Page 94 of A Love Like Candle Light

I hum in acknowledgment, but it’s way too late for that.

The search on my computer is done, and as expected, my data bank didn't come up with a result. Which is understandable. My jurisdiction is limited to the Wayward Hollow area. If she's anywhere else, I've got no chance of finding her with my clearance level.

So I send him an e-mail with the image attached quickly. Then I wait. Only Frank's heavy breathing fills the line.

“Where did you get this picture from?”

“My girlfriend has a friend who knows an expert on digitally aging people up. Some science thing I can't really explain, but—”

“You don't need to.” He chuckles and hammers on his keyboard. “We’ve been trying to get the funding to work with a program like this forever. I'm going to call you back if anyone pops up, alright?”

“Thank you, Frank.”

As soon as the call ends, I jump up and pace my office, wanting rush outside, and book it to Aunt Molly's to tell her what's happening.

But I won’t. Not as long as I don’t know for sure.

I can't put my finger on it, but I just know this is fucking it. My stomach bubbles with excitement, and I literally can't sit still.

My phone rings. I pick it up within one second.

“This is Erik.”

“Logan here. What’s up?” I curse under my breath. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it's not.” I still walk up and down my office. There's no way I can sit down.

“I do have some official results for you, my friend.” Logan rustles through papers on the other end of the line. “And it appears the cause of death is sepsis. When you sent me the image of Elizabeth, I remembered the, let’s call it an urban myth, and I had a hunch. I had her bones x-rayed, did an MRT and found markers of Osteomyelitis.”

“Osteo- what?”

“Osteomyelitis. An infection that spread from her blood to her bones. Basically, sepsis.”

“For real?” I stop. Bobby's words echo in my mind. So his story is true after all. There were no reasons to doubt it, but I have to admit, actually having evidence it happened is validating. “And you have an official face?”

“Yes. We finally had an artist come in. Fascinating stuff. You know, they made a mold of the skull and then put some little thingies on there and… I don't know how, but he sculpted a face to it. It's so cool. I still have it in my office. Do you want a picture?”

“No, I'm good,” I assure him. “And?”

“And…” He draws out the word. “It’s definitely Elizabeth O'Brien. Official statement. I’m sending you the report right now.”

“Fuck yes.” I punch the air. “Good, that's good. I'm just glad I don't have murder on my hands.”

“I can imagine.” He whistles through his teeth. “A hundred-year-old murder would be tough to solve, but I would have believed in you.”

“Sure, you would have. So what's going to happen to the remains? I mean, they have no descendants or any next of kin in the country. Though I think she would have wanted to be buried next to her husband.”

“I’m not too sure about the process, I’ve never had someone in here who really had no next of kin.” He rustles through more papers. “But let me check. They really have no family left to speak of?”

“If I remember correctly, she's got a nephew of the three-hundredth degree or something in the UK.”

“Oh, well. I’ll send you a form, just have him sign it, as long as you’re not trying to make him pay for the burial, it should go through fairly quickly.” Logan offers, and I find myself nodding.

“I'll do that.”

“Great. As soon as you have this confirmation, you can send someone to get the remains.”

“Thank you, Logan.”