“That’s pretty smart for a nineteen-year-old kid,” Bailey said.
“And pretty tangled,” I agreed. “But not impossible.”
Bailey sighed. “What is?”
We both fell silent, trying to manage the pain of the unwanted discovery. I’d been so optimistic. Too optimistic. That wasn’t my style. But this wasn’t the time or the place to figure it out. Bailey would ordinarily be the one to make the notification to the family, but since I was in from the jump on this one, I thought I should probably go with her.
“Brian doesn’t know we’ve found her already.” I glanced at my cell phone. It was five fifteen a.m.-eight fifteen in New York. “In about half an hour, I’m going to try reaching the aunt again. When I do, I’m going to tell her we’re looking for Brian and Hayley.”
“So she won’t try to cover for him if he’s been in touch?” Bailey set her jaw and looked back at the trunk. “It’s not a bad idea. But it’s a now-or-never move. Once we make notification to Hayley’s parents, the news’ll go global.”
Bailey looked at the ground and sighed. I knew she was dreading it. So was I. The coroner’s wagon pulled up and a guy in high-water pants and a nylon Coroner’s Office jacket jumped out.
It was Scott Ferrier, the coroner’s investigator who was my longtime “friend with benefits.” The benefits in our case being his willingness to slip me reports on the sly in return for free lunches at his favorite restaurant, Engine Co. No. 28.
No sooner had Officer Bander lifted the crime scene tape to let Scott in than Dorian pulled up in a brand-new forest green Tacoma. Still a pickup, but a lot snazzier than the faded old jalopy she used to drive. There was something comforting about seeing Scott and Dorian. It was like having family show up.
“Hey, Scott.” I waved and stepped closer as he set his bag down next to the trunk and took out a camera.
“Rachel!” He waved back before he turned and started taking photos.
Dorian moved next to the car with her kit, a large toolbox with tray insets that allowed her to store every little thing in its own compartment, perfectly organized, not a single cotton swab out of place. Dorian put the D in OCD. We both watched as Scott finished taking the pictures. Dorian wouldn’t be able to touch the trunk until he was done. The coroner, or his investigator, has sole jurisdiction over the body. Until he’s through, everyone else waits.
I greeted Dorian with a simple “Hey,” which was more than she was in the mood for. Never much of a talker, she was even less inclined to shoot the breeze after having been awakened before five a.m.
