Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“You ever see anyone hanging around the place after that couple moved out?” Trent interjected.

Ted looked at him. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Amanda asked, skeptical. “It’s a yes or no type of question, Mr. Dixon.”

Ted glanced over a shoulder, then back at her, and stiffened. “No. I never saw anyone.”

She didn’t have to spend any time studying him to tell he was lying. He just wasn’t about to talk to the police, and she couldn’t force him to—yet. She handed him her card. “Call me if your memory returns.” She turned and left.

Trent matched her stride. “I think he saw something.”

“Makes two of us.” She faced him. “People were squatting at five thirty-two. We know that because of the mattresses, but who are they and where are they now?”

“And did they kill Jane Doe?”

Amanda considered this and shook her head. “You know what? Probably not. Why burn down their shelter?” She glanced at a cruiser posted in front of 532. The place would have surveillance on it for a while, and if anyone suspicious came around, they’d be brought in and questioned. She had faith in that. Just as she trusted canvassing officers to talk to all the neighbors. “I’m thinking we head back to the station, pull the property records, and see if we can get our hands on that nine-one-one recording. Then we’ll come back and talk to the person who placed the call.”

“Works for me.”

“I’ve got my car here, so I’ll meet you back there, but I may be a little delayed. I’m dying for a coffee and something to eat. Want me to grab you anything?”

Trent gave her his order and went on his way, leaving her with her thoughts, which were focused on Jane Doe. Someone out there was probably missing their daughter, but she’d been stolen from them, her life wiped out before it really began. Amanda would do everything in her power to make the person responsible for that pay.

Four

It was going on two in the afternoon when Amanda stopped at Hannah’s Diner on the way out of Dumfries. She and Trent had spent more time on site than she would have guessed. No wonder her stomach was growling. While Hannah’s had tasty food, Amanda mostly gravitated there for the coffee, which was the best, bar none, that Amanda had ever tasted.

The place was owned by May Byrd and named after her daughter, Hannah—the same Hannah who was Amanda’s mother’s defense attorney.

Amanda went inside and found May standing behind the counter. She was in her sixties but still worked as a server. Today, empathy flooded her facial features. “Hey, sweetheart. How ya holdin’ up?”

Amanda knew how to read May. The question was in reference to the situation with Amanda’s mother. “We’ll get through this.” She spoke with far more confidence than she felt. After all, her mother was guilty despite her plea, and Amanda feared some judge would want to make an example out of her.

May put a hand on Amanda’s forearm. “I have no doubt ya will. You Steeles are strong, but you’ve had to deal with an awful lot in your lives.”

“I’m not going to argue with that.”

“Hannah doesn’t tell me any details on account of attorney-client privilege, but I get the impression there’s reason to hold out some hope.” May leaned across the counter, peered into Amanda’s eyes. “Am I right?”

“Too soon to say, but Hannah’s working to build a solid defense to get a lighter sentence.” It was another topic that sent Amanda into a moral debate. The man who had driven drunk and killed her family got a measly five years in prison. Hannah was striving to get Amanda’s mother’s sentence down to fifteen years with parole in seven and a half. Thinking of her mother in prison for all that time was unbearable. To the victim’s sole surviving relative, it wouldn’t feel like enough. It was strange how perspective changed everything.

“Well, if my Hannah can sort something out, she will. I’m rooting for your mother, Mandy.” She straightened out and asked, “So what can I get ya?”

Amanda was relieved that the chitchat had ended. Talking about her mother’s crime just made it more real. She ordered two large black coffees, a ham and cheese on wholewheat for herself, and a chicken-salad sandwich on white bread for Trent.

As May prepared everything, Amanda lost herself in her thoughts. She used to hold out so much hope for the future, but life had taught her not to be so foolish.

A few minutes later, May was putting the wrapped sandwiches into a brown bag and shoving the coffee cups into a take-out tray.

“Thanks,” Amanda said and headed for the door.

A man was on his way in and backtracked to hold the door for her.

“Thanks,” she told him.

He didn’t say anything, and she continued to her car and got behind the wheel.

Once there, she unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite, letting her thoughts drift again. So often she’d just tell people she was doing fine. She’d put on a brave and confident front like she truly believed everything with her mother would work out okay. Of course, she’d face prison; it was just a question of how long.