Girl, 11

by Amy Suiter Clarke

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot abutting a stately brick building and got out of the car.

  “The woman I talked to in security said the janitor would be cleaning in the administration building tonight. Apparently, there was some big conference today.” Sam led her through the unlocked main doors. “How about we split up? Call me if you find him, and I’ll do the same.” They exchanged cell numbers, and then they each picked a direction and started off.

  The halls looked like Elle’s old university. Beige walls occasionally hung with mismatched artwork and poetry created by students. Message boards covered with flyers calling for roommates or experiment volunteers or new members for the Christian union, tabs of paper with phone numbers and web addresses hanging off like confetti. Closed, dark blue office doors with a large square of glass that allowed you to see the rooms lit only by computer monitors inside.

  It was creepy being in a university after hours, when all the buzz and life of students was gone.

  Her phone vibrated. “Where is he?” she asked, by way of greeting.

  “By the registrar’s office. Same floor, down the hall and to the left.”

  She speed-walked back down the hall, hoping Sam wouldn’t ask him too many questions before she got there. She was the reason they even found out about Eduardo. She didn’t want to miss a single thing he had to say.

  She shouldn’t have worried. When she found them, Eduardo was leaning back against the wall, large arms folded across his sculpted chest, jaw clenched in a silent refusal to talk. Eduardo had put on at least fifty pounds of muscle since his social media profile picture was taken, and he had a fresh cross tattoo on his left forearm. No wonder he’d been trying to get straight. Must have found Jesus.

  “Hi, Eduardo,” she said, her heart racing—from the rush down the hall or the excitement of talking to a possible witness, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t think he was Amanda’s kidnapper, but he was the closest thing she’d had to a suspect since they let Graham Wallace go. “My name is Elle Castillo. I’m an investigative—”

  “I know who you are,” he said, his deep voice annoyed. “This guy already told me. Why are you here, ambushing me at work? What did I do?”

  “I’m really sorry, but Sam did try to call you several times.” She put on a what-a-bummer expression. “I’m sure you just haven’t had time to check your messages. I totally get that. I hate having to interrupt people at their jobs, but unfortunately, we just couldn’t wait any more.”

  Eduardo looked at his cart full of cleaning supplies. “I’m supposed to be working, here. We’re shorthanded right now, so I’m already killing myself to get everything done on time.”

  “Of course! Actually, since you mentioned it, can I ask you about that? I understand that you knew a guy who worked here until recently. Leo Toca. And possibly his friend Duane Grove. Do those names ring a bell?”

  Understanding flicked on in Eduardo’s eyes like a switch. For a second, she thought he might run, but instead he just slid down the wall until he slumped in a heap on the floor, his face buried in his knees. “I knew this wouldn’t work. I knew it was pointless to try.”

  Sam knelt next to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “It’s never pointless to try to do the right thing. We know about the van you brought to Duane’s shop a couple nights ago, a blue Dodge Ram 1500. Can we ask where you got it?”

  Eduardo lifted his head. His green eyes were tinged with red, but there were no tears. He just looked exhausted. “I’m not saying anything else. Arrest me, if that’s what you’re going to do.”

  Like Sam, Elle got down on his level, but instead of kneeling, she sat cross-legged in front of him, like they were at a summer camp trading stories by the fire. “Where did you get the van, Eduardo? It’s really important you tell us the truth.”

  He didn’t flinch, keeping his lips pursed shut and his eyes focused at some spot on the floor.

  “See, the reason it’s important you tell us the truth is that the van was used to kidnap a little girl four days ago.”

  His eyes snapped up to hers, wide with fear. “What?”

  “That’s right,” Sam said. “Amanda Jordan. She’s eleven years old. She was taken from her bus stop on Tuesday morning by a man driving a dark blue Dodge Ram 1500.”

  Energy seemed to return to Eduardo in an instant. He pushed himself up to stand and pointed his finger at Sam. “I didn’t kidnap a little girl. I’m no pervert!”

  “So, tell us who did take her, Eduardo. If it wasn’t you. Where did you get the van from? Did you steal it?” Sam asked.

  Eduardo shook his head. “Someone gave it to me.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know his name. He . . . he came up to me when I was walking out to the parking lot after work.”

  “What did he look like?” Elle asked.

  Eduardo gestured around his head. “He was all wrapped up in a big coat, hat—you know, the kind with fur on the inside and those flaps that go over the ears—and a scarf. I couldn’t really see his face. He was white . . . maybe fifty or something? About my height. He gave me a set of keys and said he’d pay me two thousand dollars to get rid of the van. Said he knew I had connections to a local chop shop. I don’t know how he knew that. I only knew about it because of Leo.” He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head as he looked up at the ceiling. “I thought, two thousand bucks. If I can get that, plus the money I knew my guy would give me for the vehicle, I could pay off my credit card and be out of the game for good. Live aboveboard, pay my taxes, raise my kids. All the stuff I’m supposed to do, the right way.”

  Elle looked over at Sam, expecting his expression to be unimpressed, but instead he looked like he felt sorry for the guy. She kind of did, too.

  “And you’d never seen him before?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Elle opened her photos to get the sketch that Danika helped the police artist put together. She held it out to Eduardo. “Did he look like this at all?”

  Eduardo took the phone and squinted at it for a moment. “It’s . . . it’s hard to tell. Like I said, he was all bundled up. But maybe. The nose—the nose looks kind of right.” He handed it back to her.

  “This guy came up to you in the parking lot . . . here? Outside this building?” she asked.

  “No,” Eduardo said. He pointed down the hall through double doors leading outside. “Two over, Building J. That’s the physics building. They have a small lot out back, maybe thirty spots or so.”

  “Were there any other cars in the parking lot besides the van?” Sam asked. His arms were folded, weight resting on the balls of his feet like he was ready to jump out of his skin.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think! This is really important, man. Don’t you get it? A little girl’s life is at risk here.”

  “Okay, okay!” Eduardo shut his eyes, his eyebrows drawn together in a harsh V. He put his hands out, gesturing with his left. “The van was over here, right in front of the door. He was parked in the disabled parking spot; I remember that. Then my car was in the back of the lot, in the corner.” He pointed to the left. “I think there was another car there. On the right. I remember because I didn’t think there would be anyone left by the time I finished my shift. This was at, like, one a.m. But there was another car there, besides the van. Yeah.” He opened his eyes, meeting Elle’s gaze.

  “Do you remember what it looked like? Color? Make?”

  He shook his head. “All I know is that it was a dark sedan; I couldn’t make out the color. And I don’t even know if it belonged to the guy. He went inside once he gave me the keys to the van. How would he have driven the van there if he’d brought the car too?”

  “There’s a bus that goes between the campus and the city center,” Sam said. “He could have caught that, especially if he lives near the city. Or he could have taken a taxi. Do you remember anything else?” />
  “No, sorry. I . . . I never would have gotten involved in this if I knew—”

  “We know,” Elle said. She couldn’t speak for Sam, but if anything was going to, this case would probably be the thing that scared Eduardo off crime for good.

  “Thanks for your time,” Sam said, reaching his hand out. Looking surprised, Eduardo took it for a firm shake. “If you think of anything else, please call us right away. Day or night.” He handed the man a card.

  Taking it, Eduardo looked up at him. “Is that really it? You’re not going to arrest me?”

  “You’re not the one we’re interested in, Eduardo. Consider this a late Christmas present.”

  Sam and Elle turned and started down the hall, toward the parking lot where Eduardo said he got the van. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but it would be useful to get an idea of how big the parking lot was, at least.

  “Hang on, I just thought of something,” Sam said when they’d almost reached the exit.

  “What?”

  But he ignored Elle, turning back around. “Eduardo?” he called out.

  Eduardo paused in the act of putting his headphones on and looked at them.

  “Did you say the guy went into the building after he gave you the van?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You saw him go in?”

  Again, Eduardo nodded.

  “Do you think he works here?”

  Eduardo thought for a second. “Yeah, I guess he would have to.”

  “Why?” Elle asked, taking a few steps back to him.

  “Because he’d need a key to get into that building after hours.”

  31

  Justice Delayed podcast

  Recorded January 18, 2020

  Unaired recording: Elle Castillo, monologue

  Elle:

  I was right. Everything is adding up to show that I was right. There are too many coincidences for me to write off, but still no one sees it.

  When I was a kid, my father used to read me stories of Greek mythology. Something always drew me to Cassandra, the priestess given the power to accurately predict the future, and then doomed to never be believed. Her gift of prophecy was bestowed by Apollo as a seduction, and when she refused to love him, he turned the gift into a curse. Cassandra’s story is a familiar one. She’s no different from all the women whose lives are destroyed by the spite of a jilted man—women who speak their truths and are never believed.

  I don’t think I’m always right, but I know I am right about this.

  Another girl was taken yesterday. The world might not know who she is, but she is special to me—the perfect target to isolate in order to break me. Natalie Hunter was taken from the side of the road walking the ten blocks from her piano lessons to my house. I was . . . I was supposed to be there for her, and I failed.

  As long as I live, I will never forgive myself for that.

  Natalie is the kind of kid that sticks with you once you know her. You can’t not notice her. Maybe it’s because her mom is fierce and independent, or because she had to deal with kids bullying her for not having a father. Or maybe it’s just who she is—but Natalie is the toughest, strongest, most passionate kid, and I can’t . . .

  I can’t believe she’s gone.

  I remember the day we met. I was watching TV when the doorbell rang, and this little kid—barely four years old—with messy curls and three different colors of marker on her skin was standing on my doorstep. That was back when I was working at CPS, and for half a second, I thought it was someone from one of my cases. I was trying hard to get pregnant at the time, but I rarely spent time with kids outside of work. There was no one else around that I could see, but she was way too young to be out on her own. Before I could even open my mouth to ask where her mother was, she held up a mixing bowl and said, “You have an egg? Mom’s in the shower. I dropped the last one.”

  Apparently, mine was the fourth door she had knocked on, and the first one that answered. She was obviously fine, but I’d seen enough in my work to be alarmed—anyone behind those prior doors could have put her in danger. We had lived in the area six months by that point and hadn’t really met any of the neighbors. For all I know, if it wasn’t for that moment, I never would have met the Hunters at all.

  Of course, I gave her the egg and walked back across the street with her to make sure she got home safely. By that time, her mom had gotten out of the shower and noticed her daughter was missing. She ran into the yard when she saw us walking up the sidewalk, and we nearly lost the other egg when Sash swept her daughter off the ground.

  When things settled down, she invited me in. In some ways, I never really left.

  Turns out, the egg had been for a surprise birthday cake. Natalie, four years old going on fourteen, managed to mix up a halfway decent chocolate Bundt with very little supervision. Her mom poured the batter into the tin and put it in the oven, but that was it.

  I don’t know why I’m saying all this. None of this is usable, I guess. I just . . . I want it on the record somewhere that Natalie is a good kid. She is special to people—to me, to Martín. To her mother, Sash, most of all. Natalie has a pure heart and a strong will, and I will kill anyone who tries to take those things away from her. I will—

  I know they are connected. No one wants to believe that TCK is back, but two girls have gone missing three days apart and they’re the right ages and that’s more than enough information for me. We don’t need to wait until Amanda turns up dead at the end of the week. We can stop this before the worst happens.

  We are closing in. Sam and I, we have a good lead, and we’re going to solve this. We are going to find these girls and stop this man before they get hurt.

  We have to.

  32

  Elle

  January 19, 2020

  “I can tell you’re still awake.”

  Martín’s voice sliced through the silence in their dark bedroom. He took off his clothes and climbed under the sheets with a shiver. Elle flipped over to face him. She could just make out his profile in the shadows.

  “Murder?” she asked.

  He’d been called out to a suspicious death scene, which meant Elle had come home to a dark house, an apple for dinner, and a long night of recording thoughts she couldn’t share publicly on the podcast yet, if ever. She had tried to look into the faculty pages on the Mitchell University website, searching for the bundled-up man Ed-uardo saw, but the thing was a mess, and half the stuff she followed led to broken links. After a while, she had just given up, hoping Sam would have better luck at the police station.

  Martín turned onto his side, putting one arm across her body. “Suicide, looks like. I’ll know more after the autopsy tomorrow. Are you all right?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about Natalie. Have you talked to Sash? Do you know if they’ve found anything?”

  “A detective interviewed me this morning at the morgue. I get the feeling they’re eliminating all the men in her life first, which can’t be that many.” He squeezed her hip, moved his face closer until his forehead brushed hers. His breath was warm and smelled like toothpaste. “How are you? I know you must be frustrated, not being able to help.”

  She kissed him and then shuffled down the bed, burying her face in his chest. Then she told him about everything that had happened since that morning: getting dismissed by Ayaan, the surprise request from Sam, talking to Duane and realizing how much he hated her, catching Eduardo at the university. By the end, her mind was racing.

  “I keep trying to think of all the reasons why Leo’s murder and Amanda’s kidnapping might be connected. It just doesn’t seem like a coincidence.” At last, she paused, taking a deep breath as Martín pulled her tightly to him.

  Tracking down Eduardo had felt like such a huge discovery, but nothing had really changed. Natalie and Amanda were still missing. Elle was still technically barred from the case, and Sam would probably find out about it when he saw Ayaan again tomorrow. She felt like TCK was taunting her, gi
ving her enough evidence to convince her while holding back anything that could help her persuade others.

  “I was thinking,” Martín started, then went quiet again.

  “Yeah?”

  “When the detective talked to me this morning, it seemed clear they think Amanda’s kidnapping and Natalie’s were done by two different people. But you still think it’s connected, right?”

  She pressed her nose into the warm skin of his neck, unsure if she wanted to confirm it out loud even after everything she had just said. Because although it was the truth that she still suspected TCK, she wanted to hide from it. Every time she let herself think about it, she saw Ayaan’s doubt and Sash’s fury. If she admitted that to Martín and he still didn’t believe her, she wasn’t sure how she’d cope with that.

  “Why do you ask?” she finally said.

  “Well, you’re looking for the connection between Leo’s case and Amanda’s, but there’s one thing you haven’t suggested.” Martín pulled back and tilted her chin up. Even in the dark, they were close enough that she could see his expression. “What about you?”

  She froze. “What?”

  “What if the connection is you? Leo emailed you and ended up dead. And Natalie is . . . Natalie is ours. What if this is about getting revenge on you?”

  The skin on her neck burned where his breath landed. “Are you saying you believe me now, that this is TCK?”