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“They’re all from the last year or so,” I start, as I look the list over. “Starting with … the third of June.”
“The third of June?” Leanne asks, frowning. “I don’t remember seeing that date …”
“Shit. Sorry. I meant the sixth of March. That’ll be my mum’s influence. She taught me how to write the date in British.”
Damn. I haven’t made that mistake in years. I really must be tired.
“Wait. Try that date,” E.A. says.
I blink at him. “You think he would have done that?”
“I honestly don’t know, but we’re getting nowhere so far.”
“It’s worth a try,” Leanne says, shrugging.
“Right, okay,” I tell them, straightening in my seat and typing in that date. “We’ve got a few reports that were filed a couple days later. Let’s see … An old man with dementia. A middle-aged woman. And a twenty-year-old Omega with dark hair.”
“Who was the Omega?” E.A. asks.
I click on the file. “She’s not still missing. She’s dead.”
“Print it off,” E.A. says. “Check the next date.”
I nod and hit print. The printer fires up over in the corner.
I search the next date, double checking when I get no results.
“No result. Nothing reported for the next couple weeks that might be a match, either. I’ll try the next one.”
E.A. gets up and goes over to the printer. He brings the first girl’s report over.
“The parents thought she might have an older boyfriend she didn’t want them to know about. Her death is listed as suspicious, but cops had no suspects.”
“I don’t suppose it mentions if she had a silver ring?” Leanne asks.
I shake my head. “We could call the parents and ask, but I’d rather we had more than one possible identified victim before we start harassing grieving parents over minor details.”
“There’s a red-headed Beta female missing that could match the third one. She’s still missing.”
“Print it,” E.A. tells me.
Leanne gets up and looks at the other list, for the other jar.
“E.A., this might be nothing, but humor me. What date was that first girl confirmed dead?”
E.A. looks at the report. “The third of October. Why?”
“The other blue ribbon, the one without the black mark. It’s listed as the fifth of October.”
“Whoever the blue ribbon guy is, he got a new girl when this one died,” E.A. says, his lips setting in a grim line.
I shudder. “I think someone just walked over my grave.”
“Search for the fifth of October, Echo,” Leanne asks.
“Right, sure,” I tell her, entering that date.
“Nothing,” I complain.
