulls. “They were both shot in the head.”

  “Yes.” Crouching, Sam donned a glove, picked up the skull on the tarp, and turned it over to reveal a larger hole at its base. “The entry hole is smaller than the exit here in the occipital bone. Also, the hole isn’t completely round. It’s more of a keyhole shape, meaning the bullet struck the skull at an angle more acute than ninety degrees. I can tell that the male was facing his shooter. The entrance wound”—he pointed to the forehead—“is beveled inward, while the exit wound is beveled outward. From the location of the entry and exit, we can see a downward trajectory of the bullet.”

  “Can you tell how far away the shooter stood?” Bree asked.

  Sam pointed to the entry wound. “Based on the fractures radiating from the entry wound, I’d say the shooter stood a few feet away. I’ll be able to give you more information once we get the bones in the lab, do measurements, and run tests.”

  Bree could picture it easily. “He was on his knees in front of their killer.”

  “Most likely, yes,” Sam agreed.

  “An execution,” Matt said.

  A short pause followed his statement.

  “The female was also shot in the head. But the same factors I outlined before—trajectory, fractures, beveling, et cetera—suggest she was lying on the ground when she was shot.”

  “Is there anything else?” Bree needed more to start trying to identify the remains.

  “Yes. Quite a bit, actually.” Sam pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his sweaty nose. “Based on the length of the long bones, I estimate the male was approximately five eight to six feet tall. The female was between five two and five six.”

  “Race?” Matt asked.

  Sam frowned at the skulls one at a time. “Both were probably Caucasian.”

  “Ages?” Bree asked.

  Sam said, “Human bones continue to grow until adulthood. The long bones grow at either end. We call these growth plates. They fully close when the skeleton is finished growing. We call this epiphyseal closure, or growth plate fusion. Just eyeballing the long bones, I know these victims were both adults.” He pointed to a curved, thin bone in the center of the line. “You can also estimate age by looking at the sternal ends of the ribs, but we’ve only found one rib from the male victim so far. We’re also still missing a good number of teeth and some fingers from both victims. The best I can do is between twenty-five and fifty for both of them. When I get them into the lab, I might be able to narrow that span based on a thorough analysis of all the bones we recover.”

  “I hear a but . . . ,” Bree said.

  Sam nodded. “But that might not be necessary. We have a few specific discoveries that might be very helpful.” He indicated several items in an open cardboard box. “Let’s start with a key piece of jewelry.” He pointed to a tarnished bangle bracelet with hearts and the name Jennifer engraved on it. “We’re assuming this bracelet belonged to the female. Most males don’t wear
jewelry this delicate. Plus, it’s too narrow in circumference to have fit around the average male wrist. There’s a date engraved on the inside of the bracelet: 6-20-1985.”

  Matt pulled out his phone and typed on the screen. “That was a Thursday.”

  “Maybe her birthday or wedding,” Bree suggested.

  Sam pointed out a smooth fissure on a piece of a jawbone lying next to the skull. “Next, the female’s mandible shows a healed fracture.” He squinted at the bone. “And potentially some extensive dental work to repair some sort of trauma. I’ll know more if we recover the remaining piece of jaw and the molars. If we can locate her dental records, we should be able to make an identification. We have a forensic odontologist—that’s a forensic dentist—available at the university.”

  “We need a name to locate dental X-rays,” Bree said. “Do you have any indication how long the remains were in the ground?”

  “Yes and no.” Sam pursed his lips. “The bones have been buried for at least a year—”

  “We found a wallet,” Dr. Jones interrupted.

  “Yes!” Sam said. “Did I forget to mention that? Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away with the bones.”

  The corner of Dr. Jones’s mouth twitched. “The wallet was in tatters. The license was faded, but the print was readable.”

  “Who is it?” Bree asked.

  Dr. Jones said, “Frank Evans.”

  The name was familiar, but Bree didn’t know why.

  Dr. Jones donned a glove and picked up a box full of grungy-looking odds and ends.

  Bree saw a strip of elastic, buttons, a few coins, and some pieces of fabric.

  Dr. Jones lifted a small plastic rectangle and displayed it in her palm. She pointed to the text. “The license says Frank was five ten, which falls in the range of Sam’s height estimate. Obviously, we can’t match his eye color.”

  “But we have a name,” Bree said.

  “And a date,” Dr. Jones said. “The license was issued in 1988.”

  “One of the coins is dated 1989,” Sam added.

  “So, they probably weren’t buried until 1989 or later.” Bree scanned the items, pleasantly surprised at the amount of information they’d already gleaned from the grave excavation. “Hopefully, we can locate a missing persons report, DNA, or dental records.”

  “There are a few other interesting elements.” Sam picked up two small bones and held them up. “These are finger bones. Distal phalanx and middle phalanx, or the first two bones of the finger when counting from the tip. If you look at the middle phalanx on the end where it connects to the distal phalanx, the edge is clean-cut.” He fished around the small bones on the tarp for another that looked similar. “This is a normal phalanx.”

  The normal bone looked like Bree expected, more rounded with smooth edges. “What are you saying? The fingertip was cut off?” Her stomach soured.

  “Yes, and we found two more like that from the male skeleton,” Sam said simply. “These bones didn’t separate from the skeleton naturally.”

  Dr. Jones leaned in to examine the bone. “No jagged saw marks. That was a very sharp edge.”

  Sam nodded. “Something like shears or bolt cutters would be my guess.”

  Next to Bree, Matt swore softly.

  “We haven’t found any finger bones from the female that were cut. Yet.” Sam put down the finger bones and picked up two halves of a long bone. “We have a femur and several ribs from the female victim that were broken perimortem.”

  “So, at or around the time of death,” Bree clarified.

  “Correct.” Sam indicated the broken ends. “Clearly, the break had no time to heal, so it didn’t occur antemortem or before death. Postmortem breaks tend to be more splintered because bones dry out and get brittle after death. This break is clean. Anyway, that’s all I can tell you for now.” Sam removed his hat and wiped his forehead before resettling it on his head.

  “Thank you for your help,” Bree said.

  The two doctors went back to their work. Bree and Matt turned away from the dig.

  “This is going to be a complicated case.” Bree led the way toward the trees. The graves unsettled her, and not just because they were in her childhood backyard. There was more to this case than murder—as if murder weren’t bad enough. At least one of these victims had been tortured.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Matt fell into step beside Bree. He glanced sideways at her face. She was composed as usual, but under her poker face, her skin had paled. Worry lines bracketed her mouth and eyes. She was more upset by the discovery of the remains than she would admit.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “My father lived here until he died in 1993.” Bree’s voice was matter of fact.

  “These bones could have been buried any time after 1989,” Matt said. “Unfortunately, I agree that your father is a valid suspect, but we can’t assume he did it. That property has been vacant for almost three decades.”

  “At least we have some information to start an investigation.” Bree strode through the woods. They emerged at the barn.

  “Do you want me to stay at the scene?” Matt asked.

  “No. I’ll leave the deputy on-site. We need to update Todd and make a game plan, and we need that damned warrant for Shawn Castillo’s residence.”

  Bree called her chief deputy from the vehicle. After Bree and Matt arrived at the station, the three of them set up in the conference room with laptops and file folders. They ordered lunch, and Matt started two binders that would serve as the murder books. Every interview, report, and piece of evidence relating to the case would be recorded in the binders.

  Bree began, “We have two initial suspects: Shawn Castillo and my father, Jake Taggert.”

  Todd said, “I obtained Shawn Castillo’s financials. There isn’t much to look at. He has a couple of bank accounts that don’t see much activity. Same with his credit card.”

  “He lives rent-free on his brother’s property,” said Bree.

  Matt summarized the anthropologist’s findings. “We have two adult victims, one male, one female. Both were between the ages of twenty-five and fifty when they died. They were buried sometime after 1988 but before last year. The female’s name could have been Jennifer, and June 20, 1985 was a significant date for her. The male’s name could be Frank Evans.”

  Matt opened his phone. He’d taken a picture of the driver’s license. He read the address and date of birth. Then Bree described the snipped fingers and the downward trajectories of the bullets. She showed Todd a photo of the bracelet she’d snapped at the scene.

  “Who cuts off people’s fingers?” Matt asked. “And why?”

  “Maybe to keep the bodies from being identified through fingerprints,” Todd suggested.

  Matt shook his head. “The fingertips were buried in the grave with him.”

  Todd asked, “What about the mob as punishment or an interrogation technique?” He paused, his eyes widening with excitement. “Serial killers.”

  Bree opened her laptop. “Let’s focus on identifying the remains for now.”

  Todd cleared his throat. “Normally, we also investigate the property owner . . .” His voice trailed off, as if he didn’t know how to complete his thought—but this time it’s the sheriff’s brother.

  Matt gave Bree credit. She allowed no awkward silence.

  Bree nodded. “You’re right, Todd. Thank you for speaking up. We need to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s. Please get a background check on Adam for the file.”

  “The property tax records show Adam purchased the land a few years ago at auction.” Todd slid a paper out of a manila file. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did he buy it, considering what happened there?”

  “He wanted to preserve the family property.” Bree’s tone said she didn’t like the way Todd was zeroing in on her brother. “Adam has only owned the property a few years. Before that, it was taken by the county for back taxes.”

  Todd opened his
mouth as if he wanted to ask another question, but then he changed his mind and closed it.

  She typed on her computer. “I’ll put out a press release. We will not give any names to the public until the ME officially identifies the victims. We don’t want Frank Evans’s family to be notified via the media. You two can tackle missing persons reports. Focus on missing women named Jennifer and a man named Frank Evans. Start local and work outward.”

  Matt and Todd would be spending most of the afternoon researching records and making phone calls.

  Bree said, “I’ll show a photo of the bracelet in the press release. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will recognize it. It’ll go out on our social media page as well.”

  Bree typed up the press release while Matt started a missing persons query through NamUs. The National Missing and Unidentified Persons System was a nationwide information clearinghouse used to expedite resolution of missing persons cases and identify unclaimed remains. The database was searchable by various filters.

  He began with Frank Evans and got a hit immediately. The date of birth was a match to the driver’s license found in the grave. “Frank Evans disappeared from Grey’s Hollow in June 1990, but his online file is incomplete. There isn’t even a photo. The contact is listed as Deputy Simmons from the Randolph County Sheriff’s Department. Simmons died, like, ten years ago.”

  “The case is thirty years old. The older cases always have less info.” Bree rubbed her temple. “But there should be a physical case file.”

  “I’ll have a deputy dig through the archives in the basement,” Todd volunteered. “The file should be there.”

  Matt entered the known data on the female victim. “There are no missing women named Jennifer reported in Randolph County. If I expand that search to all of New York, there are four missing women named Jennifer, all adults, all under age fifty. All four of those women fit our very basic physical description.”

  “Any of them look promising?” Bree asked.

  Matt lifted a shoulder. “Hard to say. I’m going to expand my search to include surrounding states.”