EIGHT
Amanda and Trent hustled back to their department car with Malone in tow. Before leaving the office, Amanda had asked Helen about the light-blue coral necklace—in a roundabout way. She’d inquired if Chloe normally wore jewelry, and the ranger had described the necklace perfectly. Helen even added that the girl must have been fond of it because she always wore it. Amanda was also armed with a USB stick containing a copy of the surveillance video.
Trent brought up Chloe’s information in the onboard computer. “Chloe Somner, nineteen years old, of Woodbridge. She’s the daughter of Mitch and Melissa Somner.” A few keystrokes, then, “Also residents of Woodbridge.”
Amanda’s heart cinched for a moment at the thought of informing them. They’d be going about their day with no idea about the horrible turn it was about to take. “We’ll want to make sure it’s her.”
“Oh, it’s her all right.” Trent backed out of the car, and Amanda and Malone leaned over and looked at the screen. The girl’s driver’s license photo.
Blond, blue eyes, small rosebud mouth, and a turned-up nose. Young—her entire life had been ahead of her.
Amanda pulled back and straightened up. “Does she have any vehicles registered to her?”
“Let’s see.” Trent maneuvered back into the front seat and typed away. “Yep. A Nissan Leaf. Which makes sense.”
“Why?”
“She was into the environment, and the Leaf is an electric car.”
“I’ll get the APB out for it,” Malone said. “Color and year, Trent?”
“Red. Last year’s model.” He also gave Malone the plate number.
“So where does a college student get the money for a new car?” Amanda asked.
“From Mom and Dad.” Trent turned from the screen to look at Amanda. Malone had walked away with his phone pressed to his ear. He went on. “Mitch is the CEO of a large medical center in Manassas.”
“And the girl’s mother?”
“It doesn’t look like she’s held a job for over nineteen years.”
“Around the time Chloe was born. She probably quit to become a full-time, stay-at-home mother.”
“Could afford to be.”
Malone was walking back to them, his phone in hand. “The APB is being issued as we speak. You guys are heading to see the Somners, yes?”
Sour acid churned in Amanda’s gut. Notifications were the worst part of the job. “I guess so. Just keep me posted on anything that might turn up here.”
“You know it.”
Amanda walked around to the passenger side of the department car, letting Trent take the wheel. Another perk of having a partner—she could be chauffeured around. Not that she was looking forward to the immediate destination.
Amanda handled death notifications with the skill of a seasoned pro, though it was never easy to tell people that their loved one had been murdered. It was always unexpected, blindsiding, and shocking. Unlike an accidental death, a murder typically meant their loved one had an enemy who had detested them enough to snuff them out. This was such a hard thing to accept for those left behind. Somehow death painted with a gentle brush, as if stroking away the deceased’s negative traits from life. A slate wiped clean and all forgiven.
Thinking about murder and its aftereffects made her mind go to Zoe Parker, six years old. Her soon-to-be daughter if the adoption went through as planned. Both of Zoe’s parents had been murdered a couple of months ago, and Amanda and Trent had been assigned the case. Amanda had fallen in love with the girl and was currently fostering her full-time. Considering all Zoe had been through, including witnessing her father’s murder, she was doing well. Amanda had Zoe speaking regularly with a psychiatrist, and that was helping.
Her gaze caught the clock on the dash. Already after eleven. Where had the time gone? Apparently, fun wasn’t the only thing that made it fly.
Zoe would be breaking from school for lunch soon and the end of the day would be here fast enough. Amanda needed to make some arrangements for Zoe’s care. There was always Amanda’s numerous nieces and nephews, but there were two primary options: Libby Dewinter, a schoolteacher who had been a friend of the Parker family and was “Aunt Libby” to Zoe; or Becky Tulson, a police officer with the Dumfries Police Department and also Amanda’s best friend since kindergarten. Amanda was grateful she had so much help in caring for the girl, especially with this job that could have her on the go at all hours.
As Trent took them through Woodbridge streets to the Somner residence, Amanda made a call. Becky answered on the second ring.
“Hey there.”
“Hey. What’s up?”
Normally Becky reserved that type of greeting for times when she was preoccupied. “Is it a bad time?”
“No. It’s just— Stop it.” Becky was giggling, and there was a muffled voice in the background. A man, and Amanda pieced it together.
“You’re with Brandon?” Brandon Fisher was an FBI agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and he and Becky had been seeing each other since they met a couple of years ago during the investigation into a serial killer. They’d just hit it off, and things between them had blossomed from there. Not to say that the road hadn’t had its rough patches.
“Yep. Day off, and he’s being a— Just stop.”
Even Amanda wasn’t buying that stop. “I won’t keep you, but would you mind coming over to watch Zoe after school today?” After asking, a slice of guilt tore through her. Becky didn’t get much time with Brandon. His work took him on the road a lot, unexpectedly and for indeterminable lengths of time.
There was nothing but silence.
“You can bring Brandon, of course, but I understand if it’s not a good—”
“We’ll do it.”
“You sure? It’s not an imposition?”
“Don’t worry about it. How long will you need us to stay?”
Her friend didn’t exactly say it wasn’t an imposition, but she had agreed to mind Zoe. Amanda ran through the day’s timeline in her head. The autopsy started at four, and there was a half hour of travel time each way. “Probably until eight or nine. Maybe later.”
“Oh.”