Chapter Twelve

Sunday morning, Laura helped her aunt fill the dishwasher. It was routine to partake of a large home-cooked breakfast, skip lunch, then have an early dinner at one of the local restaurants.

“Judging from the dark circles under your eyes, you didn’t sleep well.”

Laura swept crumbs into her hand and emptied them into the sink. “I kept thinking about that poor woman. To tell you the truth, I half expected our spirit to make another appearance to let me know if we’d found her…Lynnette.”

“I thought she might, too.”

Laura propped against the counter. “I used the time to write an article for the paper, which I won’t publish until we hear from Mitch.”

Her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it from her pocket. Her sigh was audible when she spoke. “Deputy Carter?”

“I’m at the back door. Are you up to talking?”

“Sure. Give me a sec.”

Phyllis said, “Why don’t you make a fresh pot of coffee. I’ll go down and let him in.”

“I’m not an invalid, Aunt Philly.”

“I know you’re not, dear. Although you mask the pain well, I can see how yesterday’s activities have taken a toll on your leg.”

A smile touched Laura’s lips as she relented. “Okay, just know I’m making the coffee under protest.”

After doing so, she went to her room and carried two morgue books out to the sun porch. She stood for a moment taking in the serenity. As soon as the news broke about finding the skeleton, Cole Harbor would become a hive of gossip and speculation—and in a perverse way would draw vulturous curiosity seekers.

“Good morning, Friday.”

Deep in thought, his voice startled her. Her skin jumped, and she chided herself. “Coffee’s fresh.”

He nodded.

Phyllis intervened. “You two go ahead with business.” She turned to the kitchen.

“The scratches on your face look better this morning. At least you no longer look like you tangled with a wild cat.”

He was making small talk, and Laura knew it. What was he waiting for—coffee?

“You don’t look so good yourself. Long night?”

“Yep. I phoned state police to let them know Dr. Musuyo and I were bringing in a skeleton rather than a fresh cadaver. We wanted to make sure our girl didn’t get lost in the shuffle just because it’s a cold case. By the time we arrived at the ME’s office in Augusta, filed some reports, and talked to the ME, it was around midnight when we got home.”

Her heart swelled. She wondered if yesterday’s chastisement had changed his mind about the case. “What is the estimated time, or time period, of death?”

Mitch accepted a mug of coffee from Phyllis. He waved away the cream and sugar.

“We won’t know for certain until the official report comes in.” He drank deep from the cup and offered his compliments on the coffee. “It’s a good thing you found her when you did. All that was left were the bones. No trace tissues remained, and due to the peaty soil’s acidity, the bones were beginning to dissolve. Ken put the time of death at approximately ten years, if not longer. He recorded the official cause of death as a broken hyoid bone, which is a horseshoe-shaped bone situated in the neck.”

Laura shuddered as she unconsciously reached up and touched her throat. “Any speculation about why the finger joints were removed?”

Mitch set his cup aside and leaned forward. He clasped his hands between his knees. “The victim may have put up a fight, scratched or clawed the murderer. He probably feared if her body was discovered that his skin would be under her fingernails. Somehow, he may have known DNA is conclusive and would get him life in prison.”

Phyllis had been sitting quietly, listening. Now her voice was indignant. “It’s too bad Maine doesn’t recognize the death penalty.”

“I agree, Aunty Philly. Cutting off the joints is uber extreme. How would he have known to do such a horrible thing? And—here’s a thought—what did he do with them? Keep them for souvenirs?”

Philly tsked. “He had enough foresight to row the body out to the island. My guess is that along the way he tossed them overboard, and the finger joints became fish food.”

“There are a lot of sickos in this world, and I’ve seen my share of them.”

“Friday…” Mitch brought the conversation between the two women back to the present. “Yesterday, before leaving the island, you whispered something about knowing the victim’s identity.”

She leaned forward to lift one of the morgue books from the table. “Before I show you, and for you to understand, I need to preface this with the night of the séance.”

He ran a hand over his face and peered at her through splayed fingers. “Séance.”

She pierced him with a warning look. “Yes, and if you even hint at poking fun, you’re out of here.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’m a lawman in pursuit of evidence. Whatever you have, I’ll heed it carefully.”

She watched his face as she gave him the rundown of what had happened that night at Maudie Perry’s house, and then when the spirit had later appeared in her bathroom in the mirror.

He hadn’t laughed. Good.

Her throat was suddenly dry. She took a swallow of coffee. “This will sound like a script from a horror movie. Even so, bear with me and keep an open mind. I decided to go through Dan Fremont’s old morgue books to see if I could find a connection. Honestly, I didn’t expect to find this.” She opened the book and used her fingernail to tap the article. “Ten years ago, Lynnette Braswell, a young nurse, disappeared. Our girl was wearing a nurse’s uniform. What was left of it. As Aunt Philly explained, Lynnette’s disappearance was at the same time old Sheriff Gilman was ill, and then subsequently died. With the death of her father, Roberta Gilman found herself filling his position and trying to get a handle on everything at once, and apparently the case fell through the cracks. Dan did a great job of investigative reporting. He even took a picture of a picture from Lynnette’s apartment.”

Mitch turned the book for a better view of the yellowed photograph. “Do you mind making a copy of this? I’d like to fax the picture to the ME to see how close a forensic artist’s sketch matches this picture.” He stood. “Good work, Friday. I’ll pull case files to see which ones remain open or unsolved. Whatever I find, I’ll keep you posted.”

Laura placed her phone over the girl’s picture. In a few clicks she said, “Done. It should arrive on your phone in a minute.”

“The miracles of technology. I can remember when we didn’t have computers. Now, in the blink of an eye, we can share information from all over the world.” A guitar strum notified him the email had arrived.

Phyllis stood and gathered the cups. “Mitch, I remember when that girl disappeared. Since no foul play was suspected, none of us really gave it a second thought. Amos Gilman’s theory was that since she had no known family, she simply met a guy and ran off with him. It was many months later that her car was discovered by hikers. A body was never found. There was no registration, but folks at the hospital who knew Lynnette identified it as her vehicle. Amos died, and his daughter concluded the body was thrown from the vehicle, swept out to sea, and the fish took care of the rest. Case closed, and forgotten, until now.”

Laura made a half wry smile. “Do you think the killer stayed in Cole Harbor?”

Mitch gave the ladies a guarded look. “It is possible he assimilated himself into the town. What better place to hide than right out in the open?”

“Then, before you leave,” Laura picked up the second book and opened it to a marked page. “This is conjecture, nothing more. While I was searching, I found this article. Actually, I found it before I ran across the one about Lynnette. Twenty years ago, Brenda Alligood was murdered by Bennie Wiener. He was sixteen at the time, and declared mentally incompetent.”

“Okay, what’s your point?”

My point, Mitch, is that he broke her neck. I realize this picture was taken twenty years ago, but who does he remind you of?”

When Mitch drew a blank, Laura voiced her impatience. “Benjamin Noone.”

He leaned closer. “Sorry, don’t see a resemblance. But email me the article and picture. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

He tipped his hat and waited for Phyllis to lead him to the staircase. Half way down, he stopped and looked up. “Hey, Friday, when do you plan to put out the next edition?”

“If I have to stay up all night, a special edition will come out tomorrow. As soon as people get wind of our finding a body or a skeleton, they’ll start beating my door down for details. Might as well give them a few tidbits to nibble on.”

“Good. Also, print the picture of Lynnette and compare the missing girl as a possible connection to yesterday’s discovery. If our perp is in Cole Harbor, we might as well make him start sweating.”

Laura grabbed her laptop and the two large books and followed behind her aunt and Mitch. She needed to get to the newspaper office. There was work to do.