Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“Do you think it’s possible that those people—the ones in charge—

had her killed?”

“There’s no way to know without you following the evidence, but I don’t see it as something they’d do unless they had no other recourse. They’d probably just have hauled her back and put her to work.”

Amanda glanced over at Trent. “I had a bad feeling you’d say that.” Her stomach lurched. “She was only about sixteen, Patty.”

“It never gets easier. Was there any evidence of rape?”

“No. Not even consensual sex.” Which on saying out loud, Amanda found surprising.

“Then I’d definitely say you’re looking at another motive here. I must say, though, when these people find out one of their girls was taken and killed, they’re not going to be too happy, and they might seek revenge.”

“Scary thought.” But she didn’t find the concept hard to imagine. “Okay, keep me updated if anything comes to light.”

“I will.” There was a brief pause, then, “Find who did this to her.”

“You can bet on it.” She ended the call and faced Trent. “We need to start by tracking Jane Doe’s movements. Find out who she was.” What Amanda really wanted to do was knock down some doors—but so far, they didn’t have any to barge through. The clock on the dash told her it was ten thirty. They could work a little more before calling it a day. “Let’s go back to the station and give Missing Persons a try.”

“You got it.” He put the car into gear and took them in the direction of Central.

“We could also read interviews from the canvassing officers. All I know is her loved ones deserve some closure.” But did Doe’s parents? They could well have been the reason she took to the streets. A couple of things ratcheted Amanda’s red-headed temper: drunk driving and those who abused women, children, or animals.

About thirty minutes later, Trent pulled into the station lot and parked. They went inside—her to her desk, Trent to the break room for a coffee. The fact their victim had been caught up in sex trafficking was enough to jolt her wide awake.

She found a folder on her desk and looked inside. It contained the interviews from the canvassing officers.

She put her light jacket on the back of her chair and dropped down.

Amanda shuffled through a few of them but didn’t find anyone’s statements particularly helpful at quick glance. She closed the folder and brought up Missing Persons on the computer. She keyed in the little they had in the way of narrowing things down. The butterfly pin, the name Crystal, her approximate age at time of death, her height, and her hair and eye color.

Trent returned and settled in at his desk. She handed him the folder over the partition. “Officer interviews,” was all she said as an explanation.

She clicked enter on her search and tapped her fingers and toes while she waited on the results. Nada.

They needed more. Her DNA profile, which Rideout was handling, and the girl’s dental impression—just in case it came in useful. She didn’t want to consider that no one was missing Jane Doe.

She logged into her email, and there was a message with attachments from Fire Marshal Sullivan. She opened it and read his brief message. He was still compiling his sketches and the photographs of the house’s interior, but he sent photos he had taken of the crowd across the street at different points throughout the day. She opened them, looking at one after the other, scanning for anything that might seem obviously out of the ordinary. Nothing struck her, and the direness of their reality sank in.

It was starting to feel like their only option for ID’ing the girl was waiting on Rideout and hoping that Jane Doe was actually in the Missing Persons database.

She glanced over at Trent and could only see the top of his head. “How are you making out over there?”

“Nothing yet, but I just got a coffee. I’m good to keep at this.”

She got up and grabbed her jacket. “I need a break.”

“Sure. You okay?”

She just waved and left. She was far from okay, but she wasn’t in the mood to get into it right now. There was one place she wanted to be. Whether it was healthy or advisable would remain to be seen.

Thirteen

Amanda stopped by 532 Bill Drive on the way to her intended destination, just to feel like she was doing something to move the case along. A quick conversation with the officer on scene only emphasized the slow progress with this case. He hadn’t seen anyone who stood out to him, but the memorial had grown significantly from earlier in the day. Amanda knew it would only blossom further once the news of the fire and death reached more people. Then throngs would come to pay their respects. She found hypocrisy in how some would show support to a stranger in tragedy but snubbed those they didn’t know in daily life. But death had a way of changing people and the way they looked at the world. Amanda knew for a fact she viewed everything differently after being personally impacted by the work of the Grim Reaper.

She gave the memorial another look and realized she didn’t want to show up where she was going empty-handed. She got back into her car and drove to a convenience store that she knew sold bouquets and bought two. Then she headed to the graveyard.

She pulled in through the gates of Eagle Cemetery and followed the winding roads to a parking lot. Getting out, flowers in hand, she noted how once again she was here at night. Above her, an almost fully formed egg moon hung in the sky—a British term she’d learned from her maternal grandmother for a full moon in April. Its glow illuminated her path as she walked up the hill toward an oak tree that was perched at the top. Kevin’s and Lindsey’s plots were just over the crest.