Chapter Three

”It”s not just about my mom,” said Alessa as I sat across from her in the interview room. She wore a full-on business suit and presented a spread of paperwork with her when she arrived. Her tablet, turned in my direction, displayed the key items of the signature of the serial crimes that involved her mother. ”It”s about all of these women and I suspect we only know about a small victim pool. There”s more. In the early-two-thousands, The Four Point Killer had victims all over the state and in Canada even. We just don”t know. Just because there are six known victims, doesn”t mean there can”t be six more.”

”Your mom”s case has been quite a motivator for you,” I summed up, my tone gentle as I faced the impassioned young woman.

”It has. I”ve been cleared to work on it as a part of my dissertation,” she said, folding her hands and resting them on the table.

”You”re very brave,” I said, leaning back on my seat while watching her.

”It”s not easy.” She seemed to calm down after the compliment. ”But we”ll find justice in the end.”

”Given your experience, you understand the nature of a recovery interview, right?” I asked, continuing my gentle handling of the woman who seemed to need it.

She nodded, her fingers tightening against her palms. ”I do. I don”t have a lot of memories, but I”m willing to try. I want it all recorded. Hypnosis is welcome, too. I understand Doctors Anita Oliver and Nora Brody were in charge of the recovery interviews at the time of my recovery. Will they be conducting it this time?”

”Not to my knowledge.” I shook my head. ”But we can ask Agent Donovan.”

”All right.” She nodded, glancing at the clock. ”I remember scents the best.”

”What scent do you remember most?”

”Earth.” She paused, her lips pursed. ”Something like gunpowder. And honeysuckle.”

”How did you identify the latter two?”

Her brow narrowed when her eyes darked. ”I searched for a match. Put myself through smell tests.”

Astonishment washed over me, but before I could respond, Donovan opened the door to join us. I stood, holding my hand to Alessa as the FBI brought in their interviewer. ”Good luck to you, Alessa. We”ll speak again soon.”

”Thank you, Detective Roth.” She drew in a slow breath and stood to face the team who summoned her.

I bowed out then, leaving her to the preparatory phases of the interview process. For that, I wouldn”t be present, but I would observe the sessions once they began. Or at least the recordings.

My urge to flee, to remove myself from the uncomfortable situation overcame me, and I retreated to my office for a bit. In leaving the door ajar, I caught sight of the new canine officer, Emily Davies, as she wrangled a rowdy puppy meant to be at training.

”You little shit. What am I supposed to do with—Ritchie! Get your shit together before I—”

And her shouting voice faded as quickly as it came. The dog yip-yapped all the way down the hall and I chuckled.

My phone chimed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see the alarm that read, Doctor Wright. My stomach gave a great lurch when I feared being late to meet with the ornery investigator. Without a second thought, I bolted from my office, and took off at a jog down the street. The warm, muggy weather annoyed me a little as it was only a matter of time before the sky opened up and drenched me. I”d lived in Seattle long enough to predict a random downpour. Sometimes bathing in mist became a daily occurrence.

On the way, I thought about Alessa Trainor. The way she postured, held herself together, remained formal and professional at all times partially worried me. She”d been through hell, and it felt like a matter of time before that fa?ade cracked. I”d seen it before, too frequently even, and I hoped the outcome in this case would be different.

I made it to the forensic lab about sixty seconds after the torrential downpour that soaked my already messy hair. I hurried inside, snatched the visitor pass that sat waiting for me, then headed off in the direction of Clementine”s office.

Trails of water dripped behind me, and my sneakers squeaked on the spotless tile the entire way. Clementine greeted me by her office door, her thumbnail between her teeth as she gazed in my direction. Her hair draped long over her shoulders, touching her waist as it hung around her lab coat. She appeared to be fighting a smile.

”What”s so funny?” I called out, my voice echoing almost obnoxiously in the quiet space.

”I heard you coming forty kilometers away,” she said, her statement dry, but the teasing not so much.

I stopped in front of her, my brow narrowed as her gaze flickered in my direction. ”Not funny.”

”It”s a teensie bit funny,” she said, though a smile didn”t join her statement. ”Did you have a swim?”

”Are you seriously teasing me right now?” I huffed and folded my arms over my chest. The leather arms of my bomber jacket squeaked under the wetness, and I scoffed.

”Not at all.” She turned on her heel, and waved me to follow her as if nothing happened.

Per usual, I hurried after her, cautiously stepping in a manner that left my footsteps sounding less obnoxious. She perched herself on her typical stool, and I joined her on the adjacent one as always. At this point, I prepared myself for a presentation, drawing in a slow breath as I awaited the cacophony of information rained down on me by the resident genius.

”I”ve been granted access to all of the cases save for the ones that the FBI owns. That will require special clearance, but it”s pending. So far, I”ve been able to identify genetic linkages across three different unidentified lineages using genome sequences.” She pointed to the screen and the images changed again. ”But there”s more.”

”Wait, wait just a hot sec.” I held up my hands to her then gestured in a way that urged her to slow down. ”I understood about every third word of what you”ve said. Can you speak to me as if you”re lecturing a class of newbies?”

She stared at me, stone-faced and serious. ”I just did.”

”Okay, but like, can you be lecturing a class of first grade newbies?”

The way she rolled her eyes, coupled with the tilt of her head nearly killed me. I didn”t expect it at all, and the motion floored me for a moment until she said, ”The victims…came in contact…with the same person.” She paused a breath in between each phrase, with clear enunciation of each syllable.

”Cool cool.” I nodded then rolled my index finger in a circle. ”Caught up. Continue.”

”The more part now?” She pointed to the floor between us. ”You”re ready?”

”Yeah.” I couldn”t help but stifle a chuckle, despite her overt seriousness and clear irritability with me.

”Back when these cases were filed, there wasn”t but trace DNA found and very little could be garnered from it.”

”Right…”

”I went ahead and read your files. I have a friend connected with the S.P.D. Anyway, with my specific experience and the technology afforded to me here, I”ve made a connection that appeared to be overlooked.” Again, she pointed to the screen to show me stuff that might as well have been written in Aramaic.

”What”s that?”

”Your profile is wrong,” she said, demonstrating a bunch of funky shapes and some recognizable rectangles. ”The chromosomal structure shows that the potential connection is genetically female or a holder of two X chromosomes, not male or an X-Y holder as indicated in your files.”

”So, they all came in contact with the same female, not male, perpetrator?”

”I can”t speak to this being a perpetrator as such, but they all came in contact with the same X-X chromosome holder, yes. And remember, not all people who have two X chromosomes identify as female.” She lifted a brow at me while her gaze met mine. At that point, I noted how little she looked at me. Even if she did, it was a flickering glance, but never kept for more than a second.

”Right. My bad. I”ll own my narrow-minded moment.”

”Good.” She nodded and looked back to the screen. ”So, the trace samples carry the X-X chromosomes, and share some genealogical connections. At this point, I”m running through the software to try and find an identifiable link, and that may be the starting point.”

”Thank you for doing all of that.”

”Of course.” She folded her hands in her lap and shrugged at the same time. Clementine fell quiet after that, and I noted the way she toyed with the ring on the index finger of her right hand. A blueish stone wrapped her finger, possibly lapis lazuli or something of the like, sat cradled in a silver band. She spun it around her finger using her thumb.

”I guess I”ll have to start looking at this as a possible X-X chromosome perpetrator thanks to you. The team will appreciate it,” I said, hoping to fill the gaps in conversation with something relational.

She glanced at me again and nodded. ”I agree. There will be more. I”m still waiting for returns on a few items. The soil samples, fabrics, and the write up of the genetic connections. There will be more results rolling in over the next few days. Right now, I”m trying to plot soil samples relevant to crime scenes and locations locally, nationally, and internationally.”

”Thanks.” I nodded, sliding from the stool to stand beside her. My hands fell naturally into the back pockets of my jeans. ”You”ve been a big help. I better head out to figure out a way to present this info to the team.”

”I”ve emailed you the first report.” She stood with me, and her gaze flickered over me as it has in the past. ”The rain seems to like you.”

”Considering it”s poured on me more than once recently, I tend to agree.”

A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. ”Good. I”m glad you agree with me.”

”Don”t get too used to it.” I chuckled as I headed to the door. ”Thanks again.”

She nodded, then offered me a small, somewhat awkward wave.

***

”You ready for this?” I asked Tati as she sat on my bed watching me get dressed like a creep.

”Sending my baby child off to Portugal for a month on her own?” She drew in a slow breath. ”No. Not at all.”

”She”s going with her grandmother.” I stared at her while gathering my wet hair into a ponytail. ”And she”s leaving from here with said grandmother.”

”I know…but she”s never gone alone.” Tati leaned back on her hands while watching me. ”Wanna do the FWB thing?”

”No.” I swatted her leg with my towel. ”Don”t start that shit just because you”re stressed.”

”C”mon, Jags.” She whined. ”It”s been seven years.”

I laughed hard while pulling the sports bra over my head. ”Smartly so. Go FWB yourself with that big floppy dildo you have in your room.”

”I mean…I plan to.” She cracked up, shaking her head. ”But I”m in the mood to lie on my back and have someone else do it for me.”

”You can always hook up with Frankie—”

”Don”t even!” Tatiana scoffed. ”Your annoying sister from the same mister.”

My laughter continued as I finished dressing, then dropped down to sit on the bed beside her. ”I know you”re just saying this to tease me. You don”t want to hook up.”

”No.” She smirked when I called her out on the truth. ”But you seem stressed more than me.”

”I”m fine.”

”You seem overwhelmed.”

”I”m fine. When Reagan heads off to her grandmother”s, we can go to Wildrose or something to chill. How”s that sound?”

”Perfect.” She smiled and shoved my shoulder. ”You okay though, for real?”

”I am.”

She held her arm up to me. ”Bring it in. Let”s go.”

”No way.” I shoved her arm. ”You just got weird and asked to be FWBs. Ew.”

Tatiana cracked up and flopped back on the bed. ”I was kidding!”

”Well, don”t tease like that. It”s weird.” I scrunched my nose and pretended to gag.

Her snickers continued and she folded her arms behind her head. ”Your reaction is worth it. Besides…Wyatt is looking kinda fine these days. Have you noticed?”

”He is.” I smiled at the thought of our mutual friend. ”We”re going skating Friday night. Wanna come?”

”And break my face?” She shook her head. ”Nah.”

”C”mon. It”s your first night without Reagan. We”ll use that as an excuse. You can just watch. We”re going to the skatepark anyway.”

”Fine,” she agreed in haste. ”I”ll go.”

”Good.” I patted her arm then hopped up. ”Off to work. You at the shop today?”

”Yeah.” She sat up and stretched, a giant yawn escaping her. ”All day. You coming by after work?”

”Yup. Mural is almost done.” I strapped on my gear belt, then removed my weapon from the bio safe beside my bed.

”Need a ride?”

”Nah. I”m good.” I saluted her as I pulled my phone out of my pocket. ”Later.”

”Adeus.” She waved before bounding out the door.

While staring at my phone, half a dozen unanswered texts lingered on the screen. I ignored most of them, choosing Zay”s first.

Want a bagel?he asked. Hurry up n answer me, arrived a minute later. I”m getting you a bagel. Fuck it.

I laughed at his spammy messages, each in a new text and finally replied, Yeah. Thanks.

About time.

Slow morning. U good?

All good.

I shook my head and moved on to the next. Frankie sent me an inappropriate photo of her boobs asking me if I liked her top, to which I replied, Who are you hooking up with?

No one.

Liar. Use a condom.

Girls don”t need condoms with girls.

You need condoms with everyone.

Ha, she replied with the middle finger emoji.

I smirked, then tapped the text from an unknown number. A photo accompanied the text, and it took a second to load. In the low-light photo, an image of my cracked and faded street art filled the screen. I remembered where I tagged it, on a ten-foot wall in the alley beside Planned Parenthood when I was barely sixteen. No one bothered to remove the My Body My Choice mantra spraypainted inside a giant pink uterus. My tag name stood out in the corner as always. A few other bits of graffiti covered portions of it as it appeared over the years, but the longevity of the piece always tickled me. I expected some assholes to deface it with their rhetoric, but to my surprise, that never happened.

Is this you?asked the text from the number.

New phone. Who dis?I replied in the most asshole way.

You don”t have a new phone.

Who is this?

That”s your work, isn”t it?

Yeah. Who is this or I”ll block you.

You should store my number.

I frowned at my phone as my thumb hovered over the block icon.

Considering you”re expecting quite a bit of information from me.

My brow narrowed and I nearly tapped the block until the next text chimed.

It”s Clementine. You can answer me now.

Seriously? Way to freak me out.

Sorry not sorry. Did you really make that street art?

I did. Yeah. A lot of it”s still out there.

Hmm. Might have to go on a scavenger hunt.

Good luck with that.

What business does a cop have breaking the law?she asked, though I couldn”t quite tell her tone. Clementine was notoriously difficult to read from her facial expressions, and with texts, it felt completely impossible.

I wasn”t always a cop, I replied, before remembering that I actually was a cop who needed to work. I pocketed my wallet and keys from the table beside the door and headed out in a hurry.

A high school cop might”ve been rather awkward.Clementine messaged me again a few minutes later while I rolled on my board down the smoother part of the street. I smirked while reading it, then hopped off to respond.

I had better things to do in high school other than behave myself.

I”m not going to ask.

Well, I”m glad. I wouldn”t tell you anyway.

You would.

I would not.My brow narrowed as I pulled open the door to the precinct.

You would. Maybe not in texts but you would.

How do you know that?

You”re an INFP type.

I looked up from my phone and scoffed. What”s that?

Personality type.

Okay…

Eventually, you would tell me.

Okay then. I pocketed my phone at that point and headed into the precinct with my board clasped in my palm.

I found Zay in the hall as he handed me the bagel he promised and a coffee. We walked together down the hall toward the conference room where everyone gathered while reviewing the Alessa Trainor interview. I”d sat through it the first time, knowing that the information wouldn”t garner as much as we hoped. Despite that, it would bring us something and for that much I held tight to the notion.

Donovan stood while gazing at the projection screen, her hands on her hips while she rewound and fast-forwarded the video over and over again. Sali stood beside her, in a similar pose, but with her arms folded over her chest. Maggie, Walsh, and two other people I didn”t recognize sat at the table in front of tablets with the transcription. In the room with Alessa sat a petite, blonde, wavy-haired woman who didn”t say anything, but seemed to be observing. The FBI agent conducting the exam treated her gently, with kindness and soft tones accompanying the light coaxing required for the recovery interview. We all watched in silence as Alessa recounted the event.

A soccer field, her pink uniform, the beginnings of rain, and her mother being snatched from the bleachers.

How did no one see that at a soccer game? It didn”t make any sense. CCTV cameras weren”t common in 2005, I understood that, but during a sporting event? Even if it was afterward, why was Maryanne Trainor alone with her three-year-old in the rain after a soccer match? According to reports, Alessa was found standing in the middle of the soccer pitch, drenched from head to toe as the rain pummeled her while she cried. Why did she stand there, unmoving for so long? Trauma made humans behave differently. What about this one set her apart?

We watched and rewatched the thirty-minute interview a few times, but no one seemed particularly moved.

”We”re missing something,” said Sali, as she turned around to face everyone. ”Why couldn”t Nora do the interview? That lady sucked. Anita”s gonna agree.”

”Sal, c”mon,” chided Maggie.

”Seriously, Nora would”ve done better. She hardly focused on the things a kid remembers.” Sali flopped her hands to her side and looked to Caroline. ”The FBI sucks.”

Donovan hauled off and punched Sali in the shoulder. ”Nora”s retired and Baretta is the best we”ve got right now.”

”Yeah, well, she”s not Nora.” Sali scowled and shoved her back.

A tiny hint of something flickered in Donovan”s dark, seedy gaze. The bit of a smile accompanied it, but she turned away before it could go any further.

”I agree with Sali.” I motioned to the screen. ”The interviewer didn”t focus on the experience of a three-year-old. When I talked to Alessa, she mentioned smells being the strongest memory. That never came up in the recovery interview. Earth, gunpowder, honeysuckle.”

Everyone stared at me.

”What?”

”She told you that?” asked Maggie, her brow furrowed.

”Yeah. I mean, it was in passing, but yeah.” I gestured to the screen again. ”She never said that here.”

”Most likely that”s an active memory, not a repressed one,” said Maggie as she stood from her seat only to lean her hip against the table. A thoughtful expression melted over her face, turning it to the stony one I remembered from my youth. It seemed like she was going to say something, until her gaze flickered to mine. ”What do you think that means, Jag?”

”The scents?”

Maggie nodded.

All of the faces in the room watched me, including Zay despite the coffee he sipped. My breakfast lay forgotten on the table in front of me.

”Um…” I glanced at Sali whose expectant gaze appeared impatient compared to her more pensive colleagues. ”Either it”s environmental or something she experienced personally. This was in Seattle, and she wasn”t taken in the spring. Chances are, there was no honeysuckle around her. We know a weapon wasn”t used in the murders, but that doesn”t mean a gun wasn”t fired at the scene. However, Alessa doesn”t recall hearing or seeing one.”

”Go on,” encouraged Maggie while Walsh eyed us. He pinched his chin between his fingers and his overgrown eyebrows narrowed in concentration.

”Um…” I gulped and glanced at the others before looking back to Maggie. ”Doctor Wright, the forensic investigator, told us that the genetic workup resulted in DNA found on each victim from the same X-X chromosome holder.”

”Let”s assume the X-X holder is female, for now. We”re looking at a potential female suspect,” summed Maggie. ”A little girl left alone in a field unharmed, but terrified, and some unusual scents.”

”If we rule out environmental, maybe it was the suspect who smelled of those things and that”s all Alessa remembered,” I said, my heart continuing to pound in my chest. ”Maybe she got close to the suspect. If it was a female, perhaps around her mother”s age or so, she would have listened to her and stayed in the field. Or someone she knew even.” Fire burst inside me as the connections began to make some sort of sense. ”Someone she”d seen or experienced before.”

”Hmm.” Sali paced the room, then suddenly spun around and pointed at me. ”DNA would”ve been washed from the kid”s clothes if she stood in the rain, right?”

”Yeah, probably. They still collected it though, I”m sure.”

”See if that forensics broad can pull anything from those samples. It”s two decades later. Technology”s changed.”

”But she pulled all the articles from the victims—”

”I bet you that they didn”t run the same for the kids. We have two victims, age three, left behind at the scenes unharmed. Requisition their belongings. Alessa Trainor and Sharla Hill, both three, both survived, both possibly witnessed the suspect taking their mothers. If Alessa was close enough to remember scents from the suspect, I bet you the other might as well.”

”The other girl is eleven now,” I said, glancing between them. ”Would her guardians let us interview her?”

”Maybe,” replied Donovan. ”Depends on her level of functioning and capacity.”

”Can we find out?”

Donovan nodded, and I returned my attention to Maggie.

”Roth should talk to Alessa again,” said Sali. ”You got more out of her than the fancy-pants FBI wannabe newb.” She jabbed her thumb in Caroline”s direction.

My eyes widened at the tossed insults, and I looked to Walsh. He smirked, fully allowing these three women, who didn”t even work for him, to run the show.

”Agreed,” Donovan said after a moment. ”Roth, reach out to Alessa tomorrow. Give her some time, and then set up space to debrief.”

”Wait, why me?” My fingers tightened as my mind played out what I might even say to the woman a second time around.

”Because she let her guard down around you enough to recount something she actively remembered. That plus the recovery interview may turn up more in time,” said Donovan. ”We”ll assist.” Donovan looked to Walsh who nodded.

”Set it up, Roth,” he croaked, before heading toward the door. ”You reopened this case, you”re leading the charge.”

”O-okay then. I”ll requisition the items from the kids and notify Doctor Wright.”

With that, the room cleared out, leaving me and Zay behind. We stood in silence for a moment, then finally turned to each other.

”This is getting intense,” he said, taking a seat at the table.

”It is.” I joined him and nodded. ”I feel like a rookie.”

”I feel like a rookie, and I am a rookie. I mean…I know the beat, but this is new,” he admitted before taking a sip of coffee. Seriousness tumbled over him in a way that wasn”t his baseline. ”When I applied to Cold Cases, I thought I would be unearthing cases long forgotten and using my experience to find new evidence. I didn”t expect active cases.”

”Same. I mean, I did to an extent. The interviews and stuff, but not like this with all these players involved. It”s intimidating.”

”Yeah.” He glanced to the door then back to me. ”So, you know research is kind of my thing.”

”Yeah…and?”

”I looked up the Millers and their P.I. agency.” His eyes widened then. ”After Walsh called the short one James, I knew that name sounded familiar. She”s infamous, and so is her wife.”

”In what way?”

”The Four Point Killer case. James was the lead detective. She”s included in those accolades and photos in Walsh”s office. Miller is as well, but it”s lower key. She and Moreno were partners, and Stiles was Sali”s.” Again, he glanced to the door. ”Why are these very interesting people so involved in a cold case?”

”Well…” I took my time while considering my answer. ”They said a family member enlisted them to help out. I get the feeling that when they become passionate about something, it turns into a mission. And we”re not part of that mission. We weren”t passionate about this case before then, we were interested. They show up with all this fire, passion, resources, and they”re moving faster than I can even think.”

”Yeah, same.”

”So, I think it”s passion and also the hope that they can make a difference for the living victims and their families. I mean, take Alessa for example…” I thought about the resilient, and brilliant, young woman who I was about to get to know much better. ”She wants answers. She wants to know what happened to her mom. Wouldn”t you?”

He nodded then leaned his chin on his hand. ”Yeah. I would. Can”t stop thinking about that eleven-year-old.”

”Yeah.” I drew in a slow breath. ”So, we do it for them.”

Zay”s intense gaze met mine and he tossed me a nod of conviction I hadn”t ever seen before. ”I”m going to talk to Bryant and see if she can run a comparative on this case. Expanded. Way expanded. Like they did for the Four Point case. That”s how they found the living victims.”

”Okay. And I”ll get the stuff from the kids and head over to the lab. Again. That quirky doctor is going to get sick of me eventually. I annoy her so bad,” I said as we stood together.

”What do you mean?”

”I never understand a word she says. And have to ask her to slow down or resay things differently like I”m some kind of kindergartener. Or when she uses words that I don”t even know, I sympathize with every single second-language learner in the universe,” I admitted. ”She”s intimidating.”

”Why?” Zay asked, concern coating his features.

”She”s hard to read. Her facial expressions are so controlled except for when she”s annoyed, bothered, or bored. The eyeroll though…”

Zay laughed and shook his head. ”Does she behave like an old schoolmarm or something?”

”No…”

”Well then, sounds like she has an enormous RBF.” He nodded enthusiastically.

”What”s that?”

”Resting Bitch Face. They could be daydreaming about happy puppies or enjoying a comedy except their facial expression looks like they hate you or are ready to murder you,” he explained.

”I”d say that”s accurate.” I chuckled at the notion. ”Not so much the murder, but the disdain and annoyance, yeah.”

”Well, good luck with that!” He clapped me on the shoulder. ”I”m going to meet with the ever-rosy Rosie, who is pleasant as a peach.”

”Asshole.” I growled at him before shoving him off. ”Bye.”

”Later.”