Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

Amanda sat in her chair and swiveled to face Trent. “What else?”

“She was easily irritated and snippy. Her behavior changed, and things she used to enjoy, such as playing the piano, she put aside. She made her parents cancel the lessons.”

“A teenager wanting to be left alone, being moody, etcetera, that’s pretty normal. But when it’s abrupt and the crowd she hangs around with changes, along with her personality, that’s reason for concern.” Amanda’s mind was spinning. After she’d rescued those girls in January, she did a bit of research on the red flags of sex trafficking. She’d discovered the victims weren’t always snatched from the streets; some were coerced while living at home. The Fosters said that Crystal had changed and was getting into more trouble too. Had both girls gotten caught up in the DC ring?

“Did Ashley have new friends show up in her life?” she asked.

“Not that’s noted in the file. I do have more, though.”

“Go ahead.”

“The parents had their suspicions Ashley was lured out by someone on social media.”

If Amanda had any doubts as to when Ashley was caught in the web of sex trafficking, she was getting her answer. At the age of thirteen. The steak and potato Amanda had eaten earlier threatened a reappearance. “We’ll need to speak to her parents at some point.” She realized that was the truth, but there was a part of her that wanted to put that off as long as possible, given how things had turned out with the Fosters. “We should reach out to the investigating detective. Detective Robbins…?” She recalled Leila Foster mentioning his name and thought she had it right.

“Yeah, Chester Robbins with the Metropolitan Police in DC. Who names their kid Chester?”

“Number?” She grabbed her desk phone’s handset.

Trent ran around to his cubicle and called it out to her, and she pushed each digit as he said it. The call rang over to voicemail, and Amanda left a message for the detective to call her back regarding Ashley Lynch as soon as possible. She hung up and sat back in her chair, discouraged. She hated feeling like she was on the losing end. “If they think Ashley was groomed on social media, then they must have messages. Were they included in the report?”

Trent shook his head.

“We definitely need to speak with Detective Robbins.” More waiting. But they didn’t have time to sit around—not if their killer was going to act again. They had to piece some of the nightmare together. “Ashley had been a victim of sex trafficking. We know that from the tattoo on her chest. Brandon told me there are different types of serial killers. In relation to our guy, we discussed those motivated by a mission.” She paused and scanned Trent’s eyes. He seemed to be following her thus far. She continued. “Shannon Fox only became a victim because she interfered with the killer’s plans. He had to take her out, teach her a lesson.”

“Sounds like the meting out of punishment.”

She nodded. “I think so, and I say we put our focus on Ashley’s case. She probably more accurately represents who he plans to target.”

“All right, I get that.”

She went on. “Brandon suggested that maybe the killer was affected by a similar crime when he was younger. He pointed out that our killer may have struck before. Let’s look up cases similar to ours where the killer was caught and served time.”

“Time to go fishing in the CCRE?”

The Central Criminal Records Exchange was a searchable database that cataloged closed cases, including a record of sentencing for the state of Virginia.

“We should. You focus on female victims and arson, and I’ll look at female victims and strangulation.” Her mind was also full of other possible angles they could try, such as revisiting the canvassing officer interviews and the photos of the crowds. She thought, too, of the card taken from the memorial that she’d passed over to Forensics. She’d follow up with CSI Blair on Monday to see if she got anywhere with it.

“As for geography?”

“Expand it statewide in case this guy has moved around.” She remembered that Brandon suggested their killer was local, but he’d also added the caveat he was attempting to build a profile on the very little she’d provided him.

“Timewise?”

“I wouldn’t think we should look any further back than thirty years.” Chris Ingram estimated the man he saw as being in his thirties or early forties. If that man was the killer they were after, the parameter would make him ten, at the oldest, when he went to prison—which, obviously, wasn’t realistic. But Chris had said he didn’t get a good look, and the man could appear younger than his true age. Either way, the net was cast wide.

“I’m on it.” Trent started clicking away.

She brought up the CCRE and entered her parameters. As she watched the various results fill her screen, she swelled with pride. Law enforcement in Virginia had taken these people off the streets and held them accountable for their crimes—though that same justice system would see her mother spending time behind bars. That thought reminded Amanda that she hadn’t followed up with her mother. What had Hannah worked out, if anything? Amanda would just wait until the family dinner at her parents’ tomorrow night and ask then. Her mother usually tucked in early, and at nine o’clock, she’d be getting ready for bed. Then again, that could have changed.

Her mother’s personality obviously had. She’d gone from being a gentle spirit to one who exacted revenge. Her mother hadn’t even taken the easy route and used a bullet to kill her victim. She’d chosen a murder method that had inflicted suffering and taken hours.

Amanda pinched her eyes shut and felt the warmth of unshed tears welling in them. If only she had been around for her mother after the accident. Then maybe she would have healed from the loss of her granddaughter and son-in-law and come to grips with her emotions. Maybe Amanda would have done better too. But who could really know? The circular thinking got Amanda nowhere. She shook aside her personal life and put her focus back on work.

She read through file after file, dismissing each one in turn. The arms on the clock were turning, the hours passing quickly. Then, finally, she found one of interest.

Samuel Booth. Served fifteen years. Was released three and a half years ago.