Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“The word about Fox’s mutilation has spread.” Amanda pulled up the piece on the newspaper site on her phone and handed it to Malone.

He skimmed the article and looked up at her. “How did he find this out?”

“The part I’m building to. A man called Reyes to tell him the story about Fox. He claimed he was a friend of Bethany Greene—that was Shannon Fox’s best friend—the woman who found the body,” she reminded him.

“You need to be following that lead.”

“It’s been done. I sent Trent to speak to her when I came here. That ping a moment ago was a text from him. Bethany didn’t tell anyone.”

Malone paled. “Can we track the call?”

“I have Detective Briggs in Digital Crimes on it.” She’d reached out to him on her way to the Malones’.

Her boss’s mouth was open like he was going to say something, but he shut it.

She said, “I don’t know for sure if we’ve got a serial killer here, but I don’t want mo

re bodies to confirm it for me.”

“Makes two of us.” Malone took a sip of his beer. “You get anywhere with that eyewitness? The one who saw the jogger?”

“Yes. He thinks he also saw the same man another time with someone who could fit the description of Ashley Lynch.”

Malone stiffened, and his gaze took on more intensity. “He’s sure of this?”

“As much as possible. You know how eyewitnesses can hem and haw.”

“I don’t know what to say here, Amanda. But I feel my hands are tied.”

“Two murders in two days, two different murder methods. He’s organized and versatile. I’m sure he plans to kill again.” She was presented with another opportunity to tell Malone about the note at the grave, but Brandon’s warning flashed to mind. This killer could be especially dangerous. If she came forward with it to Malone, he might remove her from the case. He’d defend the decision as a precaution, but she wasn’t willing to sit this investigation out. The killer had taunted her with saying they were on the same team, and she was past ready to prove how wrong he was.

Malone didn’t say anything, but he stared at her for some time before breaking the silence. “I hate to say this—yet again—but there needs to be more victims before we can get carried away thinking this is a serial killer at work. This isn’t some TV show, Amanda. This is real life.”

“Yeah, and in real life serial killers exist.”

“Still, I can’t do anything about the media yet. My hands are tied. We both know Hill’s on the warpath already. I need to consider your career, and my own.”

It only proved how wise she’d been to keep the note from him. It also probably wasn’t a good time to mention she’d booted the PWC News reporter from Fox’s crime scene and told Ronald in the Public Information Office to withhold information. “Hey, it was worth a try.” She got up and said, “Thanks for dinner.”

“Anytime.” Malone wasn’t looking at her; he was draining his bottle dry.

She wished she had something to quench her thirst—only she wasn’t thirsty; she was hungry. Not for food, but to put the killer she hunted behind bars.

Thirty-Two

Amanda had left the Malones’ about seven forty-five and was still shaking with frustration when she walked into Central fifteen minutes later. She thought for sure she could have helped Malone see logic in implementing a media ban. Her failure to convince him rested on her shoulders. More lives were at stake because of her.

She found Trent at his desk. He got up and rounded the partition with a piece of paper in his hand.

“How did you make out?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Oh. Well, we just keep working the case, doing what we can. Speaking of…” He handed her the sheet he’d carried over.

It was a color printout of Ashley Lynch as a thirteen-year-old girl. It was the one she’d seen briefly on the computer in the department car but much bigger. Amanda’s heart splintered. “What did you find on her?”

Trent lurched in her doorway and leaned against the cubicle wall. “She was reported missing by her parents, Hugh and Sabrina, as you already know. What you don’t know is the notes on the file say that Ashley had been quiet in the days leading up to her leaving. Spending a lot of time alone in her room, dressing in black.”