Full Tilt. Rick Mofina

weighed what he’d revealed about the case.

       There may be other victims...they just hadn’t found them all yet.

       Other victims.

      It changed everything.

      Kate had thought there was only one female victim. This helped explain why Brennan was so guarded. His case was more than a murder-suicide.

       What really happened at that barn by the cemetery? Who was Carl Nelson?

      The kettle’s whistle pierced the air like a scream.

      Kate made raspberry tea, returned to her desk and her online digging, intent on finding more on Nelson. She regretted that she’d missed the chance to talk to people in Rampart about him and considered going back.

      Maybe she’d do some phone work?

      First she’d check Rampart news sites for any updates. The Rampart Examiner’s latest item was short, naming Bethany Ann Wynn as the female victim but offering no confirmation of the deceased male. The investigation was continuing. The region’s TV news and radio stations were reporting the same, as were news sites in Hartford.

      Kate then checked her email.

      She’d set up an alert for anything posted online on the case to be sent to her. She’d received more stories from Rampart and Hartford, but they contained nothing she didn’t already know.

       I’m forgetting something—what is it? Wait—it’s the pictures!

      Suddenly she’d remembered how she’d slid the tiny memory card with photos from the Rampart crime scene into her sock. Kate rushed to the hamper in the bathroom, rifled through the clothes, finding the socks she’d worn, shaking them until the little square fell to the floor.

       How did I forget this?

      Kate returned to the kitchen, inserted the card in her camera then connected the cable to her computer, downloaded the images and opened them. They showed the jumble of charred lumber, an array of protruding trestles and beams. On sections that were not burned she noticed markings, like messages cut into the wood.

      Kate enlarged the image but the area was blurred. She opened another photo, one that was crisper. As she zoomed in, carved words swam into focus and she read “I am Tara Dawn Mae. My name used to be—”

      It ended there.

       What is that?

      After studying the words for several moments, she wrote them down in her notebook. Had they been scratched in the wood earlier, prior to the deaths by somebody joking around, like some sort of graffiti? But it was not the usual obscenity or put-down.

      Was it evidence?

      It had been tagged for processing by the forensic cops.

       I am Tara Dawn Mae. My name used to be—

      Was this an unfinished message from one of the victims?

      Kate immediately searched the name online.

      In seconds, the results matching her query appeared, offering pages of headlines and excerpts that stunned her:

      Canada’s Cold Case files...

      Tara Dawn Mae was last seen at a truck stop...never seen again...

      Royal Canadian Mounted Police—MISSING...

      Tara Dawn Mae was 10 years old when she vanished from...

      Brooks Prairie Journal—Mystery Disappearance Haunts...

      It has been twelve years since the disappearance of Tara Dawn Mae, and neighbors in the tiny farming community try to remember...

      FIND THE MISSING KIDS

      Tara Dawn Mae. Age at time of disappearance: 10. Eyes: Brown...

      Kate continued searching, finding a police summary of the case.

      Tara Dawn MAE Cold Case Files

      Location: Brooks, Alberta, Canada

      On July 7, 2000, Tara Dawn MAE was ten years of age and living with her parents, Barton Mae and Fiona Mae, on their farm near Brooks, Alberta. After shopping for groceries in Brooks, the family stopped at the Grand Horizon Plaza, a large and busy truck stop along the Trans-Canada Highway.

      While Barton purchased gas for the family pickup truck, Fiona and Tara entered the facility to use the restroom. While browsing the food court and gift shop, Tara got separated from her mother and was never seen again.

      An exhaustive investigation has failed to yield any leads as to Tara Dawn MAE’s location or details as to her disappearance.

      Kate then found a webpage showing several photographs of Tara. There she was smiling in a full-face shot. Next, a formal head-and-shoulders school portrait, and then Tara with a puppy and laughing.

       Tara looks so much like Vanessa.

      Deep in a corner of Kate’s heart, something cracked, a thin ray of hope emerged and she blinked back her tears. She needed to know more about this case and how it was connected to Rampart.

      Kate reached for her phone and called Anne Kelly, with the New York office of the Children’s Searchlight Network. Anne alerted Fred Byfield, one of the group’s investigators.

      “I’ll get in touch with our sister networks in Canada,” Fred said after listening to Kate. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

      Kate continued researching. Again and again she came back to the pictures, haunted by the little girl’s sweet, shy smile, her dark eyes, shining like falling stars.

       Could this be Vanessa?

      Kate used maps and made some calculations. Their accident happened about ten miles east of Golden, British Columbia, when their car left the highway and crashed into the Kicking Horse River. That was some 270 miles west of Brooks, Alberta, a five-hour drive across the prairie and through the Rocky Mountains.

      Vanessa would have been twenty-six now. If Tara Dawn Mae is still alive, as the message in Rampart suggests, she’d be around twenty-five or twenty-six now, as well.

       Was it all coincidence?

      Kate went back to the crime scene photos.

       My name used to be—

      What was her other name?

      Was Tara Dawn the Maes’ biological child or an adopted child? Kate couldn’t find any divorce records on public sites. Maybe Tara Dawn was a street kid who’d run away and changed her name? It was not uncommon. Kate knew that, from her time on the street. Kids were always running from something.

      As she continued working throughout the day she came across an in-depth article done on the third anniversary of the case that stopped her cold. It said that Barton and Fiona Mae had adopted Tara Dawn about three or four years before her disappearance.

       Adopted?

      Kate’s mind raced.

      She tried searching for court records, knowing that they weren’t usually made public, a fact confirmed when she called the clerk’s office for Alberta’s family courts in Edmonton, the capital. Kate was thinking of hiring a Canadian private investigator to help her dig deeper into the case when she realized the time.

      She had to pick up Grace from school.

      * * *

      They’d passed the remainder of the afternoon with Grace coloring a project about the world’s oceans and chatting about her day while Kate got supper ready. Whenever she could, Kate thought about the case. That evening while they were watching The Wizard of Oz, Fred