was tall and striking in a lanky, easy way, and was quick to shake their hands when Jackson introduced IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
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him as Jake Mallory. On Jackson’s own team, he was adept with cameras, recorders and, he admitted dryly, a guitar.
“Only one member of your team’s here,” Logan pointed out.
“I told you,” Jackson Crow said. “We’re stretched too thin. There’s been a murder at an old hotel in D.C. Some of my people are there.”
Logan Raintree merely nodded.
“So what do you have?” Kelsey asked Jake Mallory.
“You’ve given them the information about Chelsea Martin and Tara Grissom?” Jake asked Crow.
Again, Crow nodded. Jake sat at his computer and hit a key. The large screen against the far wall came to life.
“That’s Chelsea Martin on the left, Tara Grissom on the right,” he said. “Both photos were taken a few months before they disappeared.”
No matter how long a person worked in law enforcement, Kelsey thought, it was heartbreaking to see the image of a young woman in life—and to know how that life had ended. Chelsea Martin had huge blue eyes and dark brown hair. Tara Grissom was a blonde, with green eyes. Chelsea’s face had been round, while Tara’s was slim with high cheekbones. Chelsea peered out at them, smiling. The close-up had been cropped, and it looked as if her face had been taken from a picture with kids in it. She’d presumably had her arms around some of them. They must’ve been children she’d taught. Tara’s picture had probably been a publicity photo, because it had a neutral background and she smiled at them from a posed angle.
“These are the young women we know, and they’re at IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
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the morgue, along with six we have yet to identify,” Jake said. “The killer isn’t going for a particular look, or not that we can pin down from these two, at any rate. One’s a brunette, the other a blonde. One was plump, and one was lean. And although we haven’t identified the other remains, there’s hair on most of them, or remnants of hair, and the colors vary.” He cleared his throat. “I was listening to Chelsea’s last phone conversation when you arrived.”
“Her phone conversation? How was it recorded?” Logan asked. “If her friend answered the phone, there wouldn’t be a recording.”
“Apparently, she answered right when the recording began. We got lucky. Nancy McCall had an old-fashioned answering machine,” Jake said. “It’s strange—I’ve been isolating sounds on the tape, but…well, you want to listen to the original recording first?”
Crow
nodded.
“This is the conversation,” Jake said, hitting another key.
Chelsea Martin, with her wide cheeks and big eyes, smiled at them from the screen as they listened. “Nancy!
Hey!” said her voice, sweet and excited.
“You were supposed to call me when you landed,” came the reply.
“I’m sorry. I went straight to the Alamo, which is crazy,
’cause I’m dragging around a bag and all. But I had to come here! I’ve read so much about it, so many stories about the siege and the battle and the people who were here…oh!
Too funny! There’s a man in costume. I’ve been f lirting with him. He’s pretty cute, too!”
Before her friend could respond, another voice broke in.
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It was deep and husky, and had a rattling sound, almost as if someone were speaking through a mouthful of dust.
“Come away, come away, now. You’re in danger!” They heard Chelsea giggle. “The battle’s over,” she said.
“You’re in danger,” the rattling voice said again, “Please, listen to me.”
That voice. Kelsey had been in dire situations several times, but she couldn’t remember when any sound had caused such a chill to suddenly sweep through
9780778313298_HC.indd 59
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60
him as Jake Mallory. On Jackson’s own team, he was adept with cameras, recorders and, he admitted dryly, a guitar.
“Only one member of your team’s here,” Logan pointed out.
“I told you,” Jackson Crow said. “We’re stretched too thin. There’s been a murder at an old hotel in D.C. Some of my people are there.”
Logan Raintree merely nodded.
“So what do you have?” Kelsey asked Jake Mallory.
“You’ve given them the information about Chelsea Martin and Tara Grissom?” Jake asked Crow.
Again, Crow nodded. Jake sat at his computer and hit a key. The large screen against the far wall came to life.
“That’s Chelsea Martin on the left, Tara Grissom on the right,” he said. “Both photos were taken a few months before they disappeared.”
No matter how long a person worked in law enforcement, Kelsey thought, it was heartbreaking to see the image of a young woman in life—and to know how that life had ended. Chelsea Martin had huge blue eyes and dark brown hair. Tara Grissom was a blonde, with green eyes. Chelsea’s face had been round, while Tara’s was slim with high cheekbones. Chelsea peered out at them, smiling. The close-up had been cropped, and it looked as if her face had been taken from a picture with kids in it. She’d presumably had her arms around some of them. They must’ve been children she’d taught. Tara’s picture had probably been a publicity photo, because it had a neutral background and she smiled at them from a posed angle.
“These are the young women we know, and they’re at IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
9780778313298_HC.indd 60
11-12-01 3:55 PM
61
the morgue, along with six we have yet to identify,” Jake said. “The killer isn’t going for a particular look, or not that we can pin down from these two, at any rate. One’s a brunette, the other a blonde. One was plump, and one was lean. And although we haven’t identified the other remains, there’s hair on most of them, or remnants of hair, and the colors vary.” He cleared his throat. “I was listening to Chelsea’s last phone conversation when you arrived.”
“Her phone conversation? How was it recorded?” Logan asked. “If her friend answered the phone, there wouldn’t be a recording.”
“Apparently, she answered right when the recording began. We got lucky. Nancy McCall had an old-fashioned answering machine,” Jake said. “It’s strange—I’ve been isolating sounds on the tape, but…well, you want to listen to the original recording first?”
Crow
nodded.
“This is the conversation,” Jake said, hitting another key.
Chelsea Martin, with her wide cheeks and big eyes, smiled at them from the screen as they listened. “Nancy!
Hey!” said her voice, sweet and excited.
“You were supposed to call me when you landed,” came the reply.
“I’m sorry. I went straight to the Alamo, which is crazy,
’cause I’m dragging around a bag and all. But I had to come here! I’ve read so much about it, so many stories about the siege and the battle and the people who were here…oh!
Too funny! There’s a man in costume. I’ve been f lirting with him. He’s pretty cute, too!”
Before her friend could respond, another voice broke in.
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62
It was deep and husky, and had a rattling sound, almost as if someone were speaking through a mouthful of dust.
“Come away, come away, now. You’re in danger!” They heard Chelsea giggle. “The battle’s over,” she said.
“You’re in danger,” the rattling voice said again, “Please, listen to me.”
That voice. Kelsey had been in dire situations several times, but she couldn’t remember when any sound had caused such a chill to suddenly sweep through
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