high school sweetheart, his wife, then surely it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he could have killed someone else. Could he have killed Beverly to cover up the relationship?
“But if the body is Beverly’s and he killed her, what happened to Vera?”
“I don’t know,” Gretchen said. “But before we speculate anymore, we really need to confirm that the body belongs to Beverly Urban.”
Josie said, “Let’s start calling around to see if any local dentists have her records. DNA could take weeks or months.”
Gretchen moved around to her desk. “I’m also wondering how the body ended up under the concrete floor of the basement.”
“We should see if Plummer has records of work done on the home,” Josie agreed. “And check with the City Codes office to see what kinds of permits they’ve got on record for the place.”
They spent the next half hour calling local dentists until they found the one that had treated Beverly Urban in high school. Josie held her breath while the receptionist checked to make sure they had records that far back. Luckily, they did.
“They’re films though,” the woman told Josie. “That was before we went digital.”
“If I come there with a warrant in the next hour, can I pick them up?”
“Sure,” said the woman. “But hurry because I think we’re about to be evacuated. The creeks are overflowing.”
“I know,” Josie said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
She hung up, ready to relay the news to Gretchen, but her desk phone rang. It was Dr. Feist. “The autopsy is finished,” she told Josie. “Meet me in the morgue, would you? You’ll want to see this.”
Nine
Dr. Feist was at her desk, typing away at her desktop computer, when Josie and Gretchen entered her office. It was a far cry from the sterile exam room next door where she carried out countless examinations of dead and decomposed bodies. The walls were painted blue cinderblock, and Dr. Feist had done her best to make the room feel cheery and warm. Lamps gave off softer lighting than the typical overhead fluorescent glare in the rest of the hospital. Abstract paintings in soothing pastel tones hung from the walls. Since Josie had last been there, she had added a large potted plant beside her desk.
“Detectives,” she greeted them with a grim smile. “You’ve got a homicide victim on your hands.”
“Not surprising,” Gretchen said. “Given where she was found.”
Dr. Feist stood up. From the back of her chair, she pulled an old nubby white sweater and put it on over her blue scrubs. She pointed to the large envelope beneath Josie’s arm. “What have you brought me?”
“Dental x-rays,” Josie answered. “We think we know the identity of the victim.”
She handed the envelope to Dr. Feist, and they followed the doctor into the large exam room. Josie’s eyes were immediately drawn to the nearest exam table, but it had been covered with a sheet. Dr. Feist strode across the room, taking the x-ray films out of the envelope and snapping one of them up onto the old, wall-mounted x-ray film viewer. “Can one of you grab my laptop?” she asked over her shoulder.
Gretchen picked it up from the counter near the exam table and brought it over. Dr. Feist opened it, the camera picking up on her face immediately and taking her to the home screen. She moved her elegant fingers across the mousepad, bringing up x-rays she’d taken during the autopsy. The two detectives stood behind her as she compared the two sets of images. A few moments later, she turned to them, open laptop in her hands and said, “This is a match.”
Gretchen and Josie looked at one another. Josie felt a weight settle on her shoulders. She and Beverly had been arch enemies at school, but Josie would never have wished death on the girl. Nothing that may have happened between Beverly and Ray would change that. No one deserved Beverly’s fate: murdered, buried, and forgotten.
Dr. Feist walked past them and back to the counter, setting her laptop down and regarding them. “What do we know?”
Josie said, “Her name is Beverly Urban. From what we can tell so far with the limited information we have, she was likely killed sixteen years ago. She had just finished her junior year at Denton East High School.”
Gretchen pulled out her notebook and paged through it. Putting her reading glasses on, she said, “She had just turned seventeen. We’ll have to investigate further, but based on what Detective Quinn has said,