“Look—this is my father, and I’ve been searching for him since I was ten years old. I want to know what happened to him, and I don’t want to wait another second—okay? Now can you tell me how he died or not?”

Kegan paused. “Yes, I can.”

“Well?”

“He died from a blunt trauma wound—specifically, a blow to the back of the head.”

Alena pointed to the table. “Show me.”

“Ms. Savard, please—I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I think I should decide that, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure you’re in the right frame of mind to—”

“Show her,” Nick said, approaching from behind.

Kegan looked at him. “Are you sure?”

Nick put his arm around Alena’s shoulders and looked at her. “Are you?”

She nodded.

“Then show her,” he said. “She has a right to know.”

Kegan lifted the tarp from the table and revealed the collection of bones and plastic evidence bags containing remnants of clothing and samples of soil and a couple of unrecognizable objects encrusted with dirt and rust. Alena’s eyes went directly to the skull. She shuddered.

Nick pulled her in closer. “You okay?”

She mouthed the word okay, but nothing came out.

“Did your father have a dentist?” Kegan asked.

Alena nodded. “In Front Royal.”

“Good—then we might be able to get dental records. Do you have anything personal of your father’s? An old toothbrush? A hairbrush?”

“I have everything he owned—everything he used. I keep it all in sealed plastic bags to preserve the scent. I used it to train my dog to find him. Why?”

“We might be able to do a DNA match—to make a definite ID.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Hold out hope—I’m past that. This is my father—I think we both know that.” She put her index finger on her top right incisor; the same tooth on the skull had a gold cap. “He called it his ‘gold mine.’ He said I would inherit it if he ever . . .”

Her voice trailed off.

Nick silently held up one finger and made a small circular motion; Kegan turned the skull around to reveal a caved-in section on the back.

“It’s the same wound we found on the skulls at the Patriot Center,” she said. “A single, powerful blow to the back of the head caused by a blunt instrument—a club, a bat, something like that. Considering the similar ages of the skeletons, I think we’re talking about the same killer— he may have even used the same weapon. But there is one difference.”

“What’s that?”

Kegan looked at Alena. “I’ve estimated your father’s height at around six-foot-two. Is that about right?”

“Yes.”

She pointed to the wound. “Look at the position of the fracture on the skull—see how low it is?”

“So?”