“What are the cops going to do to us? She agreed to it,” Nicole said. “Like all of us. You asked her if she wanted it, just like you asked me. She’s just mad because of how we did it. She was expecting us to grab her from a dark alley, and instead you seduced her.”

“Doesn’t matter. All I know is that we’re done with club stuff for a while.”

“This is bullshit,” Nicole said. “It’s not our fault she’s so soft.”

Diana Wells’s breakdown while bound and gagged at the brewery was proof that she expected none of it. Casey had misjudged her response to the ordeal when they finally cut her loose and welcomed her into the club. Nearly catatonic when they pulled the plastic wrap from her arms and wrists, Diana Wells could not walk. And when the gag came from her mouth, words never followed. Prepared to cheer and celebrate, the club instead dispersed quickly that night, some running with scared looks and coolers in tow when Diana collapsed to the ground and no one could rouse her. Casey finally drove her back to the bar and left her in the parking lot.

The Diana Wells situation now posed a problem. There were rumors that she would go to the police, and that her parents knew about the club. With his deadline approaching for delivering the next girl, Casey couldn’t afford attention from the police. But he had to move forward. There were precautions he could take to cover his tracks should the cops hunt him down and ask about Diana Wells. Clearing out Coleman’s was the first step. Today’s errand was the next.

He pulled off the highway and turned right at the end of the off-ramp. A strip mall unfolded along the side of the road. Casey pulled into the lot and parked a good distance from the entrance of a Goodwill store.

“Here’s the list,” he said to Nicole, slipping her a piece of paper.

“Why’d we come all the way out here for this stuff?”

“Just go get it, okay? And throw some random stuff in with it.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever. Just buy some junk.”

With the slip of paper in hand, Nicole walked the length of the parking lot and entered the Goodwill store. She purchased a long-sleeved button-down shirt, a pair of cargo pants, and an ugly pair of sneakers—all the items from Casey’s list that he would wear for the next take. He’d burn each item afterward, but should any evidence be left behind—from fibers to footprints—he would make sure it didn’t lead to him.

For the random items, Nicole grabbed a jigsaw puzzle, an ugly plastic plant, and a set of barbecue tools that came packaged in a worn, wooden box.

PART IV

“I know you think everyone has forgotten about Nicole.

But I never have.”

—Megan McDonald

CHAPTER 28

October 2017

Thirteen Months Since Megan’s Escape

Monday morning, her first day back in the morgue after ride-alongs, Livia draped the surgical smock over her scrubs and slipped her feet into thin blue booties. She tied her hair into a tight bun and pulled on a surgical cap. Her face shield completed her personal protective equipment, and she approached the body that lay on her autopsy table. Carmen Hernandez was a forty-five-year old female who died during a house fire. As the deceased didn’t have a single burn on her body, Livia already had a working diagnosis of asphyxiation secondary to smoke inhalation—after inhaling smoke-filled air, the victim’s lungs filled with soot until she eventually suffocated. Her first case back after ride-along week, Livia had something to prove to Dr. Colt after her fall-victim disaster of ten days before. She blocked from her mind all she had learned in the last week about Nicole and Casey, the Capture Club, Nancy Dee, and the ketamine connection to Megan McDonald. She compartmentalized it all and went to work on the body in front of her.

After ninety minutes, Livia completed her autopsy of Carmen Hernandez and handed the body off to the autopsy technician who would begin the process of suturing the body back together, repairing the craniotomy, and making the body presentable for the mortician. Livia finished the morning assisting with other cases and observing in the derm-path lab. She spent time in the afternoon preparing for rounds, and when they all gathered in the cage at three o’clock, Livia was the first to present.

“Findings, facts, and feedback,” Dr. Colt said, staring down through his cheaters as he read the chart in front of him.

“Forty-five-year-old female victim of a house fire last night. Pronounced dead on the scene by firefighters, found holed up in her bedroom. Transported by MLIs to the morgue last night. Autopsy performed this morning at 9:04 a.m.”

“Length of exam?” Dr. Colt asked.

“Ninety minutes,” Livia said.

Dr. Colt pouted his bottom lip and gave an approving nod.

“External exam was unremarkable for burn wounds. Congestion in the soft tissue of the cheeks and periorbital region was noted.” Livia snapped the Smart Board to life and a photo of Carmen Hernandez’s body appeared. A facial shot showed the swollen cheeks and eyelids. “There were slicing wounds found on the right hand and forearm.” Another photo appeared, this one showing the jagged incisions on Carmen Hernandez’s hand and arm. “Three, five, and six inches in length. All one half inch deep.”

Another photo appeared of Carmen Hernandez’s mouth and nostrils.

“Internal exam showed classic signs of smoke inhalation. Dirty airway, with soot lining the mucous membranes of the mouth, tongue, throat, and nose. Trachea was edematous and soot-streaked. Small bronchioles of the lungs were stenosed, with both lungs containing a large amount of ash. QuickTox showed carboxyhemoglobin levels greater than seventy percent.”

“The house fire occurred at night,” Dr. Colt said. “Did you consider a blood alcohol level to see if the victim was under the influence during the fire, which may have hampered her escape and could have implications for insurance coverage?”

“Tox results were negative for drugs or alcohol. The victim was a healthy forty-five-year-old and was taking no prescription medications.”

“The wound on the hand, Dr. Cutty? How is this explained?”

More photos appeared. These had been taken by Sanj and displayed scene details. In one was a broken window, and in another, Carmen Hernandez lying lifeless on the floor beneath the windowpane.

“From the scene investigator’s photos, it appears the victim punched her fist through the glass window in an attempt to escape the bedroom. Based on the blood pattern, amount of loss, and clotting, she died soon after this act. Glass sequestered from the scene matches the size and shape of the slicing wounds to the hand and arm. Fire marshal informed me this afternoon that the house had been recently painted. The windows on the entire upper floor were, sadly, sealed shut by the paint. This explains why she tried to punch her way out instead of opening the window.”

The room was silent as Dr. Colt read through the rest of the report. “Questions?” he finally asked the gallery. There were none.

“Welcome back, Dr. Cutty.”

*

She had made the phone call over the weekend, on Saturday afternoon, and left a voice mail. Earlier today, as Livia pored through forensic textbooks and journals researching smoke inhalation cases, her phone rang. She was surprised by the nervousness she felt, unsure how to channel her emotions. But the conversation was quick, fifty-three seconds when Livia went back and checked. Livia had prepared a long statement about why they needed to meet and what she hoped to gain from the discussion. But it was unnecessary. The answer came immediately.

“I’ll meet with you tonight,” the quiet voice had told her.

So Livia found herself, just free from afternoon rounds at five p.m., driving east again toward Emerson Bay. It was close to seven p.m. when she pulled into the parking lot of the Montgomery County Federal Building. She walked to the plaza in front of the building with twilight still burning the horizon. As promised, Livia found her waiting on a bench outside the courthouse.

“Megan?” Livia asked to be sure, although she’d seen Megan McDonald’s photo—dozens of them while she read Missing—and knew Megan’s face well from the time immediately after the girl’s escape. But this real-life Megan was different from the girl in the photos and on TV. That girl was happy and vibrant, with eyes filled by something missing from this real-life version of Megan McDonald. It took Livia a moment to define it, but when she came face-to-face with her, Livia was able to see it. The photos that covered the pages of the book were all taken—and likely carefully chosen—from before Megan was abducted. In them, Megan’s eyes had a conquering effect to them. There was something in the pupil and iris and adnexa that announced she was ready for the world and for the future. But more than that, those bright eyes on the page were enjoying the present life they were watching. These new eyes, however, the ones that were now the windows through which this girl witnessed the world, were vacant of passion and empty of the ambition that had so badly irked Livia as she read Megan’s words. These true-life eyes were sad and lonely, and certainly had no propensity for optimism. They were stuck on today, and today was not as bright as it once had been.