Long Time Gone

by Charlie Donlea

Genres: Female Sleuths; Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

When DNA results reveal a disturbing connection to the mysterious disappearance of a famous baby nearly three decades ago, a forensic scientist is plunged into a dangerous search for answers in this engrossing, propulsive new novel from the internationally bestselling author of Twenty Years Later.

For fans of Alice Feeney, Karin Slaughter, Riley Sager, and Megan Goldin.

Thirty years ago, Baby Charlotte vanished. Today, she’s still in danger.

When Dr. Sloan Hastings submits her DNA to an online genealogy site for a research assignment, her goal is to better understand the treasure-trove of genetic information contained on ancestry websites. Brilliant and driven, Sloan is embarking on a fellowship in forensic pathology, training under the renowned Dr. Livia Cutty.

Sloan has one reservation about involving herself in the experiment: she’s adopted. Grateful for a loving home, she’s never considered tracking down her biological parents. The results of her search are shocking. Sloan’s DNA profile suggests her true identity is that of Charlotte Margolis, aka “Baby Charlotte”, who captured the nation’s attention when she mysteriously disappeared, along with her parents, in July 1995. Despite an exhaustive search, the family was never seen again, and no suspects were named in the case. 

Sloan’s discovery leads her to the small town of Cedar Creek, Nevada, the site of her disappearance. It also leads her to Sheriff Eric Stamos. The Margolis family’s influence and power permeate every corner of Harrison County, and Eric is convinced that in learning the truth about her past, Sloan can also help discover what happened to Eric’s father, who died under suspicious circumstances soon after he started investigating the case of her disappearance.

Slowly, over the course of a stifling summer, Sloan begins getting to know her relatives. Though initially welcoming, the Margolis family is also mysterious and tight-lipped. Not everyone seems happy about Sloan’s return, or the questions she’s asking. And the more she and Eric learn, the more apparent it becomes that the answers they both seek are buried in a graveyard of Margolis family secrets that some will do anything to keep hidden—no matter who else has to die…

Release date: May 21, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

SLOAN HASTINGS WALKED INTO THE OFFICE OF THE CHIEF MEDICAL Examiner fifteen minutes prior to the 9:00 a.m. start time that marked the beginning of her forensic pathology training. She and three other fellows were about to embark on a challenging two-year fellowship that would culminate with each of them being crowned a medical examiner. That was, of course, if they could handle the trials and tribulations that waited for them. Sloan was sure she could. Becoming a forensic pathologist was all she’d ever dreamt of doing.

A Duke graduate with a dual degree in criminology and forensic science, Sloan had cruised through medical school before completing a four-year anatomical and clinical pathology residency. Now, she was twenty-nine years old, and all that stood in the way of accomplishing her dream were two intense years of fellowship. The first of which was a grant-sponsored research year that required Sloan to explore an area of forensic pathology, advance the subject in some meaningful way, and write a thesis paper on the topic. After her research year, she would embark on a twelve-month clinical program at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner studying under the renowned Dr. Livia Cutty. There, she would perform hundreds of autopsies on her way to becoming a medical examiner. She was anxious. She was excited. And she was hungry.

Dressed in a sleeveless black blouse that showed off her CrossFit-built athletic frame, white slacks, and high heels, Sloan showed her new ID card—which proclaimed her to be one of four first-year fellows as of 9:00 a.m. that morning—to the woman at the front desk. The door adjacent to the desk buzzed. She walked through and headed for “the cage.”

Inside the OCME, and to new fellows in particular, the cage was infamous. Closed in by chain-link fencing and filled with rows and rows of forward-facing chairs, the cage was where fellows presented their cases each afternoon. Standing before the attending physicians and bathed in the glow of the SMART Board was like standing in front of a firing squad. Rumors and folklore ran rampant of fellows being crucified as they squirmed at the front of the cage while they stumbled through their cases and fielded questions from the wizards they were training under, who caught every misstep, highlighted every oversight, and corrected every misguided thought. It was a place Sloan feared, and couldn’t wait to conquer.

Sloan knew the morgue was located in the basement, that the attending physicians’ offices were located on the second floor, and that the cage was somewhere on the first floor. She wandered only for a moment before she found it, walking through the entrance at the back of the room and taking an aisle seat. Thirty or so folding chairs lined the room, each facing a screen that captured light from a projector that hung from the ceiling and greeted Sloan and her colleagues:

The other fellows soon arrived, introductions were made, and conversations started about where they had each completed their residencies and what they thought they were in for during the next two years. At exactly 9:00 a.m., a woman wearing green scrubs and a long white coat walked into the cage.

“Good morning, newbies,” Dr. Livia Cutty said as she made her way up the middle aisle and took a spot in front of the SMART Board. “Good to see all of you again.”

Dr. Cutty had interviewed every candidate that applied to her prestigious forensic pathology fellowship, and had handpicked the four who sat before her.

“It seems like a lifetime ago that I was sitting where you are today—as a first-year fellow nervous and excited about what lay ahead. In reality, it was only seven years ago.”

Dr. Livia Cutty was the youngest physician to ever chair the fellowship program at the OCME in Raleigh, North Carolina. The former chairman and Livia’s mentor, Dr. Gerald Colt, had aggressively recruited her when he retired the previous year. In less than a decade since she’d completed her training, Livia Cutty had crafted a storied career as a medical examiner. For the last few years she had worked as the Chief Medical Examiner in Manhattan and had thrived in New York. Over the years Livia had been involved with several high-profile cases, and had served as the medical advisor for multiple television networks including FOX, CNN, and NBC. Her current side gig was dishing about forensics for HAP News during her frequent appearances on the hit newsmagazine show American Events.

“Since I’m not too far removed from where you are now,” Livia started, “know that I will not only understand what you’re going through during these next two years, but I will empathize with you as well. I’ll be hard on you, just like my mentors were hard on me. But I’ll be fair. We all have the same goal, which is to mold each of you into the best and brightest medical examiners this country has to offer. My pledge to you is to provide the tools and the opportunities to get you there. What I ask from each of you is that you give me your best effort. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sloan said in unison with her colleagues.

Sloan was, she admitted, star struck as she stared at Livia Cutty. She’d seen the woman so many times on television, either discussing high-profile forensic cases or offering expert testimony and analysis on American Events, that it was surreal to be sitting in front of her now. Even harder to comprehend that she would be training under her.

For most of her life Sloan had ranked as the best and the brightest in the endeavors she took on, whether that was leading her debate team in high school, mastering the maze of cranial nerves in anatomy lab, or cranking out burpees with her CrossFit buddies. She always rose to the challenge and was determined to do the same during her time studying under Livia Cutty.

DR. CUTTY SPOKE FOR THIRTY MINUTES, GIVING SLOAN AND THE other first-year fellows the lay of the land and reviewing what would be expected during their research year. The twelve months were not entirely void of morgue time. In addition to their research, each of them would be paired with a second-year fellow and would be required to observe five postmortem examinations each month during summer. Ten during winter. The final three months would require them to not only assist with the postmortem exams, but also present the cases to the attending physicians and subspecialty pathologists that made up the staff at the OCME. The second year of fellowship would throw them fully into the morgue, promising each fellow two hundred fifty to three hundred autopsies by the time they finished their training.

“Any questions?” Livia asked.

There were none. Livia checked her watch.

“Okay, for the rest of the morning I’m scheduled with each of you for a thirty-minute session to discuss your research topic. Sloan, you’re up first.”

Sloan smiled and stood.

“We’ll talk in my office,” Livia said. “Feel free to grab coffee,” she said to the other fellows. “And while you’re waiting, walk around and get to know this place. It’s going to be your home for the next two years.”

Sloan waved goodbye to her new colleagues and followed Dr. Cutty out of the cage. They walked down the hallway and into Livia’s office.

“Have a seat.”

Sloan sat in front of the desk while Livia slid into her chair and began typing at her computer.

“The staff here at the OCME has chosen four topics unique to forensic pathology, and we randomly assigned each of our fellows to one of them. Ready to hear what the next year of your life will revolve around?”

“Ready,” Sloan said.

The two-year fellowship opportunity under Dr. Livia Cutty was unique compared to other forensic pathology fellowships across the country, which were each made up of just a single year of training. The extra year with Dr. Cutty promised a stronger résumé for those seeking positions tangential to criminology and law enforcement. Sloan’s dream was to work side-by-side with a major homicide unit, and she had set her sights on Livia Cutty’s program the day she started residency four years earlier.

“Your area of interest,” Livia said, “will be forensic and investigative genealogy.”

Sloan raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Okay,” she said slowly.

“Not familiar with this area of forensics?”

“I think we covered it in one of my college courses, but that feels like a lifetime ago.”

“A lot has changed since then. It’s a constantly evolving specialty. Forensic genealogy is the science behind the breaks in more than a few high-profile cold cases that have been in the news over the last few years. The most well-known is probably the Golden State Killer case. Do you know the case?”

“I know of it,” Sloan said.

“During the seventies, a guy went on an extended spree of rape and murder in Northern California. Each incident was a middle-of-the-night home invasion. From a few of the scenes, police were able to secure the suspect’s DNA. There was no national DNA database back then, so the DNA went unidentified but was preserved as evidence. The guy continued his reign of terror into the early eighties, and then abruptly stopped. His DNA remained unidentified for decades until really smart investigators decided to tap into online genealogy databases in an effort to identify the source of the old crime scene DNA.”

“Like Ancestry dot com? The online sites where people submit their DNA to create family trees and learn about their heritage?”

“Correct,” Livia said. “Ancestry dot com, Twenty-Three and Me. There’re dozens of them, and they contain a treasure trove of genetic information. Bigger than any database law enforcement could ever create.”

“But no serial killer is dumb enough to submit their own DNA to one of these sites.”

Livia shook her head. “The killers don’t, but their unsuspecting relatives do. Cold case detectives working the Golden State Killer case took a chance and submitted the killer’s DNA, which had been sequestered from one of the crime scenes and preserved for decades, to GEDmatch—a free service that allows users to upload and analyze their DNA sequences—and hoped for a hit. Low and behold, the killer’s DNA showed a genetic link—a match, they call it—to a man who had uploaded his DNA sequence and was identified as a second cousin to whoever the Golden State Killer was. Then the investigative work began. A genealogist working with detectives tracked down the cousin and worked backwards to create a family tree. Second cousins led to first cousins. First cousins led to aunts and uncles. And so on down the genetic line. Detectives researched every relative to see if any of them lived in the areas where the crimes had taken place. After some legwork, they narrowed their list down to just a couple of names. Then they did some stakeout work and waited each week until these potential suspects wheeled their garbage cans to the curb. A DNA sample taken from a used tissue in one of the suspect’s garbage bins was an exact match to the DNA sequestered from the crime scenes. An arrest was made and the decades-old case of the Golden State Killer was solved.”

“Fascinating.”

“I’m glad you think so, because you’re about to spend a year of your life researching this topic and finding a way to advance it.”

Livia slid a three-ring binder across the desk.

“This contains everything that will be required to complete the project. Of course, your research will culminate in a thesis paper that you will present at the end of the year. Information about ‘Presentation Day,’ as it’s called, is also in the binder. The presentation must fill four hours, broken into two two-hour segments. There are benchmarks that you’ll be expected to meet throughout the year, and they’re aimed at keeping you on schedule. We’ll meet to review your progress every three months. And, of course, you’ll be required to keep up with the second-year fellow you’ve been assigned to and also reach the milestones laid out that will prepare you for the second, clinical, year of fellowship.”

“Understood,” Sloan said.

“I’ve given you a lot of information this morning. Take a day or two to review and process all of it. If you have questions, find me. I’m always available. And I’ll give you a little bit of advice my mentor gave me: Procrastination is the devil’s way of stealing your time. Avoid it at all costs. Get busy and stay busy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

SLOAN GRABBED HER MAIL FROM A ROW OF BOXES BEFORE SHE WALKED up the steps of her apartment—a one-bedroom in Trinity Circle. Inside, she popped open a Diet Dr. Pepper, her beverage of choice and the secret weapon, along with her obsession with CrossFit, that had helped her survive both medical school and residency. At the kitchen table she flipped open her laptop. She’d spent the previous day reading through the information contained in the giant three-ring binder Dr. Cutty had given her, making notes, and outlining the approach she would take to researching, dissecting, and somehow advancing the field of forensic and investigative genealogy.

The first thing she’d have to do is find a case that had been solved using DNA profiles stored on databases of online ancestry sites. She knew better than to consider the Golden State Killer case. It was too well known, too mainstream, and completely unoriginal. She made a list of people she needed to get in touch with. It included homicide detectives, genealogists, and maybe a reporter or two who had covered true crime and could tip her off to a less well-known case involving forensic genealogy.

She took a sip of Dr. Pepper and got busy on her laptop, deciding that contacting a genealogist would be the easiest of the three. A quick search brought up a website for the Association of Professional Genealogists. Sloan paged through scores of profiles until she found a genealogist named James Clayton located in North Carolina. The profile included an email address, so she ripped off a quick message to him.

She included her phone number and logged out of her email. She spent the rest of the morning researching homicides that had been recently solved using online genealogy databases. She made a list of the ten that looked promising and spent three hours after lunch reading and printing articles on each of them. It was midafternoon when her phone buzzed with a text message. She didn’t recognize the number but saw when she opened the message that it was James the genealogist.

Hi Sloan, thanks for reaching out. I’d love to talk. Yes, I’m also in Raleigh and can meet anytime.

Sloan typed her response.

SLOAN: Anytime? Is tonight too soon?

JAMES: Not at all. Meet you at The Daily Drip at 9PM?

SLOAN: See you there!

Procrastination is the devil’s way of stealing your time. She didn’t plan to waste a minute. Just two days into her fellowship and Sloan was already out of the gate and running. Where she was headed would be the greatest shock of her life.

THE DAILY DRIP WAS ITS USUAL BUSTLING SELF, EVEN AT NINE AT night. The city, it seemed, lived on caffeine, and its residents took in large quantities at all times of day and night. Sloan sat at a tall table in the middle of the café, within easy sight of the entrance. There had been no image of James the genealogist on the website where she found him. She expected a middle-aged man with glasses and a pen protector, but instead, at just past 9:00 p.m., a man in his early twenties walked into the café and looked around, lifting his hand in a subtle wave and mouthing her name. Sloan?

Sloan smiled and nodded.

James she mouthed back.

The man nodded and walked over.

“James Clayton.”

He reached out and Sloan shook his hand.

“Sloan Hastings,” she said with a crinkle to her left eye. “You don’t look like a genealogist.”

“Really? What’s a genealogist supposed to look like?”

“I don’t know. Older, I guess. More studious?”

“You mean nerdy?”

James sported an I-work-from-home scruff and a frat-boy hairdo. He looked much more like a college student than someone who studied family trees for a living.

“It’s okay,” James said. “I get that a lot. Everyone expects a seventy-year-old dude with white hair and glasses. But don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

“I trust you. Thanks again for meeting so quickly.”

“Sure thing. Most of my work is done online or over the phone. It’s rare that I actually meet a client in person. When you said you were in Raleigh, I jumped at the chance to get out of my apartment and talk face-to-face with a client.”

A few minutes later they each had a cup of coffee in front of them.

“So how can I help?” James asked.

Sloan opened her computer.

“I just started my fellowship in forensic pathology.”

“What’s that mean? You’re a medical examiner?”

“Not yet. But I will be in a couple of years. My first year of training is a research year. My topic of interest is forensic and investigative genealogy, and I need someone in the know to guide me through the ins and outs of the topic.”

James smiled. “I can do that.”

“I need to learn how online genealogy databases and the genetic information they contain are being used to solve years-old cold cases. The Golden State Killer was offered as an example.”

James pulsed his eyebrows. “The Golden State Killer was the first. At least, the first case that went mainstream. And it set a precedent.”

“Okay,” Sloan said, tapping on her keyboard and taking notes. “Let’s start there. Tell me how it works. Explain how the guy got caught forty years after he committed the crimes, simply from a family member submitting their DNA to an online site.”

“Sure,” James said. “How much do you know about the case?”

“My department chair gave me a quick rundown yesterday, but I’m looking for a deeper explanation on the inner workings of forensic genealogy.”

“Got it. Stop me if I wander too far into the weeds.”

Sloan nodded and tapped away at her computer as James spoke.

“The Golden State Killer was a serial rapist and murderer who terrorized Northern California for several years in the seventies and eighties. Back in the seventies, DNA technology was not what it is today. Still, investigators knew enough to preserve DNA-laced evidence for future use. In the case of the Golden State Killer, that DNA evidence was in the form of rape kits.”

“So rape kits were done on his victims, and those kits were stored in evidence for decades?”

“Correct. It was 2017 when cold case detectives kicked their investigation into overdrive. That meant the rape kits had been preserved for close to forty years before DNA was pulled from sperm cells sequestered in them.”

“Amazing.” Sloan tapped away. “Talk me through the process. How did the killer’s DNA, which authorities had in their possession for decades, suddenly lead to the killer being identified forty years after he committed the crimes?”

“In 2017, with the Golden State Killer case ice cold, a clever investigator decided to submit the killer’s DNA—taken from one of the rape kits—to a genealogy website and create a ‘fake’ genetic profile. Fake in the sense that the DNA did not belong to the detective creating the profile. From there, the investigator attempted to match that DNA profile to other online users who were innocently looking to build family trees and delve into their heritage. Any match that came back would obviously be from a relative of the killer.”

“Ah, now I see.”

Sloan continued to type.

“The investigators jumped through a lot of legal hoops, and ultimately had to convince the executives of the genealogy site to allow them access—although there is still much debate about whether what this particular investigator did was ethical, let alone legal. Anyway, the genealogist ultimately matched the killer’s DNA to a distant relative—a second cousin—who had submitted their DNA and created their own profile, for the sole purpose of looking into his ancestry. Once the authorities identified the killer as a descendent of a particular family, they investigated all the men who could possibly be related to that second cousin. Eventually, they settled on one suspect.”

“How did they narrow their search down?”

“Geographically, at first. Out of all the relatives, only one lived in Northern California at the time the crimes were committed. But also, the detectives knew from the DNA profile that the killer had blue eyes. They searched DMV records and driver’s license info to confirm that the man they had in their sights also had blue eyes. It was enough to secure a warrant. Then they quietly worked with the waste management company that collected the suspect’s garbage, and picked through the man’s trash until they found a good source of DNA. When they ran it, it was an exact match to the DNA from the rape kit. Case closed.”

Sloan tapped a few last keystrokes. “You mentioned ethical or legal issues with the way authorities handled the case.”

“Right. One argument is that it’s an invasion of privacy for authorities to tap into these online databases of the public’s DNA, since the people submitting their DNA are not openly giving permission to law enforcement to use their profiles. The Golden State Killer case caused many of the online genealogy sites to change their privacy policies, and some have even restricted law enforcement from accessing their databases. It’s turning into an ugly fight and I’m sure there will soon be legislation around it.”

“Okay,” Sloan said, looking over her notes. “I need to understand how these online genealogy sites work. If I wanted to create a genetic profile myself, or build a family tree, how would I do it?”

James nodded. “First t. . .