Page 155 of Cold, Cold Bones
I didn’t envy M. Zucker her upcoming encounter with Detective Delightful. Suspected she’d be more forthcoming with Slidell than she’d been with me.
Restless and needing to do something, I nosed around on the internet. Learned there were dozens of disaster restoration services in the Charlotte area. My surfing turned up way more about damage from water, fire, and bodily fluids than I wanted to know.
Then, needing to stay busy, I fiddled with dates, organizing the copycat cases, not in the order in which they’d come into the morgue, but in a chronology of death. Who died when?
Boldonado went missing, and presumably died, in August 2019. Sanchez was murdered in December 2019. Kwalwasser passed in August 2020, and her head was swiped later that year. Hunt and Soto had been dead only a week.
Were there other killings we’d missed? Before Boldonado? During the long gap between Sanchez and Kwalwasser?
What wedidknow was that the first copycat killing took place three years ago.
Mental head slap.
Boldonado’s death mimicked that of Noble Cruikshank. The Cruikshank file had been accessed three years back. By whom? I’d meant to follow up with Herrin, had totally forgotten.
I checked the time. Nine-forty. Too late. A call to the Charleston County coroner’s office would top my morning’s agenda.
More time passed with no further word from Ryan. At eleven, I gave up and went to bed.
Sleep fought me. Or I fought it.
I was finally drifting off when the id boys yipped a new warning. A comment by Slidell.
Was that the wisdom they’d been tendering all along?
Whatever.
I added their concern to the morning’s list.
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY20
Ryan slipped into bed sometime after midnight, departed before dawn. No pile of rumpled clothing attested to his brief presence. I think he put on the same jeans and BYLT hoodie in which he’d spent the previous day.
I found brewed coffee and a half bag of donuts in the kitchen. Silently thanking Old Blue Eyes for both, I chose a honey glazed, filled a mug, and sat down with the portable.
I was on hold several minutes before Herrin picked up. Again, we exchanged pleasantries.
“As you know, I recently asked to see a fifteen-year-old file. Is it unusual to want to review material from that far back?”
“Yes. But it happens.”
“I know you permitted me access because I worked the case, but normally who’s allowed to request a file?”
“Anyone can ask—cops, family, PR, general public.”
“PR?”
“Court-appointed personal rep.”
I thought about that. “Might law enforcement request a file years after their involvement?”
“Could happen. If the agency is reopening the case.”
“Why?”
“New detective, family asking for a reinvestigation, file getting rolled to a cold case unit, whatever.”
“The case I asked for was solved, the file closed.”
