Since I was still in the briefing room, I checked the text first, and sure enough, it was exactly what I’d been hoping for.

Alex—Package found. Give me a call, ASAP.

CHAPTER

23

FIRST THING THE NEXT MORNING, SAMPSON AND I CAUGHT THE EARLIEST possible flight from DC down to Savannah, Georgia.

Elizabeth Reilly’s baby had been found three days earlier, newborn and alone, in a rental cabin on the northern edge of the Okefenokee Wildlife Refuge. If it weren’t for CODIS, the national DNA database, that little girl would have been absorbed into the system, put up for adoption, and probably never identified. Instead, as soon as her sample went online, it was only a matter of time before Sampson got a crossmatch to Elizabeth Reilly. With DNA, that meant a hundred percent certainty that this was her child.

A Charlton County sheriff’s deputy, Joe Cutler, met John and me when we arrived late that morning, at the entrance to Oke-Doke Cabins and Campground. The place had a dozen rental units spread out over a thirty-acre parcel, and Cutler briefed us while we drove back toward the cabin in question. I wasn’t even sure what I was hoping for here, just something to start clueing us in about what had happened to this poor girl.

“I was the one who responded to the call,” Cutler told us. “Found that little butterbean all wrapped up in a towel and crying her head off. She probably wasn’t more’n a few hours old, but we got her right over to the NICU at Charlton Memorial, and she checked out just fine. No thanks to whoever left her here, of course.”

“And you don’t know who called it in?” I asked.

“Just an anonymous ten twenty-one,” he said. “But I’d put my money on the mother. Probably some teenage girl who didn’t have the guts to admit getting knocked up, you know?”

Maybe, I thought. Cutler obviously had his own feelings about what had happened here, but I was trying to keep an open mind as we drove back through the woods.

Eventually we came into a clearing, where a single log cabin sat up against a stand of enormous kudzu-choked oak trees. The woods were fairly dense all around here, and if there were any other buildings nearby, I couldn’t see them.

This cabin was one of the so-called deluxe units, which only meant that linens were provided and there was an indoor bathroom. Still, Elizabeth could have theoretically had everything she needed to deliver her own baby here, including plenty of privacy.

At the front door, Cutler stopped to point out some gouge marks around the hammered iron knob. “Didn’t actually rent the place,” he said. “Just kind of helped herself. You can check availability online, so it wouldn’t have been too hard to know which one’d be empty.”

Inside the cabin was sunny, clean, and basic. There was a knotty pine floor with a farm table made out of the same wood, a small kitchenette, a queen-size bed under the dormered window. A bookshelf in the corner had a couple of games and some discarded paperbacks—Dean Koontz, Patricia Cornwell, Stieg Larsson. Nothing to indicate what might have actually happened here.

I tried to imagine the scene. Did Elizabeth set up her own IV by the bed? Would she have administered the Pitocin right away? How long did the delivery take?

She had to have been terrified, but that only meant that something even more terrifying had motivated her to come all the way down here.

Something—or someone. Was it the father? The killer?

Were those one and the same? I had no proof either way, but that was the version of the story that made the most sense to me, as John and I poked around, trying to put together the pieces of this invisible puzzle.

“I’ll tell you something else,” Cutler said, watching us from the door. “I kind of hope that baby’s daddy never turns up. Considering the mother, I can’t imagine he’s any prize either, you know? I mean, seriously—what the hell was that girl thinking? That’s what I’d like to know.”

I didn’t say anything, but I was starting to think that Elizabeth Reilly just might have been trying to save her daughter’s life by coming here.

Also, that she just might have succeeded.

CHAPTER

24

SHELLMAN BLUFF, ABOUT TWO HOURS NORTH OF OKEFENOKEE, IS A LOW country fishing town in Georgia, with tidal marshes all along the coast, once you get that far. On the map the whole area looks like a maze of tributaries feeding into Sapelo Sound, which itself feeds right into the Atlantic.

Sampson and I didn’t have any trouble finding Tommy and Jeannette Reilly’s place, a small stilt house overlooking the causeway at the dead end of a quiet road in the village. This was where Elizabeth Reilly had grown up—and now maybe where her daughter would, too.

It was eighty-five degrees when we got out of the car. Not unusual for Georgia, but a little ahead of DC’s temperatures. I was sweating in my jacket and tie.

Down by the water I saw an older woman standing on the dock. She wore a loose white dress, and had a long gray braid down her back. When she turned around, I saw she had a small bundle in her arms, too. John and I walked down from the dirt driveway to meet her halfway, on the dry brown patch of a back lawn behind the house.

“Grow ’em tall up in Washington, don’t they?” she said, craning her neck, especially at Sampson, who’s six nine. We’d already spoken on the phone; there was no real need for introductions. “I’m going to guess you boys are hungry from your trip.”

“We’re fine, ma’am, thank you,” Sampson said. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full there, anyway.”

Mrs. Reilly beamed and turned to show us the tiny little girl. Baby Reilly, as I’d come to think of her.

“This is Rebecca,” she said. “Our miracle child.”

The baby was sleeping peacefully, wrapped up in a thin pink blanket. Her face was pink, too, from the heat, and her hair was the same sandy blond that her mother’s had been. For me, there was a definite sense of relief, just laying eyes on her after all the searching and worrying about what might have happened. I think Sampson probably felt the same way.

Inside, we met Tommy Reilly, who looked to be in his early sixties, like his wife. I couldn’t imagine taking on a newborn at that age, but he lit up just as brightly when he took Rebecca into his arms. It seemed clear to me that these people had already fallen deeply in love with their great-granddaughter. Maybe that’s why they seemed so at peace here, all things considered.

Once we were settled around their kitchen table, I started in with some necessary business.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reilly, I don’t mean to alarm you,” I said, “but I have to ask. Have you considered relocating for the time being, or even putting Rebecca into county custody until this can all be sorted out?”

“You mean, until they find out who killed our Lizzie,” Mr. Reilly said.

“That’s right,” I said. “Just as a precaution.”

“You know, this isn’t Washington, detective,” he said, bouncing the baby gently on his shoulder. “I don’t mean to come off naive, but it’s pretty quiet around here. And for that matter…well, let’s just say I’m a firm believer in the Second Amendment. I think we’ll be okay.”

“But we do appreciate the concern,” Mrs. Reilly added.

I nodded, and took my time answering. I could imagine that giving up Rebecca, even just for a little while, could be traumatic under the circumstances.

“What if we talked to your sheriff’s office about setting up a unit outside?” I asked. “Just for overnights, until we know a little more. I’d feel a lot better if we erred on the side of caution here.”

“For Rebecca’s sake,” Sampson added.

The Reillys looked at each other across the table again. Without saying anything, they seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement, the way couples can sometimes.