“Jasmine was last seen washing over Plunge Falls on the Nahamish River on the second-to-last day of the trip. She’d been fishing alone in a small bay just upstream of the falls. It was presumed that she slipped on slick rocks and fell into the river. Her body was never found.”
A chill rippled over Angie’s skin. “TheNahamish?” she said.
The judge angled her head, assessing Angie. “I saw you on the news,” she said. “That shallow grave, those human remains, it’s my Jasmine.”
Angie leaned forward sharply. She placed her cup and saucer on the table. “The skeletal remains have been positively identified?”
“DNA, dental records, and jewelry have confirmed that the body in the grove is that of my missing granddaughter. I got the call from the coroner’s service yesterday morning.” The judge paused, continuing to watch her. Angie felt as though she was being played on some level.
“So ... you saw me on the news and decided to call me?”
“Things happen for a reason, Angela. I firmly believe this. And one needs to seize the opportunities where they present. You found her. You’re an investigator—you presented to me.”
“I didn’t find her.”
The judge dismissed the comment with a flutter of her hand. “I know, I know. But youwerethere, on that very same river as my Jasmine. You stayed in the same lodge where she and those eight other women stayed. You camped along the same beaches. You were right there on the water at the exact time the mushroom picker’s dog unearthed Jasmine’s grave after all these years. He called for help, andyouresponded. You saw her lying there, her bones. You saw her with your own two eyes.” She stopped as if to gather her breath or possibly to marshal emotion.
“The way I see it, you have a personal connection now to my Jasmine. I also know something about your background from the news, Angela.”
“Angie,” she said quietly.
“Yes, of course. Angie. From what I have learned on the news about your past, I think you are very well equipped to answer some questions about what really happened to Jasmine on that river twenty-four years ago.”
Angie stared at the woman, a sense of unease and disbelief deepening inside her.
“What do you know about my past?”
“I watch television news and read the papers religiously. I’ve been intrigued by your angel’s cradle story and the Baptist killing. I know you investigated your own cold case. I know how you discovered who your biological father is. I await his trial with interest, and I have preordered Dr.Grablowski’s unauthorized biography on you.” She bent forward. “All of that”—she motioned her hand to the windows as if to indicate a wealth of information lying out somewhere over the ocean—“tells me one thing. You are stubborn. When you want something, you go after it irrespective of personal cost. You don’t give up in the face of roadblocks.” She fell silent, held Angie’s gaze. “I like you.”
Angie blinked.
“You’re a pit bull. I like pit bulls.”
Angie cleared her throat. “You say your granddaughter was—”
“Jasmine. Her name is Jasmine. Let’s call her by her name.”
“You say that Jasmine was last seen washing over Plunge Falls, that she might have slipped into the river?”
“Yes.”
“So she was presumed drowned?”
“Yes.”
“Then what questions do you have about what happened twenty-four years ago?” Angie immediately had a question of her own—if the judge’s granddaughter had gone over Plunge Falls, why were her remains found in a grove almost two hundred meters away from the river?
Justice Monaghan picked up a gingersnap and bit into it. She chewed carefully, swallowed, and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Let me show you something.” She reached down into the leather-sided file box beside her chair and pulled out a file followed by a framed photograph. She set the file on the table and held the frame out to Angie.
Angie reached for it. The photo was a close-up of an attractive young woman. Dusky skin. Liquid black eyes fringed with dense lashes. A broad smile with all the white wattage of a toothpaste advertisement. Dark hair tumbled about slender shoulders. She wore waders and a fly-fishing vest, and she held a fly rod.
“See that bracelet?” the judge said.
Angie peered closer, and her pulse quickened as she recalled the blackened, dirt-encrusted, metal-looking cuff that had been lying next to the long gnawed bone.
“This is what it looks like cleaned up.” From the file folder on the table, the judge extracted a photo. She slid it across the glass surface toward Angie. “I gave Jasmine that silver cuff. I bought it on a trip to Egypt. It fitted nice and snugly with a solid clasp, which is why it probably stayed on her wrist when she went over the falls. That cuff was found with her body. It was our first clue it could be Jasmine. This was also in her grave.” The judge slid another photo over to Angie. “That ring. It was still on her ring finger or, rather, the bone that was her ring finger.”
Angie studied the image. “Engagement ring?” she said. Her skin went hot suddenly as she recalled her own diamond on the chain. She’d removed the chain and ring before her Muay Thai session. She’d secreted the jewelry in the glove compartment of her car and forgotten she’d done so. Angie made a quick mental note to check it was still there when she got back into her vehicle.
