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rightly known. She did not drown in a swimming pool, public or private.
Caitlin drowned in ordinary Philadelphia tap water.
The original investigators had contacted the Philadelphia Water Department and were told that, according to the EPA, the water found in Caitlin’s lungs was indeed specific to Philadelphia. The three treatment plants at Baxter, Belmont, and Queen Lane had all made specific adjustments to their drinking water processes in March, due to an oiltanker spill.
There was no running water in this building. There were no bathtubs, plastic tubs, buckets, aquariums, or cans—not a single vessel that could hold enough water to drown a human being.
There was some quiet debate at the Roundhouse, the police administration building at Eighth and Race, about whether or not this was a bona fide homicide. Both Jessica and Byrne believed it was, yet conceded the possibility that Caitlin had accidentally drowned, perhaps in a bathtub, and that her body had been moved to the crime scene after the fact. This would bring about charges of abuse of a corpse, not homicide.
One thing was not in doubt: Caitlin O’Riordan did not arrive here under her own power.
There had been no ID on the victim, no purse or wallet at the scene. Caitlin had been identified by the photograph that circulated via the FBI website. There was no evidence of sexual assault.
    Caitlin O’Riordan was the daughter of Robert and Marilyn O’Rior dan of Millersville, Pennsylvania, a town of about 8000, five miles southwest of Lancaster. She had one sister, Lisa, who was two years younger.
    Robert O’Riordan owned and operated a small, home- style restaurant on George Street in downtown Millersville. Marilyn was a homemaker, a former Miss Bart Township. Both were active in the church. Although far from wealthy, they maintained a comfortable home on a quiet rural lane.
    Caitlin O’Riordan had been a runaway.
On April 1, Robert O’Riordan found a note from his daughter. It was written in red felt tip marker, on stationery that had Scotties along the border. The O’Riordans had two Scottish terriers as pets. The note was taped to the mirror in the girl’s bedroom.
    Dear Mom and Dad (and Lisa too, sorry Lisey ⁄ )
I’m sorry, but I have to do this.
I’ll be okay. I’ll be back. I promise.
I’ll send a card.
    On April 2, two patrol officers from the Millersville Police Department were sent to the O’Riordan house. When they arrived, Caitlin had been missing for nineteen hours. The two patrolmen found no evidence of kidnapping or violence, no evidence of any foul play. They took statements from the family and the immediate neighbors—which, in that area, were about a quarter mile away on either side—wrote up the report. The case went through the expected channels. In seventytwo hours it was handed off to the Philadelphia field office of the FBI.
    Despite a more than modest reward, and the fact that the young woman’s photograph was published in local papers and on various websites, two weeks after her disappearance there were no leads regarding the whereabouts or fate of Caitlin O’Riordan. To the world, she had simply vanished.
    As April passed, the case grew colder, and authorities suspected that Caitlin O’Riordan might have fallen victim to a violent act.
On May 2, their darkest suspicions were confirmed.
    The original lead investigator in the Caitlin O’Riordan case, a man named Rocco Pistone, had retired two months ago. That same month his partner, Freddy Roarke, died of a massive stroke while watching a horse race at Philadelphia Park. Dropped right at the rail, just a few feet from the finish line. The 25- to- 1 filly on which Freddy had put twenty dollars—poetically named Heaven’s Eternity—won by three lengths. Freddy Roarke never collected.
    Pistone and Roarke had visited Millersville, had interviewed Caitlin’s schoolmates and friends, her teachers, neighbors, fellow churchgoers. No one recalled Caitlin mentioning a