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Even though it’s been seventeen years, the file should be bulging. But she’s had to rebuild it from practically nothing. She has the autopsy report, of course, complete with digital photographs and precise anatomical measurements. She has Dr. Alice Woods’s opinion that Suzanne might have been pregnant. But both she and the ME know that a defense expert could easily cast doubt on that theory. If there had ever been fetal remains, they’re long gone, dissolved into the dark Seabrook soil.
She has Suzanne’s bracelet and the DVD that shows her wearing it at a Boston children’s hospital back when she cheered for the Patriots.
But all that does nothing but support the conclusion that the body in the pit was Suzanne’s. Gagnon is still nagged by the factthat the bracelet was found near the top of the grave and not with the bones below. But as she and Bastinelli had discussed, the bracelet could have been disturbed by whoever dug up the bones and deposited them in the trunk of the Sentra.
Gagnon rereads the interviews she conducted with Felicia Bonanno and the Foxborough worker, Stacey Millett. Both women talked about Cole’s overbearing manner, but a football player with an aggressive personality isn’t exactly a shocker. And of course, Felicia has a reason for blaming Cole for her daughter’s death. She admitted that she’d never trusted him. Besides, Brenda Connelly Monroe, the coed who’d gifted Cole the watch at Dartmouth, said he was a total sweetheart. Not exactly a convincing pattern.
Gagnon clicks through archival photos of Cole Wright after he joined the Patriots, looking for pictures of him wearing the watch. But most of the photos show him in his football gear, no fashion wrist wear permitted. And in the few shots she can find of him in a suit, his cuffs cover his wrists.
The watch could have been lost or stolen sometime after he graduated. That would be an easy thing for Wright to claim, anyway. And who could prove him wrong?
And now there’s a new file on her desk, about a murder in Boston last week. Amber Keenan, onetime squad mate of Suzanne’s on the Patriots cheerleading team. No leads there so far, according to the Boston detective Gagnon talked to.
Two dead cheerleaders, seventeen years apart. Is there a connection, Gagnon wonders, or is it just coincidence that Suzanne’s body was found around the same time?
Gagnon’s desk phone rings. She picks up. “Detective Gagnon, Major Crimes.”
“Detective, this is Jan McHenry, from Icon Labs in Boston.”
For a second, Gagnon can’t place the name. Then it comes to her. “Right! The sheet fibers.”
“Correct. Sorry it’s taken us so long, but we were able to trace the dye and the fabric to Formosa Industries in Taipei, Taiwan. They have a proprietary weave and confirmed that that specific blue dye was used in a limited run of sheets and pillowcases about twenty years ago. And they offloaded the whole supply to one buyer, Walmart. Under the name Regal Soft Touch Bedsheets.”
Fueled by two cups of office coffee, Gagnon can feel her synapses firing. Some days, detective work is like the children’s card game concentration. You turn over cards, two of them each time, trying to find a matching pair. The trick is to turn over the first card and remember where you saw its match.
“Thanks! Gotta go!” Gagnon doesn’t even wait for a goodbye from Jan. She grabs her files and starts shuffling through her interview records.Felicia Bonanno! Where is Felicia? Here!She runs her hand down the transcript pages, flipping through until she finds what she wants, right near the end.
GAGNON:So, just going back once more—you’re sure you don’t remember the name of the restaurant Cole and Suzanne were going to that night? Even the type? Italian? French?
BONANNO:No, I’m sorry. Someplace on the shore. I just know they were meeting at the Walmart so Suzanne could buy some apartment supplies first.
Gagnon grabs a yellow highlighter and circles the exchange. With her other hand, she reaches for the phone. She taps the extension of Beth Condon, an analyst at police headquarters, fresh out of MIT.
“This is Beth.”
“Beth, it’s Detective Gagnon upstairs. I need a favor. I need you to find all the Walmart locations within twenty miles of Seabrook.”
CHAPTER
74
Columbia University
As I walk with Dr. Graham through Morningside Park, I realize that during my three years as his student, I never once saw him outside a lecture hall or his office.
He points to a bench facing a wide sidewalk lined with trees. “Right here is good.” He sits down heavily and turns to me. “I’m so sorry about Garrett. I only met him once, that afternoon when he picked you up after class. Nice young man. Talented too. I’ve read his books.”
I remember that day. We’d just found an apartment in Washington Heights and were so happy to be moving in together and starting our professional careers. I also remember how tough Dr. Graham’s classes were. He pushed us hard but always stayed after the lectures to answer questions.
I’m bursting with questions now. “Dr. Graham, why the cloak-and-dagger? Why call yourself Brother? And why were you watching us in the first place?”
“You’ve been gifted with a piercing mind and a knack for challenging authority—even mine, from time to time.”
Dr. Graham never made a secret of the fact that he had worked at the FBI before he became a federal judge and long before he retired from the bench to become a law professor.
“How did you find me? How did you know what Garrett and I were working on?”
“I may be old, Brea, but I still hear things. When I found out about the book you were writing, I knew how important it was and how dangerous the investigation could be.”