Unintended Consequences - By Marti Green Page 0,23

but getting better. We’ll probably get to see him tomorrow.”

“I reached Detective Cannon last night,” Tommy said.

“And?” Dani and Melanie said in unison.

Tommy filled them in on his conversation with Cannon.

“Is there any way we can get a DNA sample from the Conklins?” Melanie asked.

“Hold your horses,” Tommy said. “Just because they have a daughter who disappeared around the same time as Angelina doesn’t mean the child buried in that grave is theirs.”

“But all the other children who disappeared then are accounted for.”

“Only the children whose disappearances were reported. That doesn’t give the full picture. Say a set of parents murdered their kid during that time frame. They obviously wouldn’t have reported it to the authorities and so she wouldn’t be in the FBI database. Even if the dead child isn’t Angelina—and that’s a big if—it could be anyone.”

“Still,” Dani said, “it would be helpful if we could figure out how to get a DNA sample from the Conklins. Even if it’s just to rule them out.”

“Don’t forget the victim,” Tommy said. “Who knows whether there’s anything in the evidence kit that we could get a DNA sample from? Or if they even still have the evidence kit. Without the child’s DNA, we’ve got nothing to match it with.”

“Isn’t it standard to hold on to that evidence?” Melanie asked.

“Maybe not in 1990.”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, guys,” Dani said. “We know from his lawyer’s file that no DNA testing was done on the victim or the Calhouns. That may be because they had a confession from Sallie or because DNA just wasn’t part of their arsenal back then. But if there’s an evidence kit that contains something with the child’s DNA, we need to find out fast. We could run it against George’s DNA and see if it’s a match. Tommy, can you call the police station in LaGrange, see what they still have?”

“I’ll get on that.”

Dani took a bite of her muffin and washed it down with a swig of coffee. “And also, Tommy, do you think the detective in Hammond would introduce you to the Conklins?”

“My guess is he would. If there’s any possibility the child in the woods was Stacy and not Angelina, he’d want to know.”

“Okay. Work with him on that.”

“What are you thinking? That the Conklins may have been responsible for their daughter’s death?”

“Frankly, it doesn’t matter to us if they are or aren’t. If we can show that the child isn’t Angelina Calhoun, then we get a new trial for George, if not outright dismissal. But if it is Stacy, her parents’ insistence that the victim wasn’t their daughter certainly raises suspicion.”

Melanie shook her head. “If I were looking at a burned corpse, I’d want to believe it wasn’t my child. I’d want to protect myself from imagining the pain my daughter experienced.”

Dani looked around the breakfast room. Groups of families were sitting at tables, some chatting quietly, others visibly irritated by their children’s whining demands. How would it feel if that whining child were taken from you, never to be seen again? God, the agonizing recriminations you’d put yourself through: Was it my carelessness? Could I have done more to protect my child? She could understand a parent viewing a body in the sterile room of the medical examiner and proclaiming, “No! That can’t be my child! I won’t permit it to be my child!” Melanie was right. Self-protection created a very strong armor.

“Tommy, I think you should drive over to Hammond and have a chat with the detective.”

“Consider it done.”

With the day clear for her, Dani decided to visit Bob Wilson. She drove toward La Grange in another rental car, this time a subcompact, the least expensive. Tommy took the original rental to Hammond, Illinois, in the opposite direction.

She hated driving in strange cities with no satellite radio, only unfamiliar stations. She hated country music, which inevitably was the only music she could find on the dial outside New York. But she also hated driving without music; the silence unnerved her.

Meeting the attorney who had handled the trial of a death-row inmate usually made for an uncomfortable situation. Most were defensive. Some started out cooperatively, but when the investigating attorney dug in deeper, they retreated into familiar justifications for the jury verdict. The worst was the one Dani had gotten from Wilson: His client was guilty.

She pulled up to Wilson’s address and found just what she’d expected: a storefront on a back street, with a peeling sign out front and worn furniture