The Bones She Buried

Eight

Mettner called Hummel, who was the head of the Evidence Response Team. Hummel arrived ten minutes later, photographed the bag and the sewing machine and then, with gloved hands, he shook out the three items onto the sewing table. Mettner also donned a pair of gloves as he watched Josie pick up the items one by one. The first item was a flash drive with some writing on it.

“What does it say?” Mettner asked as Josie squinted at small, handwritten letters squeezed onto its surface.

“Pratt,” Josie answered. She looked up at Mettner and Hummel. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Both shook their heads. Josie put the flash drive aside and picked up the second object. It was a flat stone that fit easily in her palm, narrowing to a point at one end. The other end was wide and straight-edged but notched in on both sides.

“What is it?” Mettner asked.

Josie turned it over in her gloved hands. “I think it’s an arrowhead.” It was light brown, its uneven rocky surface dulled and smoothed. “Jasper,” Josie added.

“What’s that?” Mettner asked.

“This is a jasper point. The Native Americans who were here in Pennsylvania before this country was established used stone to fashion their tools, jewelry, and all kinds of things. They made arrows out of a few different types of stone found here—flint, quartz, and jasper. Ray and I used to look for them in the woods when we were kids.”

“I think my grandfather had one of these,” Mettner said, taking the arrowhead from Josie and feeling its weight in his palm. “But it was a different color.”

“Probably flint or quartz then,” Hummel said. “What else do we have here?”

Josie picked up the third item—a belt buckle which was heavy and large, easily the size of her palm, and gold plated with two rifles on the front, their barrels crossed over the top of an etching of several pine trees. Below that, it was embossed with the date 1973. She handed it to Mettner.

He asked, “How old was Colette Fraley in 1973?”

“Her early twenties, I think,” Josie replied. “But I don’t think that belonged to her.”

“What about Mr. Fraley?” Mettner asked. “Could this be his?”

“I suppose. All I know is that Colette and Noah’s dad divorced when Noah was eighteen. He moved away. None of the kids keep in touch with him, but we could track him down and ask him about it. Laura, his sister, is supposed to text me his phone number.”

“We’ll do that but if it’s not her ex-husband’s, whose is it? What’s a woman like Colette Fraley doing with a forty-five-year-old belt buckle, a Native American arrowhead, and a flash drive marked ‘Pratt’ on it hidden in the bottom of her sewing machine?” Mettner said.

Hummel held up the flash drive. “This seems like the most sensible place to start. You should take it back to the station house and check it out before we dust it for prints. The fumigation from the printing process might compromise the contents.”

Mettner held out a paper evidence bag and Hummel dropped it inside. “Will do,” he said.

“Get a warrant,” Josie told him. “For the contents. If we don’t get one, and it turns out to be of critical importance, it could be inadmissible.”

“Okay,” Mettner said. “I’ll write one up. Then we’ll see if this is what our killer was looking for.”