Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“Ah, that’s me, but I’m not sure why the police would want to speak with me.”

“Your name came up during an investigation. There was a house fire in east Dumfries yesterday morning, and a body was found inside the home. You might have heard about it on the local news.” Amanda hated giving any glory to the media, but it was an easy way to establish a foundation for the conversation.

“Yeah, I did.” Ester’s shoulders sagged, and her face went blank. “Why are you interested in me?”

“Woodbridge Bank owned the property and has informed us that they were waiting for approval from this office before they could put the place on the market. You’re the bank’s contact.”

“What’s the address?” Ester poised her fingers over her keyboard.

“Five thirty-two Bill Drive.”

“Oh, I’m familiar with that address.” She sank back in her chair. “Let me guess. It was Aiden Adkins who sent you.”

“He gave us your name.”

“Mr. Adkins… He’s, um, persistent, always asserting himself and applying pressure on me to get things moving faster. He doesn’t seem to grasp there’s a procedure and a queue.”

Amanda could imagine Aiden being that way, but she couldn’t blame the man with the way he’d painted management hanging over his head. “We’re just trying to determine everyone who may have been aware the property was sitting empty. I assume you were?”

“Yes, of course, but…” Ester’s voice trickled off into nothingness.

Amanda didn’t see anything in Ester’s demeanor that spoke to her being a heartless killer who took out a teenage girl. Her hands were also small and feminine, not large enough to match the bruising on Doe’s neck. “Who goes out and does the inspections? Is it someone within this office?”

“No, third parties are used.”

“Who was assigned to inspect the work done at five thirty-two Bill Drive?”

“I might be able to find out.”

“Might?” Amanda pressed.

“Well, depending on how far out it is in the schedule, it may not have been assigned to anyone yet. I’ll check.” Ester tapped away on the keyboard. “Okay, so that property isn’t booked for inspection yet so that means the wait is longer than two weeks. Usually that’s how far in advance appointments are firmed up.”

“Who has access to the calendar?” Trent asked.

“Pretty much everyone in this office, but they’d have no reason to look.”

Unless they are a psychopathic killer looking for a place to dump a body and burn down… But she and Trent couldn’t exactly pull records or speak with everyone who worked in the county’s office. Maybe Ester could point them in someone’s direction. “Is there anyone in this office who has been a little ‘off’ maybe, or who has shown an interest in that property recently?”

Ester held up a hand, and her mouth was twitching, like she was fending off laughter. “Sorry, I know none of this is funny.” She sought out Amanda’s eyes as if to stamp home the apology. Amanda saw a woman battling with shock, and levity being her defense against it. The clerk continued. “It’s just the entire bunch here is a little ‘off,’ me excluded, of course.” She paused to insert a small chuckle. “But no one stands out and fits what you’d be after. At least not that I’ve noticed.”

Amanda nodded, disappointed, and handed Ester one of her cards. “Call if you think of anyone after we leave.”

“All right, but don’t be waiting by the phone. We might all be nuts, but I don’t think anyone here is a killer.”

Amanda wasn’t going to terrify the woman by saying that murderers were usually the person one least suspected. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Hansen.”

Ester nodded, and Amanda and Trent saw themselves out.

Back in the car, she did up her seat belt and leaned against the headrest. “Well, we can’t exactly pull backgrounds and visit everyone who works as county inspectors or has access to that database.” She was sulking, and she heard it in her voice, but she was frustrat

ed. Fox was dead because she’d dropped the ball with the Doe murder—or at least it felt like it. Not that she’d had a lot of time to work the case.

“We just need to keep moving forward and exhaust the leads we have. It makes sense that the killer knew the house was empty, and it’s too soon for us to rule out anyone on our list.”

She looked over at him. Trent, her cheerleader. “Look at you. All right, Mr. Positive, what’s next?”

“To talk to the bank’s inspector?”