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“A tooth? From the rubble of the Twin Towers, a tooth was recovered?”
“Yes. We have over five hundred individual teeth here at the crime lab waiting to be identified. Some were recovered as part of a jaw and skull, but many more were single teeth.”
“How could a single tooth be salvaged from the rubble of a hundred-story building?”
“Not in the way you’re imagining. The recovery efforts in the early days and weeks after 9/11 did take place like you’re thinking—OCME employees literally walked through Ground Zero and collected bodies and body parts from the rubble. That’s true. And it was grisly work, from what I’ve been told. Many of those victims were identified quickly. But most of the remains the office still has stored today that are waiting to be identified are small bone fragments, and yes, many individual teeth. These small specimens were not recovered at Ground Zero, but instead through a sifting program that started a year after the towers fell. When construction and excavating machines cleared the debris from Ground Zero, it was loaded into trucks and transferred to a landfill in Staten Island. All the 9/11 debris was placed to the side in its own section of the landfill. That debris went through various stages of sifting. Think of it as panning for gold. From the rocks and rubble and construction debris, tiny artifacts were teased out. That’s how so many personal items like wedding rings, jewelry, wallets, and driver’s licenses have been recovered. It’s also how small bone fragments and teeth have been found.”
“That’s amazing,” Avery said.
Her mind was racing. Her ludicrous theory, as it echoed in her head, was sounding more plausible. Reading Victoria Ford’s manuscripts had sent her thoughts tumbling down a dark rabbit hole toward a wild theory. Until this moment, she believed the idea was fueled by an offshoot of her imagination that constantly searched for the sensationalism her American Events stories needed. But the fact that the specimen used to identify Victoria Ford was a tooth not only made her theory realistic, but possible.
“Has Dr. Trudeau been able to locate any other remains that matched Victoria Ford?”
“No,” Livia said. “The tooth was the only match to date. But the hope is that the new DNA technology will be able to get through the remaining unidentified bone fragments in the next few months. If more of Victoria Ford was recovered in the ruins of the Twin Towers, we’ll know soon enough.”
Avery suspected that, if her wild theory were correct, none of the other specimens salvaged from the Twin Towers would belong to Victoria Ford.
CHAPTER 42
Manhattan, NY Sunday, July 4, 2021
HE CHECKED HIS WATCH AND THEN GLANCED AT HIS PHONE ON THE passenger’s seat. He resisted the urge to text Avery. He’d woken this morning to find her already gone, vanished without a trace other than her scent on the pillow next to him. No note. No voice mail. No text. On a different morning or with a different woman, this would have confused or embarrassed him. Perhaps some of that still existed now, but he and Avery had plans to rip through the rest of the Cameron Young file later in the day, so Walt chalked up the disappearing act to Avery chasing down leads sniffed out during their initial review of the case. He was doing the same.
His and Avery’s dive into the Cameron Young investigation had him curious, if not worried. Specifically because he knew the box of files sitting in his hotel room did not tell the full story. As soon as Walt woke, he called Jim Oliver and requested some federal bureaucratic pressure be applied to the US Attorney’s Office in the Southern District of New York, who had up to this point refused to return Walt’s calls. Walt found himself in a unique position of power. Jim Oliver needed Walt’s skills in the delicate matter of locating Garth Montgomery, and now Walt needed Oliver’s influence to find whatever additional information was out there on the Cameron Young case. Walt’s curiosity had nothing to do with the investigation into Garth Montgomery, but he convinced Oliver that it was imperative to locate any lost evidence pertaining to the twenty-year-old case. Walt knew the US Attorney’s Office possessed what he needed.
Calls were made, pressure was placed, and over a holiday weekend the right people were pulled from vacation to get it done. Walt had his answer, and locating the missing files was easier than he imagined. Originally confiscated from Maggie Greenwald’s office—the DA who was set to prosecute the case—during the investigation into her misconduct, the US Attorney’s Office had eventually shipped the evidence back to the BCI headquarters for storage.
As Walt pulled into the empty parking lot at just past 11:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, a wave of nostalgia came over him. He hadn’t called the Bureau of Criminal Investigation his employer for twenty years. But he’d cut his teeth here, and the place held good memories. He relished them until he saw the lone car parked in front of the building. He knew it belonged to his old boss. Scott Sherwood was on his shit list.
Walt pulled into a parking spot and turned off the engine. He saw Sherwood standing in front of the BCI building, whose glass facade reflected his image back at Walt as if he were watching himself on a theater screen. He had now seen Scott Sherwood exactly twice in the last fifteen years. Today, and three weeks earlier when Sherwood crashed the survivors meeting at the Ascent Lounge with the sole purpose of figuring out where Walt was spending his time. The “accidental” meeting had given Jim Oliver just enough information to track Walt down in Jamaica and start him on his current course. He no more wanted to talk with Scott Sherwood this morning than he wanted a hemorrhoid removed.
“Walt Jenkins,” Scott said with a huge smile as Walt climbed from his car. “Twice in one year. Go figure.”
“Fuck off, Scott,” Walt said, closing the door and walking up to his old boss. Illogical reasoning allowed Walt to be less angry with Jim Oliver for planting Sherwood at the survivors meeting than he was with Sherwood for going along with it. Perhaps it was because, as a former surveillance agent, Walt appreciated Oliver’s cleverness in finding him. The truth was more likely that Walt was frustrated with himself for having taken the bait.
“What’s gotten into you?” Sherwood asked.
“I’m not in the mood, Scott. I know our little run-in the other day was bullshit. You were a plant. Do you think I’m too stupid to figure it out?”
“Jesus Christ, settle down. The FBI came knocking on my door. They literally knocked on the front door of my house. Was I supposed to turn them away? Sorry, pal, I don’t carry that kind of clout. Jim Oliver said he needed to figure out where you were holed up. Said it was important. I didn’t know it was going to put you in a bind.”
“It hasn’t,” Walt said in a dismissive tone. “I just don’t like being played. Do you have what I need?”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “I found it about an hour ago. Hidden way in the back of the evidence room. What’s so important about it?”
“It’s just an old case, Scott. I was asked to look into it; that’s all I can tell you.”
“Does it have to do with the Maggie Greenwald scandal?”
“I’m about to find out. Where is it?”
Scott pointed over his shoulder. “Inside. A single box. Looks pretty innocuous.”
Scott Sherwood unlocked the door to the BCI headquarters and held it open for Walt to enter.
“Does this mean the invitation to visit you in Jamaica is rescinded?”
“It means it never existed, Scott.”
