“They’re from Jefferson County,” the nurse said.
“Yes,” he replied. “I know.”
It was Saturday, and Madison was off duty—a rare event. Her days off had acquired a routine of late: the call, the journey, the exchange of information, the second call. Madison checked her watch—her grandfather’s: 8:25 a.m. Enough time to do laundry; she picked up her sweats from the floor where she’d discarded them and added whatever was left in the hamper.
She pulled on black jeans, a dark blue shirt, and short leather boots. Her cell rang as she was sliding the snub-nosed revolver into an ankle holster.
She picked up the phone from the bedside table.
“Madison,” Lieutenant Fynn said.
“Sir.” Madison froze with her trouser hem stuck in her boot: her shift commander would not call her at home on her day off for chitchat and giggles.
“Just had a call from Jefferson County. Four days ago park police found human remains about a mile from where you were. Took them this long to recover them.”
Madison knew what was coming before she heard the words.
“A child. The remains are quite old.”
“David Quinn,” she whispered.
“Could very well be. County police is getting a new DNA sample from Nathan Quinn as we speak. We’ll know soon enough.”
“The kidnap happened in Seattle. It’s our investigation.”
“I know. If it’s David Quinn, they’ll ship the remains to our ME, and we’ll pick it up from there.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“It’s worse than we thought.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“The skull bears evidence of trauma.”
Madison’s mind raced to recall the details she had learned from the newspapers.
“No, David Quinn suffered from congenital arrhythmia. At the original inquest—”
“Madison, if that child is David Quinn, it wasn’t accidental death. He was killed by blunt-force trauma to the head.”
“It’s . . .” She struggled to find the words.
“I thought you would want to tell him in person.”
“Yes, I’ll be on my way in a minute.”
“Way to spend your day off.”
Fynn had just rung off when the cell beeped again.
“It’s Doyle.”
“Carl. How are you?”
“I honestly don’t know, Detective. How are you?”
“I’ve just heard; my boss called me.”
“It will take a few days for confirmation, they said. Do you need to write this down?”
“No, go ahead.”
“Blood pressure normal; the swabs came back clear—no infection; physical therapy was hell this week, as they expected, but he’s progressing. Eye test—no difference from before the event. So far, so good. The antibiotics for the partial splenectomy are very strong; they hope to diminish the dose gradually and see how the remaining spleen will react. No temperature, no unusual numbers in the blood work.”
“Thank you, Carl.”
“Are you going for the 10:00 a.m. slot?”
“I am.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Yes, he has a right to know before it hits the news.”
“We’ll speak after.”
Madison shrugged on a blazer and locked her front door. The drive would give her time to prepare herself. Whatever good that will do.
It had taken them twenty-five years to find him, but at last David Quinn was coming home. Abducted with two friends and taken to the Hoh River forest, tied to a tree with a heavy rope, and left to fight for breath until he passed out. Then the men had taken his body and left the other children to the approaching night. No one was ever charged with the kidnap; no reason had ever been found for the abduction. With no body, no forensics, there was no chance of a prosecution.
Three children were taken into the woods; two came out alive. One, James Sinclair, would grow up to be a good man, to have a family, and to perish one day last December at the hands of a madman. The other would grow up to be something quite different.
Madison drove south on 509, took an exit west through Des Moines, and then crossed I-5, heading fast toward the King County Justice Complex and John Cameron, the last surviving Hoh River boy.
The King County Justice Complex rose from a concrete parking lot, telling the world exactly what it was: an adult detention center for 1,157 inmates awaiting trial or sentenced as per the Washington State Guidelines Commission instructions.
Madison made sure nothing had been left in view on her car seats, locked the Honda, and walked toward the Visitors’ Reception area.
Family groups and single people were also making their way in for the 10:00 a.m. slot, the sun doing little to warm up the group in the shadow of the twenty-foot-high perimeter wall.