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than it was for her to look at the white sheet draped over the small body.
The woman started laying out instruments while the man wrote in a log. The doors opened again, and a
rotund, white-haired man who reminded Olivia of a short Santa Claus burst in, nodding to his staff as he
crossed over to where she and Zack stood.
Detective Travis. They shook hands. Even without smiling, the coroner looked jovial.
Dr. Sparks, this is Agent St. Martin with the FBI.
Dr. Sparks took her small hand in both of his. We ll get started here in a moment. He looked from her
to Zack. This isn t a pretty sight. We cleaned up the body the best we could I sent what we ve
already collected to Doug at the lab but the victim is in an advanced stage of decomposition.
Let s get it over with, Zack said.
Olivia wanted to stay. She wanted to see what the bastard had done to Jillian Reynolds. But as soon as
Dr. Sparks removed the sheet, she had to leave.
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I m sorry, she mumbled to Zack and ran out the door.
She was almost outside the building when Zack caught up with her. Olivia.
She couldn t look at him. What must he think of her? Wholly unprofessional. But if she had stayed, she
wouldn t have been able to control her reaction, and that was simply unacceptable.
I m sorry, she repeated.
He clasped her shoulder, forcing her to face him. She thought she d see frustration or anger or something
in his eyes that showed he knew she was a fraud.
Instead, she saw deep compassion.
Liv, he said softly, using her nickname. It s okay. I understand. Take a walk. I ll meet you right here
in an hour.
She nodded, afraid that if she spoke her voice would crack.
She left the building and walked briskly along the street busy with noontime traffic. All she wanted was
to get away from the building, get away from death.
Don t think about it. Don t think about what Jillian now looks like.
For a brief moment she wondered if the body would haunt her for the rest of her life. How could she be
a scientist a witness to many autopsies, dead bodies, and horrid crime-scene photos yet be derailed
by one victim?
Who am I? Who have I become?
Minutes later, she slowed her pace, not knowing how far she d walked. She stood near a fountain
outside a building she suspected was City Hall. Lunchtime walkers in skirts and tennis shoes strolled
briskly around her in pairs or threesomes, chatting while burning calories. It was a lovely autumn day.
Perfect, warm with a light breeze and clear blue skies.
A perfect day? Hardly. A nine-year-old girl lay in a cold autopsy room down the block. A child who
would never again enjoy an autumn day.
She sat on a bench in front of the fountain and stared at the dancing water.
She d been five when Missy had been killed, and she remembered her feelings of fear and helplessness
more than any details of the actual abduction.
The tattoo.She d never forget the tattoo. The blue eagle still gave her nightmares, the way it rippled
under Hall s muscles, the way it bulged as if about to take flight . . .
Not Hall.Someone else. Another killer. Had Hall known him? It seemed far too much of a coincidence
that Hall s truck had been used and that he had the same tattoo as Missy s killer. A blue eagle wasn t
uncommon, but still two young men in the same town connected through Hall s truck? She wasn t
convinced that Hall hadn t been involved it was his truck, that evidence was certain. She d reread the
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police report on Missy s murder several times since Hall was released. Missy s blood was definitely
found in his truck. Carpet fibers from his floor mats were on her clothing.
Missy had been there. But had Hall been involved in her kidnapping? Or was he the victim of
circumstance?
Her cell phone melody startled her and she groped in her purse for the phone. Greg.
Hi. Everything okay? she asked.
I got the DNA sample. Thanks for putting it on a plane; it gave us another day. I ll start the tests
tonight. It ll take a couple of days, but I ll get you the results as soon as possible.
Most people who watched television thought they understood DNA profiling, but in truth it was a
complicated and time-consuming process. Large portions of a single person s DNA are actually the same
as every other person s DNA simply because they are human beings. But certain fragments of DNA are
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