The Missing Page 0,67

evidence, a Ford 350 turned the corner at the far end of the street, towing a seventy-foot trailer with antennas and a small satellite dish.

Chapter 52

Darby borrowed Coop’s cell phone and called Evan Manning. When he picked up, she got right to it.

‘Sorry for the early call, but I’ve found some evidence at the Cranmore house – a folded wet piece of paper that was buried, along with a handcuff key, underneath the porch. One of your mobile units just arrived, and I need to open the paper before it dries. How soon can you get here?’

‘Look across the street.’

The trailer door opened. Evan Manning waved to her.

The mobile forensic unit contained all the latest equipment, all of it carefully designed to fit inside the long, narrow space. Everything looked and smelled new. Displayed on one of the computer monitors was the FBI’s DNA identification system, CODIS.

‘Where are your forensic people?’ Darby asked as they walked.

‘In the air,’ Evan said. ‘They’re scheduled to touch down at Logan sometime in the next three hours. The other two mobile units have already started working the blast site in Boston. Does the paper have blood on it?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t unfolded it yet.’

‘We should suit up, just in case.’

After they dressed, Evan handed out masks, safety goggles and neoprene gloves.

‘The neoprene will leave indentation marks if we touch the paper,’ Coop said. ‘They’ll show up during fingerprint processing. We should use cotton gloves over latex.’

The examination room was cool and gleaming white. The work counter was small. Evan stood behind Darby to give her some space.

She transferred the paper to the clean work space. Using two pairs of tweezers, she went to work unfolding the paper.

Prying the pages apart was slow, painstaking work. In addition to being wet and flimsy, the paper was badly wrinkled and had started to tear in several places from having been folded and refolded so many times.

It was an 8 × 10 sheet of white paper. The side facing them was a printout of a computer-generated color map. Most of it was unreadable. The colors had faded and several spots had been rubbed away, most likely from the perspiration from Rachel Swanson’s hands.

Two areas of the map were caked with mud. Other areas had absorbed the dirt’s dark color. Some spots were covered in dried smears of blood and with some yellow liquid, either mucus or pus.

‘Why did she fold the paper into such a tiny square?’ Coop asked.

Darby answered the question. ‘That way she could conceal the paper inside a pocket, her mouth or, if needed, her rectum.’

‘I’m glad we suited up,’ Coop said.

Darby used cotton swabs to clear away the mud from the paper, careful not to rub off any more of the color toner. Carol’s face kept flashing through Darby’s mind as she worked.

Hidden beneath the mud were computer-printed directions in neat but faded lettering. At the bottom of the sheet was the URL of the website from which the map had been printed.

Darby had to use the magnifier to read the directions.

‘It says “1.4 miles, go between two trees, go straight.”’

Evan moved behind her. ‘Any idea where the road is?’

‘Hold on.’ Darby followed the trail of the printed road, stopping when she saw what appeared to be part of a number hidden underneath dirt. She used a cotton swab to clear it away.

‘It’s Route Twenty-two,’ Darby said. ‘There’s a Route Twenty-two in Belham. It wraps around the woods on the other side of Salmon Brook Pond.’

‘Let’s take a look at the writing,’ Evan said.

Darby turned the piece of paper over. On the back, written in a shaky hand with small lettering, were notes and what appeared to be names, all written in pencil faded from perspiration and the constant folding and refolding of the paper. Some of the writing was obscured behind crusted spots of dried blood.

Using the light magnifier, she examined the sheet for several minutes.

‘Take a look at this.’ Darby stepped away from the counter to give Evan room.

‘1 S R R 2R S,’ he said. ‘Does it match what Rachel Swanson wrote on her arm at the hospital?’

Darby had consulted her PDA, where she had transferred her notes. ‘Here’s what she wrote on her arm: “1 L S 2R L R 3R S 2R 3L.”’

‘Not only are they different, they’re shorter.’

‘What’s the next line say?’

Evan read the combination of letters and numbers.

‘They’re different – and longer,’ Darby said.

Evan moved the magnifier over the paper. There are dozens of different combinations