Chapter 20
I arrived at the San Luis Obispo Police Department just before noon, the locket tucked inside an envelope in my coat pocket. The winter air clung to me as I stepped outside. I walked to the department, pulling open the glass doors as I headed toward Foley’s office.
Whitlock stood in front of Foley’s desk when I entered, one hand on his hip, the other drumming against a stack of files, as he hummed a familiar jazz tune. Foley sat at his computer, typing something, maybe a report.
Both men looked up at me at the same time, as if surprised to see me.
“I have something for you,” I said, gripping the envelope.
Whitlock perked up. “Please tell me you found a winning lottery ticket.”
I laughed. “This may be even better.”
He reached for the envelope, and when I handed it over, he gave it a light shake. “What is it?”
I nodded at it. “Open it.”
Whitlock tore the seal and peered inside, the color draining from his face as he stared at the locket.
“Well, what is it?” Foley asked.
Whitlock reached into his pocket, removing a glove, which he then slid on his hand. He pulled out the silver locket, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.
Foley stood so fast his chair rolled back, bumping the wall.
“You’re joking,” Foley said. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Anne Fontaine’s locket.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In Audrey’s bedroom,” I said.
Whitlock let out a slow breath. “Oh, for crying out … where?”
“Inside a small bag taped between the bottom of a plant pot and a saucer. I only found it because I was fixating on the plant, trying to decide if it had died before or after Audrey did.”
Foley rubbed his jaw.
“We checked that room top to bottom. The plant was making its exit when we saw it. Had only one green leaf left.” He glanced at me, looking sheepish. “I should have found that locket. I should have known to look there. Teenagers hide things in strange places sometimes.”
“You searched that room with the weight of a fresh murder on your back,” I said. “Trust me, I almost left without checking the plant. It was hidden well. It’s clear Audrey intended for it to stay out of sight.”
Whitlock grabbed an evidence bag, and as he slipped the locket into the bag, it caught the light, and I saw something.
“Hold on,” I said, leaning in for a closer look.
Whitlock paused. “What is it?”
“Look at the clasp.” I pointed.
Foley crouched beside me. “Is that—”
“A hair,” I said.
A single dark strand was caught in the tiny hinge, almost invisible until the light had hit it.
Foley’s expression turned grim, and he said, “We know this is Anne’s locket. Still, we need Silas.”
“Yeah, we do,” I said.
Foley grabbed his phone and made the call.
“Silas? Need you in the bullpen. Evidence.” The call ended, and he turned toward me. “I’m sure we can all agree that Audrey didn’t stumble into trouble. She found something that put her in someone’s crosshairs.”
“Someone with a reason to keep a secret in the past,” Whitlock added.
Ten minutes later, Silas stepped through the doorway, his hair wild, tropical button-up shirt half tucked in, as if he’d been dragged away from something tedious.
Foley pointed at the locket, and Silas said, “What’s this, then?”
“This here is a piece of history,” Whitlock said.
“It’s also evidence,” Foley replied. “And there’s a hair on it.”
“I’m guessing it has to do with the investigation you’re working on and the cold case Whitlock’s looking into again?”
“It does,” I said.
Whitlock had told Silas about Anne when he’d dropped off the scarf, but he wasn’t sure how it was all connected. Over the next few minutes, I filled Silas in on the locket, its connection to Anne Fontaine, and to the abandoned cabin.
“Speaking of the cabin,” Silas said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that.”
“What do you know?” Foley asked.
Silas reached into his bag and pulled out a small plastic container holding the vertebrae I recovered and set it on the desk between us.
“It’s human,” he said.
Whitlock closed his eyes for a second, his expression a mixture of relief and sadness over what it meant. If the bone was human, we might be solving two murders, not one.
“Which part of the spine is it from?” Foley asked.
“Thoracic vertebrae,” Silas said. “Midback.”
He tapped the side of the container. “Based on the morphology, I believe it belonged to a female.”
Foley raised a brow. “How can you tell?”
“Male vertebrae tend to be thicker and heavier,” Silas said. “Female vertebrae show subtle differences, lower down the spine where curvature helps accommodate childbirth. This one aligns with female anatomy. Not definitive yet, but I’m close enough to make the call.”
I felt a knot in my stomach. “I wonder if it’s Anne’s.”
“It’s possible,” Silas said. “I can’t confirm until we compare DNA. But the locket? The hair? The bone? Something tells me you’re headed in the right direction.”
“I wonder if there are more remains at the cabin,” I said.
“We were over there again yesterday. Didn’t find anything more, though we haven’t done any digging yet.”
“If the bone is Anne’s, what you found is just the beginning,” Foley said. “That bone wasn’t sitting there for twenty-five years without company. I’ll call the judge, let him know we need a warrant to dig at the cabin.”
Whitlock nodded.
Silas gathered up the locket and the bone and placed both in his bag. “I’ll go ahead and test the strand of hair, even though we’re just almost certain that it’s Anne’s.”
He left the room, and Foley reached for his coat. “If that cabin holds the rest of Anne’s remains, we need to get to it fast, before the killer has another chance to clean up the past.”