Gone in the Night

by Anna J. Stewart

  “How long did they live with you?”

  “Off and on for nearly three years. There was a hard cycle of their mother being committed, being released, going off her meds, getting readmitted,” Allie said. “It’s not atypical of patients with her level of mental instability. My parents were convinced she’d find a way to get well so she could have her kids back. Eventually, she did.”

  “That’s why you hadn’t seen or heard from them for so long?”

  “Yeah. The last time Mina was released she showed up in a loaded van ready to leave town. That was the year after Chloe was killed, so it’s a bit foggy.” She didn’t remember a lot of what happened in the ensuing months. “I think Nicole kept in touch with Ma over the years, but until they moved back to Sacramento, I hadn’t seen or spoken to them in ages.”

  “And you don’t think it’s strange they wanted to reconnect? That they came back here?”

  “The Goodale family and strange go hand in hand,” Allie admitted. “Patrick and Nicole were a lot older than me and while Nicole had her big-sister moments, I got along much better with their younger brother, Tyler.”

  “There’s another one of them?” They entered the elevator and he pushed the second-floor button.

  Allie jumped when the phone in her pocket vibrated. She pulled the phone out and grabbed Max’s arm. “It’s doing something.” She dived at the doors the second they slid open. “Cole! Jack!” She raced through the squad room, dodging officers and detectives, who were smart enough to move out of her way. “Something’s happening with the phone!”

  “Here!” Jack waved her over to his desk where they had a bunch of electronics set up. He motioned for her to hand the phone off to one of the techs, who plugged in the cord so whatever displayed on the phone projected onto one of the laptops.

  Allie stood back, arms folded across her chest. She felt Eden and Simone move in beside her, but it was Max’s gentle grasp on her hip that brought her any semblance of comfort.

  Allie’s own face flickered on the screen, stuttering, like a film reel trying to catch hold.

  Images began to flash—photographs, pictures not just of Allie but of Simone and Eden, different from the surveillance pictures that had been taken of Simone weeks before. She noticed Eden holding out her cell phone to record. The back of Allie’s neck prickled.

  Hope’s face appeared, followed quickly by those of her friends, Peyton, Willa and Mercy, slowing to a merged image of Allie and her friends, transposed with Hope and hers.

  “Cole,” Allie warned. “Find out where Hope’s friends are. Now.”

  “I’m on it.” He snatched up his desk phone and dialed.

  “I can’t begin to fathom how this guy’s mind works.” Simone’s sentiment had most everyone nodding in agreement. “Why doesn’t he just come out and tell us what he wants? If it’s not money and he has Hope—”

  Digital blood dripped from the top of the screen, pooling at the bottom until it completely obscured the pictures.

  The clock blinked fifty-seven hours and powered down.

  “What did you do?” Max demanded of the computer tech who had plugged the phone in. “Where did it go?”

  “It’s rebooting,” the tech said. “It did it on its own. It has its own operating system, its own program.”

  “Great,” Max muttered. “Now this guy’s a tech genius.”

  “No.” Eden shook her head. “No, I don’t think he is. Jack, remember that case a few years back, that hacker group you busted in one of the abandoned warehouses down by the rail yards? Didn’t you confiscate a bunch of computer equipment and cell phones that had been wiped and reprogrammed?”

  “Right,” Jack replied. “They did custom burners for all sorts of groups to fund their other ventures. Installed specially written programs and apps for everyone from live-action role-players to drug dealers. They found similar phones down in San Diego, where one of the hackers was from.”

  “I knew I’d seen this before.” Eden tapped her own phone and replayed the video. “Here.” She paused it, placed it on the table. “That. It’s like a watermark behind this picture of Allie and Hope. It’s a flash of something, like a logo, maybe a bit of code?” She backed away as the tech replayed the recording on the laptop. “Anyone recognize it?”

  “The Vandermonts were way ahead of us.” Cole hung up his phone. “They’ve hired private security for the family and Mercy and Portia until all of this has been resolved. They haven’t seen or heard anything unusual, but they’ll let us know if they do.”

  “Can’t play this too safe,” Max said.

  “Here’s the image from the corner enlarged.” The tech typed on his keyboard and brought up the logo.

  Allie blinked. “Is that an owl?”

  Simone leaned over. “An upside-down one.”

  Cole and Jack looked at each other. “Strix.”

  “What’s a strix?” Allie asked.

  “Local hacker. Sneaky. A bit squirrelly, too,” Vince spoke up and shrugged when the two detectives smirked. “What? You have your contacts. I have mine. You know where to find him?” he asked. “If not, I can find out.”

  “Probably faster than we can,” Jack muttered. “Go. We’ll be ready.”

  Vince was pulling out his cell as he walked away.

  “What does all this mean?” Allie asked.

  “It means we find out who hired Strix,” Cole said. “It should lead us to Hope.”

  “Phone’s coming back on,” the tech at the desk said.

  The screen went dim, flashed once. The digital clock returned.

  Twenty-four hours.

  “I cost her thirty-three hours.” Allie’s heart beat double time. She should have expected it. Maybe she had, but seeing the consequences of her arrogant action had her second-guessing everything. Max’s fingers flexed against her waist. “He’s punishing us. Punishing me for talking to the press and going public.”

  “He’s playing you,” Max said. “If this phone was programmed, the countdown reset was already installed, which means he planned to use it. It wouldn’t have mattered what you said or did, or even if you did nothing. He’s trying to get under your skin and scare you.”

  “It’s working.” She let herself lean back, half expecting Max to move away from her, but instead, he moved in, rested his other hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Eden, did you get those other forensic reports about the murdered girls yet?”

  “Kyla is running off the last of them at Simone’s office.”

  “I’ll give her a call,” Simone said, referring to her invaluable assistant. “Even though I’m officially still on sabbatical, the district attorney told me the office and resources are at my disposal as far as this case is concerned. Anything else we need?”

  “I want to see everything in one place,” Allie said. “Everything you have, Eden, from all the cases.”

  “Thought you might. It’s in a box in Cole’s car. Cole! Keys!” She yelled at her husband across the room and caught the keys when he tossed them to her. “Give me a few minutes.”

  “Allie, claim your space and let’s get to work,” Simone said.

  “Got him!” Vince spoke louder than Allie had ever heard him do before, but it was necessary given the sudden explosion of activity in the bullpen. “My source says Strix is holed up in the back of a defunct travel office off Broadway. You want to do this official-like or my way?”

  Cole glanced at his LT.

  Lieutenant Santos moved out of earshot.

  “How about we ride to Strix’s rescue?” Cole suggested. “Jack, you don’t mind if Vince plays the heavy, do you?”

  “It’s what he does best,” Jack said with a bright smile.

  Allie caught Cole’s eye, inclined her head toward Max.

  “Kellan?” Cole called
on his way to the elevator. “You’re with Vince.”

  Allie felt Max’s entire body tense before he gave Allie a reassuring squeeze and ran to join them.

  “It’s like he was just asked to play with the cool kids,” Allie said to Simone, who was pressing buttons on her phone.

  “Well, he kind of was.” Simone gave her an encouraging smile. “Only there’s a lot more at stake than who scores the first touchdown.”

  Chapter 13

  When the muted strains of classical music drifted through the black sports car, Max wondered if he’d been transported to an alternate reality. Vince Sutton didn’t strike him as a fan of Bach, Beethoven or Mozart. He’d have thought heavy metal, maybe hard-rocking country, but strings and flutes?

  Max pulled out the card Nicole had given him in the lobby of the station. Something about those two Goodales didn’t sit right with him. Even Allie thought their visit was weird, but was that because of the timing or was it more than that? The conversation had felt forced, as if the siblings had been digging for information, waiting for the right time to ask questions or...

  Or what? Max shook his head.

  “I can hear you thinking from over here,” Vince said as he shifted gears. “Out with it.”

  Max couldn’t very well voice his confusion to Allie, not without either offending or alarming her, and she had enough to worry about without adding more family drama. “Have you ever met Allie’s foster siblings?”

  “No.” Vince’s jaw worked. He glanced into the rearview mirror. “Simone’s told me a little about Allie’s family. Doesn’t sound like it’s something she’s fond of talking about. Wonder how long Cole and Jack are going to give us alone with Strix.”

  “Not long enough, I’m betting.” Max turned to look out the back window and caught sight of Cole’s Fed-friendly SUV. “Maybe we can lose them?”

  Vince’s mouth quirked in approval and he sped up. “What makes you ask about Allie’s family?”

  “Two of them stopped by the station out of the blue to talk to Allie. Seems like they’ve been out of touch for a while. Back in town in the last few months. Now they’re getting chummy.”

  “Either you’re hedging because you think you’re wrong or you want me to land on your suspicion on my own. Speak, Max.”

  “I don’t like coincidences.” And the last time he’d ignored his gut, one of his friends died. Allie was a little too close to be objective about the people she cared about. Max, however, was another story. “Last night we all agreed that taking my niece was a personal attack on Allie. Doesn’t get more personal than family.”

  Vince didn’t respond. He barely moved as they maneuvered through downtown traffic. Max flicked the card against his hand.

  “Never mind. I’m probably projecting.” Great. Now he was starting to sound like a shrink.

  “Second-guessing yourself is only going to tick me off,” Vince said. “Last name?”

  “Kellan.”

  “Not you,” Vince drawled. “Nicole and Patrick.”

  “Oh.” He must have left his brain back at the station. “Goodale. Why?”

  “Because I don’t ever go against a father’s instincts.”

  Father? Max blinked. “I’m not Hope’s—”

  “May as well be.” He tapped the phone icon on his steering wheel and activated the speakerphone. It rang twice before it was picked up. “Hey, Jace. It’s me.”

  “I haven’t burned down the bar yet, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Good to know,” Vince said with a bit more lightness in his voice than Max had heard before. “I need you to do a background check. Nicole and Patrick Goodale. Ages?” He glanced at Max.

  “Between thirty and forty?” Max guessed given what Allie had said. “They just opened a restaurant in midtown, Lembranza. Patrick’s a former contractor—I’m thinking he was licensed back east.” He rattled off the address on the business card. “Allie also mentioned something about a third sibling, Tyler. Younger than the other two.”

  “Okay to use your computer, Vince?” Jace said.

  “I would prefer it,” Vince said. “Get me everything you can, kid. Email it to me and me only, understood? ASAP.”

  “What am I looking for exactly?”

  “Crazy,” Max said to the voice on the other end of the phone. “You’re looking for anything crazy.”

  “My specialty. Talk soon.”

  “Let me guess,” Max said to Vince. “Kid brother? I’ve got one myself.”

  “He’s studying to get his P.I. license against his better judgment,” Vince said. “I’d like to make him a partner, but he’s balking. Thinks he’s going to bring down my rep.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He’s got a record. Armed robbery. Accessory, actually. Just got out of prison a few weeks ago thanks to Simone. As I keep telling him, that gives him more insight into the job, not less. Besides, Jim Rockford was an ex-con.”

  Max grinned. “There was a time I’d have given my right eye for a trailer like Rockford’s.”

  “You and me both. So, about Strix. Are you a plan-ahead kind of guy or do you just want to wing it?”

  “I’ve always believed in the power of improvisation,” Max said. “Put me wherever you think I’ll do the most good.”

  “That particular bank of stores and businesses has an alley for deliveries and employee parking. Let’s say you plant yourself back there and be a blockade.”

  “Should the need arise, you mean,” Max clarified.

  “Oh, the need will arise.” Vince took a hard left and smirked. “Trust me.”

  * * *

  “What are we missing?” Allie stood in the corner of the conference room and watched as Eden, Officer Castillo and Jack organized photographs, official notes and forensic results. They’d commandeered every oversize magnetic whiteboard they could get their hands on, three of which had been left blank for now. The rest had been dedicated to Chloe’s case.

  And Hope’s.

  “Sorry it took me so long.” Kyla Bertrand, Simone’s executive assistant and a soon-to-be lawyer, once she passed the Bar, swept into the room, arms filled with files and folders. The radiant young woman was always a breath of fresh air.

  Kyla dropped the papers on the closest desk, her ebony curls sliding in front of her eyes. “For once, it’s because I had too much information to print out.” Kyla let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve got every piece of paper from all three of the girls’ cases. Alyssa Knight, Shannan McPhearson and Rosalie Jenson. How do you want them?”

  “In chronological order starting on the board right behind you,” Eden ordered in a way that told Allie she’d had too much coffee already.

  Allie felt like a computer, absorbing new input, processing the information, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull herself free of the tidal wave of fear and grief.

  “Hey.” Simone joined her, leaned against the wall beside her and nudged her with her hip. “How are you doing?”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my question?” Young girls’ faces were tacked onto the sterile whiteboards, their smiling innocence like an additional knife to her heart.

  “You’re too close to this, Al. All three of us are.”

  “And yet Eden’s going full steam ahead.”

  “Eden doesn’t have another setting.” Simone slouched down, not an easy feat given her teetering heels. “But you’re the key to all this. Not because he’s targeted you this time around. But because you can see things the rest of us don’t.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” And yet when she examined the mounting bits and pieces of information, all she could feel was a growing sense of dread.

  “And you’re making this too difficult on yourself. Stop fighting whatever’s going o
n in that brain of yours. Embrace the thoughts, the fear. Walk into it, not away from it.”

  “Where on earth have you heard that bunch of malarkey?”

  “From a psychologist I’m very fond of,” Simone said without a hint of offense. “I’ve had to have similar talks with reluctant or scared witnesses. How about you stop trying to force the answers and let the answers come to you?”

  Allie nibbled on her lip as she studied the boards.

  “Look at this case as if it was about people you didn’t know,” Simone urged. “Blank out the faces. Look at the details. The small things. What are we missing? What aren’t we seeing?”

  The details. Allie let her gaze drift over the images and reports, certain words and phrases catching before flitting out of her head. Commonalities, similarities among the victims, beyond the red hair and striking expressions. Beyond the locations and the flowers. Beyond the clothes and the background.

  Allie snatched Alyssa Knight’s school photo off the board.

  The background.

  “What is it?” Simone was at her side instantly. “What do you see?”

  Everyone in the room stopped, turned.

  Allie tapped her finger against the bottom-left corner before double-checking with the other pictures. “YM Photography. It’s the same name on each girl’s picture, but the logo has changed.”

  “What?” Eden came over, took the picture. “Why didn’t I see that before?”

  “Because you were going off copies of a copy that had been cropped. Not to mention Alyssa’s picture is fifteen years old,” Kyla said. “I contacted each of the schools and asked them to send me the actual photograph as an attachment. I might have dropped your name, Simone,” she added without the barest touch of guilt. “Greased the wheels a bit.”

  “Brilliant,” Eden muttered. “Freaking brilliant. How I wish you’d give up this lawyer dream of yours and come work for me.”

  “You’re always trying to steal her,” Simone grumbled. “YM Photography,” she said to Officer Castillo, who was already typing. “Let’s see what we can find out about them.”

  “First thing that comes up is Your Milestone Photography out of New Hampshire.” Castillo scanned the screen. “Nothing else connects to the YM initials that makes sense.”