“Somebody had to know about this little stretch of beach,” Olivia said. “The shoreline between here and the dock is covered in thorn bushes, just like you said, Barlow. This is the closest place to land a boat, other than the dock.”
“Tracey wasn’t local,” Kane said, “but the guy she was with might have been.”
“Or at least has stayed at one of these cabins at some point.” Olivia strained to see across the lake. “For now, let’s assume Tracey’s guy is local. If we can’t find him, we can broaden the search to cabin renters-permanent and the holiday crowd.”
Brie was staring at the mud. “He pushed this boat into the water, but I don’t see any footprints. We got a good crease of the boat’s keel. We also should have a shoe impression. Unless he came”-she handed the dog’s lead to Olivia and walked a wide half-circle around them-“from this way,” she finished. Gingerly she moved the thick bushes aside. Then looked up with a grin. “Shoeprint. Score.”
Kane followed her path and looked over her shoulder. “Size ten shoe. Nice.”
The single word was high praise from Kane. Brie turned to search the area. “See the path, the trampled twigs and leaves that stop ten feet farther than he wanted to be?”
“He was scared,” Olivia said quietly. “Running from a burning building. I wonder if he knew Tracey hadn’t made it out.”
“Oh.” Barlow put down his camera and stared at Brie’s profile. “I know what else he was.” He walked to Brie’s side and bent slightly, his gaze focused on her ear.
Stiffening, Brie pulled away and glared at him. “What?”
Barlow straightened and looked at Olivia. “Cochlear processors worn behind the ear don’t have ear molds,” he said. “I can’t believe I forgot that.”
Olivia frowned. Then understood. “Oh. God. You’re right. As many times as I’ve seen you hook that on your ear, Brie… I can’t believe I forgot, too.” She glanced up at Kane. “Brie’s processor is held in place by a little hook that grabs here,” she explained, touching the topmost fold of her ear. “Not a pink mold like David found in the rubble.”
“Molds are used by hearing aids, not implants,” Brie said. “You found a pink mold?”
“In the rubble,” Barlow told her. “The ear mold was still recognizable.”
“She wouldn’t have a hearing aid and an implant at the same time?” Kane asked.
“Perhaps,” Brie said, understanding now as well. “Some people use both, depending on the kind of hearing loss they have. What kind did the victim have?”
“According to mom, Tracey was profoundly deaf, but her father refused to consider the cochlear implant. They’d tried hearing aids with Tracey, without any benefit.”
“He’s deaf, the father?” Brie asked. “The controversy against implanting kids isn’t as hot as it used to be, but it still exists. Many deaf people don’t see their deafness as something that needs to be ‘fixed.’ They’re protective of their culture, their language, and many see implants as a threat.”
“I got that when I talked to the dad,” Kane said, “even through the relay operator we had to use. He was angry, especially at his wife. Of course he was grieving, too, and it was almost impossible to get any nuance over the phone.”
Brie’s mouth curved ruefully. “It gets easier, with practice. Next time, use a videophone operator if you can. If the father has a videophone, he can sign to the operator instead of typing into the TTY. That way the interpreter’s voice can give you some of the emotion, because they’re seeing the signer’s face. I’ll show you how to connect.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Kane said.
“Getting back to the mold?” Barlow asked impatiently. “Was it the girl’s or not?”
“If she was born profoundly deaf,” Brie said, “and wasn’t wearing it before the surgery, chances are good it didn’t belong to her. You’ll have to confirm that.”
“If it wasn’t hers, the backpack we found may not have been hers either,” Kane said. “And the hearing aid may belong to whoever she was with before the fire.”
“We know from the hair he left on Tracey’s body that he’s Caucasian with dark hair. He’s probably local, probably deaf or hearing impaired,” Olivia said. “Narrows it down.”
Brie nodded. “And if he’s her age, you’re in more luck. He’ll be enrolled in school, and the district will have paperwork on his disability.”
“Where should we start?” Olivia asked.
“I’d start with the school for the deaf.” Brie checked her watch. “School’s out for the day. Some of the kids live in the dorms, so you could check there, but you’re going to want to go through the principal, whose name is Oaks. I’ve found him very helpful.”
“You went there?” Kane asked. “I thought you lost your hearing as an adult.”
“I did, so no, I didn’t go to that school. I work with the school’s vocational program, teaching a vet-tech class. When they graduate, the kids have a skill.”
“So you know these kids,” Kane said.
“Some of them. They also have classes in cooking, mechanics, and farming. A lot of teens think they want to be a vet, but transfer when they have to sweep out kennels. Those kids usually go into cooking.” Brie smiled. “It’s sugar to shit, just in reverse.”
Kane chuckled. “So can you help us talk with these kids?”
Brie hesitated. “My signing is slow. You should get an interpreter and try on your own first. It’s possible the male you’re looking for isn’t local or is graduated already, but the deaf community is close-knit. If he still lives here, somebody will know him. You just may need to be patient. They’re sometimes protective of their own.”
“Kind of like cops,” Kane said.
“Exactly.” Brie looked at Barlow, her brows lifted. “Anything else, Sergeant?”
“No,” Barlow said, his manner as stiff as hers. “Thank you and your dog.”
“You’re welcome. Call me, Liv. We can grab Paige and go to Sal’s for a drink.” She took the dog’s leash from Olivia with a pointed look. “Like old times.”
Like old times. Before Pit-Guy. Before I started avoiding my friends. “I promise.”
“I have witnesses,” Brie warned. “Come on, GusGus. Let’s go home.”
Olivia turned to Barlow, who looked grim. And as tired as she felt. Earlier he’d extended an olive branch… Well not a branch. More like a twig. She’d up the ante a bit. “You did the right thing by calling Brie. I know it wasn’t easy.”
Barlow’s smile was tight. “I didn’t at first. The first four SAR teams I called weren’t available.” He let out a breath. “How do you want to go forward?”
“We’ll look for Tracey’s partner,” Kane said. “You keep working the inside angle, checking the personnel. See if any of the employees were suspicious.”
“Or deaf or hearing impaired,” Olivia said. “What if the guy Tracey was with worked for Rankin and Sons? What if he was letting her hide there? He may have had a key.”
“Good point,” Barlow said. “What about the Feds? Did Abbott hear from Agent Crawford?”
“If he had, he would have called. Hopefully he’ll hear something by five,” Olivia said. “What about the size ten shoeprint in the mud?”
“I’ll get CSU to take a plaster cast of the print and the keel crease,” Barlow said.
“And we have just enough time to check with Ian before our five o’clock meeting,” Kane said. “He should be done with Weems’s autopsy by now.”
It was a few minutes till four. A trip to the morgue, an afternoon command meeting, back to the morgue to stand with Tracey’s father during the official ID, then…
Up to David, who would be waiting at a cabin on a different lake, a half hour away. Why there? Because he wants to take up where we left off.
Which was damn appealing, both for her bruised ego and her lonely libido. Still, she clearly remembered the single name he’d groaned that night they’d spent together. And it wasn’t mine. If he did want a rerun, she wasn’t anywhere close to knowing how she’d respond. Well, girl, you’ve got about two hours to figure it out.