“You said earlier you had your DNA tested?” Ramsey asked.
His deep voice pulled her out of spiraling thoughts. “What?”
“DNA. Tell me again why you haven’t analyzed your results?”
“You mean why does the missing persons agent find everybody but herself?”
A half smile tugged the edge of his lips. “Basically, yes.”
“I could say that I’ve been really busy the last year, which would be true. But I’d be lying to you and myself. I didn’t want to know. My life is really good as it is.”
“You aren’t curious about your past?”
“Sometimes. But I made it a habit a long time ago after a very frustrating ancestry assignment in elementary school not to look back.” She shook her head. “All the teacher wanted us to do was build out a family tree, and I couldn’t do it.”
“When you see a mother and child and note the physical similarities, do you wonder who you look like?”
“Sure, I do. I don’t look like my parents, who are fair skinned. I also don’t share their temperament. They are fairly laid back while I’m high strung. I wonder why I like to chew ice or can’t sleep more than six hours.”
“Yeah. All that.”
“We can’t choose our family, Ramsey.”
A very slight shrug lifted his shoulder. “Knowing your genetic history isn’t always a blessing.”
“How far can you trace your family back?”
“No more than most.”
“Bet a paycheck you can go back at least three hundred years.”
“Give or take.”
She laughed. “I’m picturing a portrait gallery in some dusty home in the Hamptons.”
“It’s not dusty. We have a staff that cares for it.”
“Jesus, do you have portraits of ancestors hanging on the walls?”
“Yeah, a few. My mother is the keeper of the family tree. I’ve not had much interest in it.”
“Because it’s right there and you can see it anytime. It’s not a gnawing unknown that will always be out of reach.”
“That’s the way it is for you?”
She shrugged. “Don’t ever tell my mother, but yeah, sometimes.”
“Look at the DNA test. You might get a hit.”
“If I get any more hits like Bonnie or Sonny, I’m not sure I could stand the excitement.”
“What about genetic questions? General medical health history?”
“All important questions. But you’re searching for logic in my emotional quagmire, Agent Ramsey.”
“Logic isn’t the root of the problem.”
She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “And what is?”
“Fear. Fear of the unknown. You don’t mind the unknown in general or in other people’s lives, but you don’t like it for yourself.”
She nodded. “Makes me feel a little out of control or as if I’m standing on a shaky foundation.”
“For what it’s worth, you’re handling all this well.”
She liked the deep, rich timbre and the way the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened. “I know you’re not married. What else can you tell me about you?”
“You tell me, Agent. What do you see?”
“You want me to profile you, FBI man?”
“I can dish it out, so I better be able to take it.”
She regarded him for only a couple of seconds before saying, “You’re worried about losing your edge. It’s why you’re here. You could have sent another agent, but you came instead. Are you approaching a big birthday? What, fifty or sixty?” she teased.
“Ouch. Thirty-nine and one hell of a promotion. Means moving to the Washington office.”
“But you aren’t going to take it, are you?”
He was silent for a long moment. “No. Though that information is not public yet.”
“I’m a vault,” she said. “What is plan B after the bureau?”
“No idea. Which scares me almost as much as the idea of years filled with politics, congressional hearings, and budgets.”
“I have the unknown past and you have the unknown career future. Aren’t we the pair?”
“If you decide to look into those results and need help with the genealogy charts, Andy from my team is good at that kind of thing.”
He had flipped the conversation back to her, steering it away from feelings he would rather not think about. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Tackle the genealogy from a different angle,” he offered. “It’s not about you right now. Find out more about your history, prove or disprove Bonnie’s claims, and hopefully figure out who the guy is with the pickle jar.”
“I see the logic,” she said.
“And?”
“I’ll have a look at it tonight. If I have questions, I’ll reach out to Andy.”
“Glad to be of assistance.”
They pulled up to Jennifer Brown’s home and angled the car behind the state forensic van and a couple of cruisers.
During her first trip to the house, Melina had not had the time to study it closely as she had processed the controlled mayhem of the forensic team and uniformed officers doing their jobs.
Yard work and general home maintenance had ranked low on the priority list for Jennifer. The recycling bin full of wine and beer bottles suggested she’d liked to have parties. Her five-year abstinence had likely never actually made it past one year.
Melina and Ramsey both pulled on rubber gloves and stepped into the foyer. All the blinds were drawn, and the faint scent of death still lingered. The ashtray on the coffee table was full of cigarette butts. Some were cupped in lipstick and others not. The brands varied between Virginia Slims and Marlboro. There was one wineglass, lipstick matching the color on the cigarettes, and a pile of cheese crackers. No signs of pets and only a few photos encased in dollar store frames. Furniture appeared secondhand and worn, and the couch was covered in unnaturally orange cracker crumbs.
Ramsey walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and then slowly looked around the small galley space. He picked up a collection of travel brochures that looked like newer versions of the one Kelly had shown them. Hanging on a hook was a red vest and pinned over the left pocket was a gold brass nameplate that read JENNIFER.
Matt Piper, dressed in a hazmat suit, looked out of the bedroom and raised his hand. As she moved toward him, she noticed the death scent grew stronger. “Any luck?”
“We’re still working our way through the bathroom and bedroom. I have dozens of prints. I can tell you there is no forced entry and no signs of a violent struggle.”
“Anything else you can tell us about her killer?” Ramsey asked.
Matt motioned for them to follow him into the bedroom and the adjoining bath. “I think our guy got into the tub with her.”
“Why do you say that?” Ramsey asked.
“Two things. First, the hair found in the tub includes hers and someone else’s. Second, there are signs that the tub’s water spilled over, and what didn’t dry up pooled under the tub. However, when she was found, the waterline ringing the inside of the tub only reached the halfway mark.”
“Any signs of his DNA?” Melina noted scented lotion and more lipstick beside the sink.
“I’ve collected multiple hair and skin fibers,” Matt said. “At this point we don’t know if it’s the killer’s or someone else’s.”
“He knows her,” Ramsey said. “She invites him into her house, and he strangles her and then places her in the tub. Why does he get in the tub with her?”
“He isn’t ready to leave her,” Melina said. “He’s lonely and wants to spend time with her. Bathing together is very intimate.”
“He doesn’t have to worry about expectations or unnecessary conversation from her. She’s totally his and exists only for him.”
“It’s not the violence that attracts him, but the need for connection,” Melina said. “I’ve seen a similar character profile with pedophiles. The sick bastards want the emotional connection.”
“And he takes the fourth finger on the left hand,” Ramsey said.
“Which is supposed to be the direct line to the heart.” She glanced at her hand and traced her naked ring finger. Bonnie had been in Nashville to find Sonny. And though Bonnie had not admitted it, it wasn’t a huge leap to assume she had stolen the jar filled with fingers from Sonny. And if anything Bonnie had said about Sonny was remotely true, he was her half brother.
“I would bet he’s charming,” Ramsey said. “He woos his victims. Why force them when you can coax them into your arms? He’s moderately, if not very, attractive. The lack of struggle with his victims is a big part of the reason he has stayed under the radar.”
“If he sticks to his pattern, then he’ll only kill once in the Nashville area,” Melina said.
Ramsey shook his head. “If he keeps to his pattern.”
“A half sibling hit in the ancestry world is akin to hitting gold. Whatever DNA we pulled from the crime scene that we think belongs to this guy should be compared to mine. If we can confirm he’s my brother, we might be able to use that to our advantage.”