Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

His confidence and demeanor had her second-guessing their decision to bring him in. Maybe they simply saw what they had wanted to see. She told him the times he needed to account for.

He paled and glanced up at the ceiling, let out a huff. “Doubt you’ll believe me, but I was at home with my wife.”

She sprung to her feet and went into the hall.

Trent joined her. “Do you think he killed them?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know… Probably not, but I’m not ready to let him go just yet.”

“I know you want to close this case—so do I—but if Samuel Booth’s not our killer, we need to release him.”

“No, we have time to hold him without pressing charges. I can’t ignore the fact he killed a woman for sleeping with his friend, and that he killed her because he saw her as a slut.”

“You may have taken some liberty with that conclusion…” Trent winced.

“Nah.” She shook her head. “What’s to say he’s not targeting women now for essentially the same reason? You know, cleaning up Prince William County.”

Trent knotted up his face. “I think we need more.”

She considered his words, and he was right. “We’ll hold him overnight and do some more digging. If nothing turns up, we’ll set him free.”

“Sounds fair.”

“I’m getting started right away.” She headed to her desk and thought about what Brandon Fisher had said—that their killer may have been traumatized in his childhood. She’d just go rooting deep in Samuel Booth’s closet to see what skeletons she could find.

Thirty-Four

Amanda might have only gotten about five hours’ sleep, but it had done her a world of good. She probably slept well because before heading home she’d been successful at finding potential evidence that could support Samuel Booth as their killer. However, his wife had denied any allegations that her husband beat or abused her in any way. There also wasn’t any record of her receiving medical attention for unexplained injuries. Alesha was adamant that her nose had always sat crooked on her face, and she’d backed that up by showing them a childhood photo of herself.

It was eight o’clock Sunday morning and most of the county was still in bed, but she and Trent were at Central. They had Samuel shown to an interrogation room and would soon join him.

On their way there, Trent turned to her. “I’m not sure about this, Amanda.”

“I know you have your doubts about him. Honestly, so do I.”

“Open mind then?”

“Open mind,” she agreed.

“We can’t place him at either crime scene. I’ve looked at the photos again.”

“Maybe he didn’t watch, or he was good at avoiding having his picture taken.” She realized she was convicting the man again, and that wasn’t like her, but this case was making her a little crazy.

They entered the room, and Samuel barely lifted his head.

“Have a good night’s sleep?” she asked.

“Yeah. The best,” he responded sardonically.

She didn’t say anything but pulled photos of Ashley and Shannon from the folder and laid them out.

He rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was hoping you’d clue in that I didn’t kill them.”

“Not there quite yet. Ashley Lynch—” she pressed a fingertip to her photo “—was strangled, just like Joyce.”