Page 105 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Chapter Nineteen

“Kay, I’ve got some calls to make,” Nate said as he shut his office door.

“I won’t interrupt unless I have to,” she called down the hall.

He opened the door a crack. “Thanks.” Then closed it again, muttering, “Son of a bitch.” Taking off his jacket, he plunked himself in his chair and exhaled a long, slow breath. “What the hell was that?” He might have had the night off, but he’d made up for it in spades throughout the morning. At seven thirty, he and EMS responded to a third grader having a severe asthma attack on the school bus. At nine fifteen, he’d been settling a domestic dispute out at the Taylor residence. Then there was the gray squirrel that had gotten into Sanderson Elementary during recess, causing him and Mac serious problems until almost noon. They’d finally chased the little bastard outside and into the woods, but he’d been forced to shoot the poor thing when it lunged back at Mac, showing signs of being rabid. “Son of a bitch,” he said again and sat up, logging on to his computer. There was paperwork to be done—a mountain of shit waiting for his attention on the corner of his desk—but he would deal with that later.

Clicking out of yesterday’s spreadsheet, he immediately went to his email, spotting Paul Wiserman’s six-hour-old message among the other half-dozen messages needing a reply. He clicked on it.

Give me a call when you get a chance.

He felt his shoulders tensing, knowing Paul wouldn’t have reached out without a reason. His former neighbor was either going to tell him the Forensic Services Unit couldn’t help them out, or there was news that might lead them closer to some answers. Yanking up the phone, he dialed Paul’s number and listened as it rang.

“Special Agent Wiserman.”

“Paul, it’s Nate Carter.”

“Hey, Nate. Thanks for getting back to me.”

He sat back in his chair, capping and uncapping his pen. “I appreciate you taking my call.”

“Of course.” Paul cleared his throat. “I wanted to let you know that I spoke with Shonda Reeger, my contact in the Missing Children’s Division. She’s going to give us a hand.”

“No kidding.” He sat up, dropping the pen. “Paul, this is great.”

“Shonda sent the pictures and link to the video you mentioned over to Forensics and the Biometric Center of Excellence after I gave her more details about the case. The artist got back to her almost immediately. He’s relatively positive the two children in the photos are a match. He’s going to do an age progression for us since we have an image of the child’s probable biological mother and give us a better idea of where we stand.”

Nate glanced at the clock, already impatient for results. “What are we looking at for a time frame?”

“It’s hard to say—probably by tomorrow, but by Friday for sure.”

“That fast?”

“The information you provided should make things much easier. Plus, Shonda asked her artist to make it a priority. BCOE is doing the same. I know they’ve been working on it since early this morning.”

He slid his fingers through his hair. “This is awesome. I’m not sure how to thank you.”

“If you ever head down to Virginia again, you can buy me a beer.”

Nate nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Sounds good. I’ll let you know when I have more.”

“I gave you my cell number?”

“You did.”

“Go ahead and call that if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“I appreciate it. Bye, Paul.” He hung up and pulled the picture of Callie and her possible biological mother from his top drawer. By Friday, the forensic artist and BCOE would confirm what he and Callie already knew—or what he assumed they knew. As he picked up the phone again, he studied the red, white, and blue banners in the background of the four-by-six image and dialed Gwen’s direct line at the bank.

“Carter Island Trust. This is Gwen O’Leary.”

He smiled. “Hey, big sister.”

“Hey. How’s Callie doing today?”