After an initial inventory of cases, McDade left her desk, got a coffee, and returned to settle in and prioritize work for the morning when she received an email from the DNA Database Unit in Quantico. For a moment, she thought it might be an additional response to her query about submitting DNA to the CODIS National Missing Person Program.

What McDade wanted to discuss with Ray Wyatt was the possibility of submitting Ray’s son’s DNA to the program. The missing-person database was used primarily for comparison with unidentified human remains, but Ray’s son’s remains had never been found. They were believed to have been completely consumed by the fire. However, Ray was steadfast in his belief that his son, Danny, was alive. McDade thought Ray’s samples might also be submitted to the database for comparison against DNA collected at crime scenes.

But she had not taken any action on her idea. She did not want to raise Ray’s hopes, or destroy them, particularly since Canadian authorities considered the case closed. McDade had to grapple with the truth. This haunting part of his life broke her heart, and she wanted to alleviate it for him—one way or another.

But is it my place?

McDade pushed her thoughts aside, focused on her email from the DNA Database Unit, and then called the analyst in Quantico.

“Carl Litell.”

“Carl, this is Jill McDade in New York. I got your message.”

“Yes, stand by.” A few seconds passed. “Yes, Agent McDade, I wanted to notify you that we got a hit in CODIS on one of your cases.”

“You got a hit on one of my cases?”

“Yes. UNSUB Number…” Litell recited the case number and continued. “It arises from a missing-person case that is several months old. Uploading agency is Vermont State Police. Notification will be made shortly, and respective contact information sent to the agency and to you.”

A long silence passed.

“Agent McDade?” Litell said. “Are you there?”

McDade swallowed, then ran a hand through her hair.

“Yes, thank you. I’m standing by for the contact information. Thank you.”

McDade sat back in her chair, seeing nothing, absorbing what had happened.

The case number was one that McDade would never forget.

It had been assigned to the Hydra killings.

CHAPTER 26

Orleans, Northeast Kingdom, Vermont

Hemlock Creek Estates, a mobile-home park that had 40 units, most of them double-wides, was sheltered by a dense grove that bordered a schoolyard.

Unit 23—the one across from the couple with the two Rottweilers chained to a stake, the one with peeling side panels—was a used single rented by Fletcher Seaver.

It was the best he could afford after Sharon left with the kids, forcing him to sell the house, give her nearly all the money, and deal with the debts she’d left behind.