The Secret Friend

'You're taking sides with a psychopath?'

'No, Cliff, I'm trying to figure out why Fletcher tossed Bryson off the roof – in a public place, no less. I'm trying to figure out if your partner was dirty.' Neil straightened and looked Watts directly in the eye. 'You two worked together in Saugus, right?'

'I don't have to put up with this shit.' Watts stormed out of the room.

'Don't go too far,' Neil called after him. He caught the expression on Darby's face and said, 'Something you want to add?'

'I was thinking about a quote Fletcher told me, a line from George Bernard Shaw: "If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."'

'Well, it looks like the son of a bitch is going to get his wish. Bryson's all over the news. How long do you want to bet it will be until his conversation with Tina Sanders gets out? My guess is the end of the week.'

'A cassette was playing when I found the remains,' Darby said. 'If Bryson went back there and cleaned out her purse, why would he leave the cassette?'

'That's a good question. You got an answer for me?'

'Not yet, but if I were you, I'd shitcan the attitude.'

Darby left to change into scrubs. She ran cold water over her face until her skin was numb.

When she came back into the room with her equipment, ID was taking pictures. Tim Bryson's mangled, crushed body lay under the harsh autopsy light, still dressed in his bloody clothing. Bags were tied around his hands.

Neil walked up next to her and leaned against the counter. 'Tina Sanders still won't speak to us,' he said. 'You think Fletcher threatened her?'

'I don't know. My guess is she's in shock. All these years go by and then in the course of two days she not only discovers her daughter's remains, she's given the name of the man who killed her.'

'Have you spoken to Jonathan Hale recently?'

'Bryson and I went to talk to him on Saturday.'

'So you haven't talked to him since?'

'No. Why?'

'I took a look through Bryson's cell phone. Hale's name is listed on Bryson's call log. Hale called twice last night. Bryson got a voicemail, but I don't know his password so I can't unlock it. You mind if I speak to Hale?'

'Be my guest.'

ID finished the first round of pictures. Darby collected grit samples from underneath Bryson's fingernails. There were no marks on his palms; he hadn't fought off Fletcher. His right wrist was broken.

Collecting fibres and pieces of glass from the clothing, Darby spotted a bruised area on Bryson's neck.

'It looks like an injection site,' she told Neil. 'We'll have to wait until the tox screen comes back.'

Darby went to work cutting the clothing. She replayed her conversation with Tina Sanders, remembering the framed picture of the young girl she had seen on Bryson's desk.

I had one, my daughter, Emily, Bryson had told her that morning after visiting Jonathan Hale. She had this really rare form of leukaemia. We took her to every specialist under the sun. Seeing everything she went through, I would have sold my soul to the devil to spare her life. I know that sounds overly melodramatic, but it's the honest-to-God truth. You'll do anything for your kids. Anything in the world.

Was Bryson made so desperate by his fear and love for his daughter that he orchestrated a plan to throw away the key piece of evidence in a murder investigation in exchange for money he used in a final attempt to save his daughter's life?

Darby slipped into that private place where she carried her true feelings about people, the same part which demanded a fierce, almost childish fairness in all human transactions; that constantly fought to separate everyone and everything into clearly labelled categories of right and wrong, good and evil. What side did Bryson fall? Darby considered the question and was surprised, even slightly appalled, to feel a cold, grim satisfaction.

To wash it away, Darby thought of the framed picture of the young girl. She focused on Emily Bryson's smile to summon some measure of sympathy and still she felt empty.

63

Boston's Forensic Anthropology Unit was a small suite of windowless, cluttered offices crammed with government-issued steel grey bookcases and matching filing cabinets. Except for an anatomical chart, the white walls behind Carter's desk were bare.

'Sorry to keep you waiting,' Darby said.

'It's fine. It gave the students more time with the bones. It's rare to get a full set of remains.' Carter, short and stocky with grey stubble and thick glasses from some bygone era, grunted as he stood. 'You look exhausted.'

'I haven't slept yet.'

'I don't know if the remains belong to Jennifer Sanders. I'm still waiting for the dental records to be sent over.'

Carter escorted her to the locker room. Darby changed into surgical scrubs and followed him down the hall to the bone room.

She passed the small room containing a sink and stove. The majority of bones sent here for examination more often than not were covered in decomposing soft tissue. In such cases, bones were placed in Crock-Pots and roasting pans holding water and detergent and brought to a gentle boil in order to allow the bones to adjust to the heat. The process, called thermal maceration, sloughed off the remaining tissue.

The remains were assembled on an adjustable steel gurney similar to the ones used in the morgue. As always, the room was very cool.

'The remains are definitely female,' Carter said. He pointed to the pelvic bones. 'We have a raised sacroiliac joint and the wide sciatic notch. Given the blonde hair mat and the characteristics of the skull, our Jane Doe is definitely Caucasian.'

'What about age?'

'The medial ends of the bones aren't completely fused to the shafts, so she's at least twenty-five. The pelvic bones are dense and smooth. Because they don't show any grain, and given the fact that the cranium's intermaxillary sutures aren't fused, she's no older than thirty-five.'

'Cause of death?'

'Look at the hyoid bone.'

Darby checked the horseshoe-shaped bone in the neck. It was broken.

'She was strangled.'

'Yes,' Carter said. 'Now take a look at this.'

He pointed to the scapula. Darby saw a large fracture.

'That was caused by a serious blow,' Carter said. 'Either he kicked her or he hit her with something like a bat or a long piece of wood.'

'What about a brick?'

'That might do it. She's got some other fractures. The poor girl was beaten.' Carter sighed, shook his head. 'The femur is just under forty-eight centimetres. Our Jane Doe is between five-six and five-nine.'

The office phone buzzed.

'Excuse me,' Carter said. He took the call, listened for a moment and without answering hung up. 'Jennifer Sanders' dental records are here. I'll be right back.'

While Carter compared the dental records, Darby stared at the remains, wondering how long they had lain inside the room full of brick and plaster. Was she kept alive for days, beaten and possibly raped before she was strangled? How long had she cried out for help?

Carter pushed his glasses up his long, beak-like nose.

'It's Jennifer Sanders,' he said.

64

Walter calmly set the tray on the kitchen counter. Hannah had finished most of her dinner. She had been with him for nearly five days and she still refused to speak to him.

Emma Hale had screamed the first two weeks, calling him every name in the book while demanding to be let go immediately. At the beginning of the second month, she had tried to attack him with one of the kitchen chairs inside her room. To prevent that from happening again, he used chains with brackets and locks to secure chairs to the kitchen table legs. As punishment, he turned off the electricity to her room and left Emma alone in the dark, without food, for several days, to teach her a lesson.

It worked. For the next three months Emma was well behaved. She acted friendly and kind. She seemed interested in what he had to say. She opened up and shared things about her life – personal, intimate things like her mother's death. They had many long, pleasant conversations. They even watched movies together – When Harry Met Sally and Pretty Woman. To show his appreciation, he brought her to the upstairs dining room for a special romantic dinner and served everything on fine china. Emma had repaid his kindness by hitting him over the head with the dinner plate. She almost made it to the front door.