“I thought you knew,” Garnet said.

“My client only gives me the bare-bones details. But I find it’s to my advantage to fill in all the missing pieces.”

Garnet stared at the guy, shaking his head. The client would do anything to keep the secret.

“Garnet, tell me how much you got for the babies. And remember, we’re best friends and don’t hold anything back from each other.”

“Twenty-five grand for each of the first two and fifty grand for the last.”

“Why did you get more for the last one?”

Garnet’s entire body throbbed with pain and agony each time he tried to move a muscle. “It was a boy.”

“But you didn’t sell Macy? You said she was sick?”

“The mother had a bad delivery. I knew she was in trouble, and that’s why I called Crow. He wouldn’t ask questions. He barely had time to wash his hands before the first baby arrived. He laid the baby in its mother’s arms, but then the mother started screaming again. And there was so much blood. He saw the second baby, who came out feet first. She was blue and barely responsive. Much smaller than the first.”

“And the mother?”

“She bled out right there. There was nothing Crow could do to stop it. Crow took pity on that little baby. He didn’t have to. He was always too soft for his own good.”

“So you left with baby number one?”

“Yeah. Crow said he’d bury the mother and child.”

“And the rest is history.”

Garnet watched as the man pulled first a lighter and then a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. The man inhaled deeply a few times and then held the filter to Garnet’s lips. Garnet drew in a lungful of air but found it impossible to hold the smoke in when his body hurt so much.

“Confession is good for the soul, isn’t it, Garnet?”

“Yeah.” Garnet swallowed, ready to sell his soul to get out of this alive. “Look, there’s a bag by the door. It’s got the down payment cash from the sale of the baby.”

“I noticed that while you were unconscious.”

“Take it. Take the girl. Sell the baby and leave me.”

“Where is the girl?”

Lies sprang to mind, but Garnet chased them away. “There’s a house in town. Not five miles from here. I have a basement room.”

“How far along is she?”

“Less than a week from delivery.”

“I need an address.” He pulled out a pencil and paper. “Ready when you are, Mr. Garnet.”

Garnet rattled off the address.

“See? None of this was hard. And I really enjoyed chatting with you.” The man ground out the cigarette on the bottom of his boot and then pocketed the butt.

Without warning, the hammer landed on Garnet’s kneecap. As he opened his mouth to scream, the man shoved a bar cloth into it, muffling the sound. The man waited patiently as Garnet sucked in a breath through flaring nostrils. For several minutes the world shrank away, and it was just him, the pain, and this crazy motherfucker ready to beat him to death.

The man studied the hammer and its gore as if it were a piece of artwork. “I want you to understand that technically this is business, but honestly, I like hurting people. Especially my best friend.”

Olivia Martin, 1988

My name is Olivia Martin. I’ve read all of Josie’s words so many times that I’ve memorized them. I hear Josie’s voice inside my head, especially when I can’t sleep and the baby is kicking. I am so afraid. I want out of this box. I want to live. I don’t want you to read this after I’m dead. But I know the chances of living get slimmer every day.

Things I like. “Tell It to My Heart” by Taylor Dayne. “Wild, Wild West” by The Escape Club. Chocolate. Sunshine. The feel of grass. My mom’s burned spaghetti sauce.

Things I Hate. The streets. Cold weather. Loud cars. Vitamins. Beasts that smile.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Thursday, June 28, 7:35 a.m.

Faith was able to speak to the principal at Kat’s high school and get the girl reinstated. Kat wasn’t happy about it, but Faith wasn’t trying to win a popularity contest with the girl. Kat might have had more innate intelligence than her teachers, but if she didn’t graduate high school, there was no chance she’d go to college. If there ever was a kid who could thrive with a degree, it was her.

Faith’s next stop was again the hospital, though this visit was quick because she had to get back to the autopsy suite. The first set of skeletal remains would be delivered today.

When she arrived at the medical examiner’s office and passed by the break room, Nancy held up a fresh cup of coffee for her, which Faith gratefully accepted.

Knowing her possible connection to the case would come up sooner or later, Faith said, “There is a possibility this set of remains belongs to my birth mother.”

Nancy stood stock straight for a moment as she processed what Faith had said. “How can that be?”

She could feel the foundation of her life rumbling and shaking. “I’m not exactly sure how all the pieces fit together. And when I do know how, I’ll explain it all to you.”

Nancy studied her. “You going to be okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. Give me five minutes to change, and I’ll meet you in the exam room.”

Faith changed into scrubs and ten minutes later pushed through the swinging doors of the exam room. Nancy stood at the head of a sheet-covered gurney.

Nancy tossed one last quizzical glance at Faith, who didn’t blink, and gently pulled back the sheet.

The skeletal remains were laid out in anatomical order, with the skull at her right and followed by rib bones, vertebrae, pelvis, femurs, and feet bones.

The bones were brown and brittle and looked as if they had been buried for years. Younger bones had a greasy feel and were sometimes referred to as green.

She stood beside the skull and stared into the sightless eye sockets. As she reexamined the skull’s facial structure, she affirmed the individual had been Caucasian. Josie’s mug shot showed she’d had a narrow face and high cheekbones, characteristics consistent with this skull. “I could take a snapshot of the skull and superimpose it over the picture I have of her.”

“How many images do you have of the woman you have in mind?” Nancy asked.

“Two.”

“Three would be better. The more angles we have for comparison, the better.”

“I know. I’m looking for a quick affirmative to an identification that might take weeks.”

“Mind if I do the preliminary evaluation?” Nancy said. “You can check behind me to confirm.”

“Sure.”

Nancy cradled the skull in her hands. “The molar teeth are intact, which is a good thing. If we can extract DNA, the lab can test for mitochondrial DNA, which can be cross-checked against your DNA, Faith.”

“It’s a longer process, but accurate,” Faith said.

Nancy set the skull down gently and examined the lower vertebrae, searching for breaks, nicks, or fractures. She retrieved a magnifying glass and examined the ribs, again looking for signs of trauma. The thrust of a knife or blunt force could leave marks on the bone, but the cursory examination revealed no trauma.

“The victim’s pelvic bowl is wide, also suggesting female.”

The pubic bones separated during childbirth as the baby passed through the birth canal. It was during the birthing that ligaments could tear or bleed, and as the body healed, the bones remodeled, leaving small pits and marks on their surfaces.

“These bones are smooth,” Faith said.

“She may not have given birth,” Nancy said. “She may not be who you think she is.”

“Or she died right after the baby’s delivery, before her bones had the chance to heal. I can’t imagine giving birth in a place like that basement room at the ranch,” Faith said.

“Childbirth-related deaths are one in four thousand in this country, but out in the middle of nowhere with no medical equipment, the death rate would be so much higher.”

Faith thought about the magazines with the young girl’s handwriting crammed in the margins. Fury and frustration collided, but she now had to shift her focus to the victim’s long femur bone.

Sensing her uneasiness, Nancy reached for a tape measure and ran it along the length of the femur. “It measures about twenty inches. Extrapolating from that number, I would estimate this person was five foot five to five foot seven inches tall.”

Like her. Like Macy. “How old do you think this person was?”

Nancy returned to the skull and studied the line down the center. Called the sagittal suture, this line marked where the growth plates in the skull joined. Most people’s closed up by age twenty-six, but everyone’s was fused by age thirty-five. This line wasn’t closed.

“I’m guessing she was seventeen to twenty-one,” Nancy said.

“Agreed.”

“Her teeth for the most part are in good shape. One deep cavity on the back molar that would have bothered her.”

“What else do you notice about her?” Faith said.

“No signs of trauma. Cause of death is inclusive at this point.”

Sadness clenched her chest as she turned from the table and pulled off her latex gloves.

“I want to see the other two sets of remains the moment they arrive. Understood?”

“Will do, Dr. McIntyre.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Thursday, June 28, 7:45 a.m.

Hayden had been on the phone since before dawn with several judges until he found one willing to sign a warrant for Garnet’s bar by early morning. In the interim, he ordered a patrol car to be stationed outside Second Chances and asked to be alerted if anyone appeared.

While Hayden and Brogan waited on the warrant, they headed to the law offices of Slater & McIntyre. Last night, Faith had texted him, informing him of her meeting with Franklin and the missing girls’ connections to the law firm. The law offices opened at eight, and he planned to be on their doorstep when they did.