Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“I heard about the mother. Can’t fault her for the kidnapping, though her execution was flawed,” Compton said. “What about Alice Poulsen? Did it look like suicide to you?”

Andrea felt ill-equipped to answer her questions. She decided to be honest. “I’ve only ever evaluated two dead bodies as an investigator, ma’am. Both of them were at the morgue back at Glynco. So to answer your question, yes, based on my limited experience, it appeared to me that Alice Poulsen committed suicide.”

Compton wanted more. “Go on.”

Andrea tried to gather her thoughts. “She had newer-looking scars on her wrists where she’d tried to kill herself before, which is backed up by Chief Stilton. There was an empty bottle of pills at the scene. She had dried foam around her mouth. There was no petechiae in her eyes indicating strangulation. She didn’t have defensive wounds or ligature marks. There was some bruising, particularly around her wrist, but nothing that looked like an attack.”

“It sounds like you made a very thorough assessment,” Compton said. “May I see the photographs?”

Andrea unlocked her iPhone and handed it over.

Compton took her time with the pictures. She studied each one, zooming in and out. Going back and forth to make comparisons. She even studied Star Bonaire’s photo asking for help. She didn’t speak until she had examined them all.

“Alice Poulsen is a Danish citizen. The State Department will coordinate with their embassy. I’m here to handhold with the locals. We don’t want the Danes to think we’re not taking this seriously.” She handed the phone back to Andrea. “We’ve scheduled an autopsy, but based on what I’ve seen in these images, I concur with your opinion.”

“What about the last image?” Andrea asked. “Star Bonaire asked for help.”

“She’s asked before,” Compton said. “I visited Chief Stilton before I came here. He was very candid with me.”

Andrea felt her teeth set. She doubted Stilton had called Cecelia Compton sweetheart.

Compton said, “Two years ago, Star Bonaire slipped a note to a delivery driver at the warehouse. She wrote the same thing she wrote today—help. Stilton went out to talk to her. He got her alone. She denied writing the note. There was nothing else he could do but leave.”

Andrea felt her head shaking. There was always something more you could do.

“The second time was more of the same,” Compton continued. “Star telephoned her mother in the middle of the night. She asked for help. Stilton went out to the farm again. Star denied making the call.”

Andrea kept shaking her head. She had seen first-hand how Jack Stilton talked to women. He was the exact wrong person for the job.

“Hey, partner.” Bible seemed to sense her frustration. “It’s not illegal to slip somebody a note, then deny you did it. Hell, it’s not even illegal to call your mama one day, then the next day tell her to go away.”

“She didn’t ask her mother for help,” Andrea insisted. “She asked me for help. She used my phone to take the photo.”

“Play that out for me, though,” Bible said. “We go back to the farm. We ask to talk to Star. Then what?”

Andrea said, “We talk to Star.”

“Okay, but what do we do when she denies taking the picture?”

Andrea’s mouth opened. Then closed.

“What if Bernard Fontaine jumps back in with his Twitter Law degree and tells us to leave? Or they sic the lawyers on us for harassment?” Bible held up his hands. “We’re the po-po, Oliver. We gotta play by constitutional rules.”

“If I could get Star alone—”

“How?” he asked. “Not like we can catch her out at the grocery store. Stilton says Star is the only girl who’s ever off the farm, but she’s always got Nardo or Dean with her. And don’t forget her own mother tried to break her out already. She landed in the shit. It’s only luck and lawyering that kept her out of the pokey.”

Andrea couldn’t accept what they were saying. They were United States Marshals. There had to be other options.

“Deputy Oliver.” Compton reached into her purse and took out her phone. “Tell me how to legally help Star Bonaire and we’ll do it right now.”

Andrea felt like her brain was spinning inside of her head. She’d already tried to find a solution. They were the experienced ones. They should be coming up with a plan.

“Oliver?” Bible prompted.

All that Andrea could come up with was the truth. “This just sucks.”

“It does, partner. It really and truly does.” Bible let out a long sigh. “Times like this, I usually ask my wife, Cussy, for help. She’s a pretty smart lady. She understands the politics behind these types of tricky situations.”