"Whoever killed her caught her unaware. She didn't see it coming," she finally said. Her mind transported her back to the gruesome scene. She'd been in the bedroom only a minute, but the images of what she'd seen would never fade. Foil held the room dark. The radio played. The sheets-cheerful daisies were the print-were colored in ropes and slashes of blood. Bonnie was in a pale blue nightgown.
"She was facedown on the bed," she said. "Hit from behind?"
"Maybe, but she was stabbed in the chest and the back. He or they moved her around on that bed a bit."
Christopher picked up the black album. "This is from Bonnie's place. We found it wedged behind the desk. I don't know if it was hidden there, or if it just fell." He indicated a wingback chair he scooted next to the bed where he'd taken a seat. "Sit here. There's some weird stuff in this book"
Suddenly the Macy's bag of hospital records seemed irrelevant.
Emily edged the chair closer to Christopher, who'd opened the book with his eyes fixed on hers, gauging her reaction. It was a compendium of news articles, neatly cut and pasted on black sheets of construction paper. Whoever had set up the book, clearly did so carefully. There wasn't a crooked edge or scissor slip. The headline on the opening page was unfamiliar to her.
MISSING ONE WEEK: WHERE IS BRIT?
Now holding the book across her lap, Emily scanned the yellowed, brittle clipping. It was an article about Brit Osterman, a twelve-year-old girl who'd gone missing on her way home from school in her cozy Seattle neighborhood.
"What's this?" she asked.
Christopher just looked at her and shook his head. "Read on. And like I said, be prepared. I think there's something here"
The article on the first page was followed by one with a picture of an adorable girl with cat-eye glasses and a nose splashed with freckles. She had not been found. Her parents were quoted as saying they'd "never give up ... until our little girl is home safe and sound"
Another item recounted how the girl was never found.
FIVE YEARS AGO, LITTLE GIRL VANISHED
Emily looked up at Christopher. Her mind was racing for a connection. "Bonnie?"
"Oh God no," he answered flatly. "Not at all. Flip to the next one."
The headline on the next page was an absolute screamer. The letters were at least two inches tall, centered smack under the masthead of the Nampa, Idaho, Daily Express. The words were utterly heartbreaking. Emily touched her lips, as if doing so would stop her from tears as she read.
STEFFI MILLER'S MOTHER: WHY DID GOD ALLOW THIS?
The article was about the disappearance of a teenage girl from a religious camp on a lake near Nampa. A couple of campers were quoted about how much Steffi had enjoyed canoeing and theorized that perhaps she'd suffered a fatal accident. But the reporter pretty much put that to bed with a quote from the ever-PR-minded camp director: "If she took a spill in the lake, she did it without a canoe. All of our canoes and skiffs are accounted for. We just don't know where she went" A photograph of a half dozen boys and girls sitting around a campfire had been the interest of at least one person. In red pencil, someone wrote: "Me" with an arrow pointing to the back of one of the boy's heads.
Emily met Christopher's knowing stare. He half smiled in that way cops do when something really devious is about to be sprung on an unsuspecting partner. Emily felt like a partner, back in the old days ... and right then, too.
"Are you having fun yet?" he asked.
"Actually, I'm not" She frowned, knowing that he knew more and was holding out on her. "You know how I hate it when anyone withholds information."
"I remember," he said. "Oh yeah, I remember. The Miller case was never solved. No body ever found. Turn the page"
There were additional clippings. These featured a Seattle woman named Tanya Sutter. The name seemed somewhat familiar to Emily, but she couldn't quite place it. According to the news articles and there were four pages of them-Tanya's body was discovered by a roadside cleanup crew one week after her disappearance. She was swathed in a plastic wrapping and dumped near an off-ramp outside of Tacoma.
The light went on. Emily pointed a slender finger at Tanya's photo. "Didn't they tag Dylan Walker for this one?"
"Bingo."
She scanned the articles and was reminded about Olga Cerrino and how she'd told her that the plastic wrapping had been a signature of Walker's. Since the other victims' bodies were never recovered, no one could say for sure if they'd been murdered, how the killer had done it, or if Walker had indeed been the killer. The bodies were the missing evidence.
"Are Shelley Marie Smith and Lorrie Ann Warner in here?" she asked.
"Yup. But that's not why I brought this to you"
Emily looked at him, puzzled. She started flipping toward the back of the book.
"Stop! Back up," he said. "You know better than to read the back of a book first"
Startled by his initial command, Emily missed the playful sarcasm of his last words. She started going backward, page by page; the headlines replayed the story of the Meridian murders from conviction to the discovery of the bodies. It was like a videotape on rewind. Pictures of Dylan Walker looking snarky and charming, handsome and devious. The high school photos of the victims showed them in all their youthful glory. Long hair. Braces. Wide smiles. Hand-wringing headlines covered every aspect of the story. An image of Olga Morris-Cerrino caught her eye and Emily lingered on the photo. She was so lovely then. So young. So unaware that shed marry and be a widow before fifty-five. Emily started flipping the pages once more.
"There," Christopher said. "Right there."
She stopped. The black pages framed four news clippings. Emily put her hand to her chest. Her eyes were fastened to the pages in utter horror. She felt the air rush out of the room. She could barely breathe. The photos and words were so familiar, but the context of the book that someone had created was all wrong.
"What in the world?" she finally said. Her eyes glistened with the beginning of tears. "Chris?"
He leaned closer to her and put his hand on her knee.
"I know. I thought the same thing."
Emily started to cry. It was more than she could take in. "You know what this could mean?"
"I know and I'm sorry. But it might be wrong, a hoax. A mistake. Maybe wishful thinking on the part of Bonnie Jeffries. Maybe she wanted Walker to be responsible for every unsolved murder case"
Emily swallowed hard. It was quick gulp for air. She looked once more at the headlines. They were knives stabbing at her eyes, but she couldn't turn away.
GIRL ABDUCTED FROM RESTAURANT
Search Continues For Kristi Cooper
COP KILLS KIDNAPPER
Girl Still Missing
BOY, 12, FINDS MISSING GIRL'S BODY
The last article brought a torrent of memories. None of which had ever been anywhere but just beneath the surface. The slightest scratch, a twitch, the wrong word brought her back to the autumn of Kristi's discovery. With Christopher holding her close, Emily spun her way back to that day.
In every way, Christopher Collier was there, too.
The vine maples were on fire, colors so deep red and bright orange they looked like some set decorator's fantasy of what autumn should look like in a 1950s movie musical. All that had transpired was indelible, a memory tattoo.
Two Bentonville, Washington, boys with a new BB gun worked their way through a trail as they searched for squirrels and birds to shoot. The older of the two, Tyler Preston, was fourteen and the gun was a birthday present from his father. The other boy was twelve-year-old Mason Davidson.
"When am I going to get to shoot?" Mason asked for what must have been the tenth time.
"Not very patient, are you? I guess you can have a turn," Tyler said, finally handing over the BB gun. "You know how to shoot? See that robin over there?" He jabbed his finger at a bird about twenty-five yards away, a close enough target for him to hit, but not for the younger boy.