Page 24 of Buried Secrets

He gave a short, dry laugh. “I bet. If you find anything odd, names that crop up only once, flag them.”

She nodded, biting back a sigh. “I’ll do my best. But I’d prefer to work alone, if that’s possible. I’m faster without distractions.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m not used to someone looking over my shoulder.”

Matt didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he dropped into the battered chair at the end of the table, studying her with that careful, steady gaze. “We’ll both have to get used to it. At least for now. This is an investigation, Kaitlin. You’re not just cataloging old books anymore.”

His tone was not unkind, and that somehow made it worse. He’d already given in to the fact they’d be working together. She’d only had a few minutes to adjust to the idea. She stared at the records, the edges of the folders blurring for a moment as she tried to even out how she felt about the whole situation. Responding to him with anything other than cooperation was not going to help her situation. Plus, she was getting paid and getting more information than she may have otherwise.

Matt set the folder aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Look, I’ll try to stay out of your way. If there’s anyone on the island still connected to what happened here, I have to know. And I need your help to find them.”

“Am I understanding that this is turning into a murder investigation?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“Heard some gossip at the coffee shop I presume?” Matt asked, rising to his feet. “As you’re now a contractor, I do want transparency. But as it’s an investigation, I’ll be gathering as much information as I can and likely will share very little back.”

Kaitlin said nothing for a moment, the silence thick as the dust on the top shelves. Finally, she nodded. “All right. How do you want to coordinate?” She hated how formal her voice sounded, as if she were negotiating a treaty.

Matt considered, frowning at the ledger in his hands. “I’ll come by later this afternoon if I can. Otherwise, first thing tomorrow. We’ll go over anything you’ve found, names, anomalies, whatever stands out.”

She nodded again, more curtly this time. “Fine. I’ll have a list ready.”

He caught her tone but didn’t comment. Instead, he slid the chair back and carefully replaced the ledger. “I’ll bring the town directory. Cross-check any names with addresses. Maybe ring a few doorbells.” He offered a half smile, tired and rueful.

He paused at the door, hand on the knob. “I’ll see you later.”

With that, he was gone. The heavy door closed behind him, returning her to the silence she’d asked for. She stood for a moment by the table while the distant sound of hammers broke the silence, the echo of Matt’s words lingering in the dust and the gloom.

She pulled a fresh sheet of paper from her notebook and began to write with a steady hand, organizing names from the jumble. If some of those names had any ideas of what had happened to her mother, the irritation of working with Matt would be worth it.

Chapter 7

The morning fog clung to the island like a shroud, muting sounds and turning familiar landmarks into ghostly silhouettes. The harbor slowly came into view as the mist lifted, and Matt, with his cell phone to his ear, watched from behind his desk. The unfolding conversation made the peaceful scene feel like a facade covering a rotten core.

Dr. Samira Haddad’s crisp voice crackled through the connection. “This was a classic manual strangulation pattern. Someone with significant upper body strength applied sustained pressure from the front.”

Matt jotted notes in the margin of the preliminary report she’d emailed earlier. “Time of death?”

“Carbon dating and environmental factors put two of the victims within a narrow window of 1990 to 1992, give or take six months on either end. Their ages were close as well, approximately 18 to 20 years old.”

“Any signs of restraint? Defensive wounds?”

“On victim one, yes. Healed fractures to the metacarpals suggesting she hit something hard enough to break bones in her hands.” Samira paused. “She lived with those injuries for some time before she died. Weeks, possibly months. With no indications of medical intervention to set the bones.”

The implication hung between them. Scenes of possibilities flashed in his mind. Hands hammering on a locked door, cries for help. Someone could have kept this woman captive, then eventually killed her.

“The other victim shows different patterns,” Samira continued. “Blunt force trauma to the occipital region based on the distinctive depression pattern. Like we discussed, it was something rounded but with an edge. Could be a hammer, a pipe fitting, a heavy garden tool.”

“What about the third victim?” Matt asked.

There was a pause on the line. “That one is taking some time to better piece together. The age of the remains is significantly older than the others, and not all together.”

Matt hesitated. “You mean parts are missing?”

“Considering its estimated age, it’s not surprising. Matt, this one is well over a hundred years old. It’s likely not related to what ever happened to the others.”

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off the headache that had been threatening since he’d opened her email at six a.m. At least two were women murdered at the mansion, a place that had stood as a symbol of charity and goodwill for generations. A place where pregnant women had gone for sanctuary and support.

“Any progress identifying them?”

“DNA extraction is underway. I’ve started building a physical profile for each victim: age, height, ancestry markers. Once we have the genetic profiles, we’ll run them through CODIS and the missing persons database.”