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Kit gave herself a shake. Get your head in the game. Details. Notice them.
This victim was blond but appeared to be older than the others by a few years. A little taller, too, if the length of her torso was any indication. Maybe five-five or five-six.
She hadn’t been in the ground long at all. Days, if that long.
Ryland looked up at Kit, his eyes filled with the same despair she felt. He turned to his assistant. “Call the ME.”
Wide-eyed, the woman nodded and walked a few feet away, making the call.
“I’ve got to call Navarro,” Kit said, because Baz seemed frozen in place.
“Not yet,” Ryland said. “Give me one minute. She’s got a medical alert necklace.”
Kit sucked in a breath. “He left an ID on her?”
Baz just shook his head and said nothing.
“No name,” Ryland said, “but she’s given an ICE name and a number.”
Her contact in case of emergency. That was nearly as good as her own name.
Kit opened the Notes app on her phone. “Ready.”
“Joe slash Denise, 619-555-2540,” Ryland read. “I took a photo of the ID and sent it to your phones.”
Kit’s phone dinged with the incoming photo. The victim had a peanut allergy and carried an EpiPen. “Does she have ligature marks on her throat?”
“Yeah,” Ryland said bitterly. “She does.”
“Thanks.” Kit patted Baz’s arm. “I’ll call Navarro.”
He nodded, still silent.
Shoving her worry for her partner aside, Kit dialed Navarro. “Pink handcuffs,” she said when he answered.
“Mother of God,” he whispered. “And we’re no closer to finding out who killed Driscoll.”
It was true. Kit and Baz had interviewed every neighbor, but none of them had been of any real help. They’d even returned twice to interview Maureen Epstein and her mother. Maureen continued to claim she knew nothing. The same was true of Driscoll’s coworkers and his four ex-wives.
They’d dug through his financials and his phone records.
Nothing.
“This time he left her medical alert necklace on. No name, but it’s got ICE names and number listed.” She ran a reverse lookup on the number. “Joe and Denise Carville. Can you check the missing-person data—” She froze, her stomach in free fall. “What the hell?” she whispered, unable to draw enough breath to say the words at a normal volume.
“What?” Navarro demanded.
“Their address. It’s Dr.Reeves’s building. His floor. They’re his neighbors.”
Navarro was silent.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
“I heard you,” he said, his tone clipped. “The parents filed a missing-person report this morning. Their daughter Skyler was last seen Friday night. She went to work and never came home.”
“What do you want us to do?” Kit asked, unable to keep her voice from shaking. Not a coincidence. But... not Dr.Reeves. She still couldn’t believe it.
She didn’t want to believe it.
