Read Online Finding Claire Fletcher by Lisa Regan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Regan
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prints from this?” he asked.
Lena took it from him, all business now. She held it up to the overhead light to examine it. “This is it?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Do you need a chain of custody voucher?”
“No,” he replied. “I said this was a favor. It’s a cold case. I only need the prints for confirmation. They’re not evidence.” He cleared his throat. “Some of them will be mine.”
Lena looked at him, one graceful brow arched in curiosity. “You aren’t in any trouble, are you?” she asked.
Connor laughed. “No. I mean no more than usual. It’s just that—well, I think the other person who touched that glass is someone who’s been missing for ten years.”
Lena’s brown eyes widened. “Really? Wanna talk about that?”
“No. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when I’ve got a little more of it figured out.”
Lena dropped the glass into the side pocket of her lab coat. “Fair enough. Want me to run it while you’re here?”
“That would be great,” Connor said.
Two hours later, Connor and Lena huddled together in front of Lena’s computer, picking at the Chinese takeout they’d ordered.
“Are you sure she’s in the database?” Lena asked. The mouse moved in concert with her hand. Her eyes were trained on the large glowing screen.
“Yeah,” Connor said. “She’ll definitely be in the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children database. Her parents had all their kids fingerprinted. Part of some safety program at their school.”
“Well at least our tax dollars are going to good use,” she said.
She sat back and they watched the computer zip through thousands of faces, looking for a match to the fingerprints Lena had taken from the scotch glass. It took only a few moments. The computer emitted a low ding, and a photo of fifteen-year-old Claire Fletcher flashed on the screen—her school photo, the same one Tom Fletcher had shown Connor.
Connor already knew what the prints would yield, but the cold confirmation sent another wave of shock through him. His stomach, which had been blissfully full a moment ago, suddenly felt hollow.
Lena was staring at him. “That her?”
“Yep.”
Lena squinted at the screen, reading the information that scrolled beneath the photo and set of matching prints. Claire Bridget Fletcher, abducted 02/21/1995, from the 600 block of Miller Avenue. Last seen wearing blue jeans, yellow cotton shirt, and white tennis shoes. Hair: brown. Eyes: blue. Approximate height: five foot four. Weight: 122 pounds. Scar on left elbow. DOB: 10/22/1980. Age at time of disappearance: fifteen. Age now: twenty-five.
Lena made a low sound under her breath. “Holy shit.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1995
I used to have this dream. It was a fantasy really. During those months I spent in the dark visited only by him, my body laid open for his use, I had this fantasy that any moment a SWAT team would break down the door. Men swathed in black armor, wearing black helmets, and bearing huge guns would storm in and rescue me. They would untie my hands and feet and avert their eyes from my nakedness. Gentle hands would lift me into the air and wrap me in a heavy blanket, finally covering me.
They would spirit me outside. My eyes, so accustomed to darkness, would hurt from the daylight. There, on some lawn in front of some house waited my parents, huddled together, looking anxious and hopeful. My mother would be wringing her hands and leaning away from my father’s embrace, her eyes searching for me. My saviors would deliver me into their arms, cradled in blankets like the day I was born. I would feel my parents’ tears raining on my face, their arms closed around me until the three of us were a single, compact unit.
Seconds later, burly SWAT members would emerge from where I was being held dragging him along between them, his hands cuffed so tightly behind his back that the metal nipped and chaffed his skin. They would throw him down on the ground, face in the mud and step on
Lena took it from him, all business now. She held it up to the overhead light to examine it. “This is it?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Do you need a chain of custody voucher?”
“No,” he replied. “I said this was a favor. It’s a cold case. I only need the prints for confirmation. They’re not evidence.” He cleared his throat. “Some of them will be mine.”
Lena looked at him, one graceful brow arched in curiosity. “You aren’t in any trouble, are you?” she asked.
Connor laughed. “No. I mean no more than usual. It’s just that—well, I think the other person who touched that glass is someone who’s been missing for ten years.”
Lena’s brown eyes widened. “Really? Wanna talk about that?”
“No. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when I’ve got a little more of it figured out.”
Lena dropped the glass into the side pocket of her lab coat. “Fair enough. Want me to run it while you’re here?”
“That would be great,” Connor said.
Two hours later, Connor and Lena huddled together in front of Lena’s computer, picking at the Chinese takeout they’d ordered.
“Are you sure she’s in the database?” Lena asked. The mouse moved in concert with her hand. Her eyes were trained on the large glowing screen.
“Yeah,” Connor said. “She’ll definitely be in the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children database. Her parents had all their kids fingerprinted. Part of some safety program at their school.”
“Well at least our tax dollars are going to good use,” she said.
She sat back and they watched the computer zip through thousands of faces, looking for a match to the fingerprints Lena had taken from the scotch glass. It took only a few moments. The computer emitted a low ding, and a photo of fifteen-year-old Claire Fletcher flashed on the screen—her school photo, the same one Tom Fletcher had shown Connor.
Connor already knew what the prints would yield, but the cold confirmation sent another wave of shock through him. His stomach, which had been blissfully full a moment ago, suddenly felt hollow.
Lena was staring at him. “That her?”
“Yep.”
Lena squinted at the screen, reading the information that scrolled beneath the photo and set of matching prints. Claire Bridget Fletcher, abducted 02/21/1995, from the 600 block of Miller Avenue. Last seen wearing blue jeans, yellow cotton shirt, and white tennis shoes. Hair: brown. Eyes: blue. Approximate height: five foot four. Weight: 122 pounds. Scar on left elbow. DOB: 10/22/1980. Age at time of disappearance: fifteen. Age now: twenty-five.
Lena made a low sound under her breath. “Holy shit.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1995
I used to have this dream. It was a fantasy really. During those months I spent in the dark visited only by him, my body laid open for his use, I had this fantasy that any moment a SWAT team would break down the door. Men swathed in black armor, wearing black helmets, and bearing huge guns would storm in and rescue me. They would untie my hands and feet and avert their eyes from my nakedness. Gentle hands would lift me into the air and wrap me in a heavy blanket, finally covering me.
They would spirit me outside. My eyes, so accustomed to darkness, would hurt from the daylight. There, on some lawn in front of some house waited my parents, huddled together, looking anxious and hopeful. My mother would be wringing her hands and leaning away from my father’s embrace, her eyes searching for me. My saviors would deliver me into their arms, cradled in blankets like the day I was born. I would feel my parents’ tears raining on my face, their arms closed around me until the three of us were a single, compact unit.
Seconds later, burly SWAT members would emerge from where I was being held dragging him along between them, his hands cuffed so tightly behind his back that the metal nipped and chaffed his skin. They would throw him down on the ground, face in the mud and step on
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