CHAPTER 77 - Raleigh, North Carolina Friday, June 27, 2025

CHAPTER 77

Raleigh, North Carolina Friday, June 27, 2025

AFTER THE PRESENTATION SLOAN SPOKE WITH A FEW OF THE ATTENDING physicians who were riveted by her research and the story she had to tell. She introduced her parents to Dr. Cutty, who promised to take good care of Sloan during her final year of training. Todd Hastings made a final push for Sloan to consider forensic dentistry.

When the crowd thinned, she found Eric in the back of the cage.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” Sloan said.

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t have missed it. You were great, by the way. Everyone in the room, or the cage—whatever this place is called—was hanging on your every word.”

“Thank you. And really, Eric, it means a lot to me that you came. How long are you in town?”

“Heading back tomorrow.”

Sloan nodded.

“Listen, Sloan . . . thanks for everything you did for me.”

“It wasn’t just me.”

Eric cocked his head. “None of it would have happened without you. I’d still be looking for answers about what happened to my dad. Now I know.”

“I wish we could have found those answers while your grandfather was still around.”

Eric smiled. “Me too.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“I’ve got an early flight in the morning,” Eric said. “But I’m wondering if you’d let me take you out to dinner tonight. To celebrate.”

Sloan nodded. “I’d love to. You want to come by my apartment at seven?”

“Yeah, perfect.”

“You still remember how to get there?”

“How could I forget?”

“I’ll leave the Mace in my desk drawer.”

“Appreciate it,” Eric said with a smile. “See you tonight.”

After Eric left, the only people remaining in the cage were her parents. Sloan looked around but Nora was gone.

Sloan drove home with the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders. Two weeks of downtime sat between her and the start of her second year of fellowship. She was ready to get away from research and into the morgue, and sensed that she was one year away from fulfilling her dream of forensic pathology. With the baby Charlotte case on her résumé, Sloan would have no problem finding a spot on a homicide task force.

She pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, grabbed the box from the backseat that contained her year’s worth of research, and carried it up the steps. When she made it to the third level, she found two things waiting for her. The first was a package wrapped in brown paper propped against her front door. The second was Agent John Michaels, who leaned against the wall much like Eric Stamos had a year before.

“How’d your dissertation go?” he asked when Sloan made it up the stairs.

“I think it went well. But best of all, it’s over.”

“Big relief?”

“The biggest.”

Sloan walked to her door.

“What’s with the house call? Something new come up?”

“No. I’m here to make you an offer.”

Sloan pointed to the package leaning against the front door. “This yours?”

“Nope. It was there when I got here.”

Sloan looked at the package and then back to Michaels.

“What kind of offer?”

“The Bureau needs some fresh blood in the forensics unit. We could use someone like you once you’re done with your final year of training.”

“The FBI?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I was thinking about a homicide unit.”

“You’re thinking too small. Rumors are already starting to spread, and people are talking. You’re in high demand, and you’re not made for a homicide unit. The Bureau is a bigger platform, and our task force is a much better fit for your skill set. You’d be working in the FBI laboratory in forensics, helping solve crimes and cold cases from around the country.”

Sloan inserted her key into the front door. The offer was everything Sloan had hoped to do.

“Can I think about it?”

“Sure. You’ve got a year to decide.”

Agent Michaels handed her a business card.

“Keep in touch.”

Sloan smiled. “I will.”

“And good luck in the morgue.”

“Thanks.”

A moment later, Sloan watched over the third-story railing as Agent Michaels drove away. When he was gone, she looked down at the package still leaning against her door. It was the size of a wall hanging and contained no address label or postage to suggest it had been delivered by a formal courier service. She looked around the complex, as if the person who left it would still be in the area. Seeing no one, she opened her door, dropped the box of research onto the kitchen floor, and lifted the package to carry it into her apartment. When she did, she noticed a second, smaller box that had been set behind the package. She took both inside.

In the kitchen she used scissors to cut the crisscrossing rope on the smaller package, popped the cardboard top, and opened the box. Inside was Annabelle’s Nikon FM10 camera and a new package of film. Sloan smiled as she turned the camera over in her hands.

Placing it on the table, she reached for the larger package—the wall hanging—and slowly peeled away the brown paper to reveal a framed photo. Once she had the paper removed, Sloan turned the frame around to admire the picture. It was an enlarged image of the Cooper’s hawk taken by Annabelle as the bird took flight outside her home—the picture Sloan and Nora had developed at Margolis Manor. The hawk, lighted by the afternoon sun, was majestic with its wings fully outstretched.

A white envelope was taped to the bottom of the picture. Sloan set the frame flat on her table and opened the envelope, pulling out a card. She read the message and smiled.

You will soar to great places.

—Nora