Stolen Daughters

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Hello,” Amanda said, as an inclusive greeting for the two of them.

  “Detective Steele,” Emma said coolly. “What can I do for you?” Given the way she’d delivered the question, whatever would come from Amanda’s mouth was presumed an imposition.

  Spencer had yet to say anything; he just kept his gaze fixed on her.

  “Detective?” Emma prompted.

  “I need you to analyze something for me.” Amanda extended the note, which she had sealed in a plastic evidence bag taken from the trunk of her car. Before putting it in there, she had taken photographs with her phone just to have on her person if she ever wanted to refer back to it. Not that she imagined forgetting the message anytime soon.

  Emma turned to her son. “Guess I have to get to work.”

  “Have a good one, Mom.” Spencer left, but not without first firing off another glare missile in Amanda’s direction.

  Emma snatched the bag. “What is it? Which case is it associated with?”

  “I believe it’s related to the arson and murder at five thirty-two Bill Drive.”

  Emma narrowed her eyes. “You believe? I’m going to need more than that to facilitate this request, Detective.”

  Amanda clenched her jaw. She should have known she could hit a wall with the request. She hadn’t even informed Malone, fearing the news would somehow result in her getting benched from the case. But of all the people to come clean to about the note first, it was Emma Blair?

  “I found it at my daughter’s grave,” she said softly, just hating that whoever had left it had the nerve to go there. Same team? Utter crap. “You’ll need to eliminate my prints as I didn’t think to put gloves on before handling it. But you’ll see it was addressed—”

  “To you.” Emma looked up from the envelope.

  “Uh-huh. I think—and this might be a stretch—that it’s from the person who killed Jane Doe.”

  “What does it say inside?”

  “‘We’re on the same team. Be grateful that your angel will always stay innocent.’” Recited verbatim.

  “Huh.” Emma chewed her bottom lip, met Amanda’s gaze. “I’ll see what I can find, but no promises.”

  “All I ask… Except…” Amanda extended another sealed evidence bag. This one included the card taken from the memorial. She’d gone past the station and got it before heading out here. “I was also hoping you could test this for prints and DNA, see if it gets you anywhere.”

  Emma looked down at the bag but made no move to take it. Amanda practically stuffed it into her hands.

  “Where did this one come from?”

  Amanda told her.

  “Again, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.” Amanda was about to turn and leave, but she was drawn to say something else. Maybe if she took a stab at showing an interest in the CSI’s personal life, it would improve their working relationship. She smiled and said, “I just met Spencer yesterday. I didn’t know you had a son.”

  Emma’s face hardened to granite. Even the light that had been in her eyes flickered off. Her posture stiffened. “Well, it’s not really like we socialize, Detective, so why would you know?”

  Amanda stood frozen for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the CSI’s harsh response. Eventually, when she could get her mouth to open, she said, “Suppose that’s true.” With that, she left, now chewing on another mystery but with a little insight. Given the shut-off body language, she’d wager whatever the CSI had against her was personal, but Amanda had no idea what that could be.

  Sixteen

  The woman at the front counter of Woodbridge Bank directed Amanda and Trent to a grouping of chairs in the middle of the lobby. Amanda sat in one that put her back to the line of tellers and had her facing the front doors.

  Offices lined each side of the room. Aiden Adkins had his to Amanda’s left. Currently his door was shut, but she could see through a window that a fifty-something man was in there on the phone— Oh, he was just hanging up.

  The door opened, and he exited, scanned the space, and settled his gaze on Amanda and Trent. She was already to her feet when he reached them.

  Aiden held out his hand to her. “Detective…?”

  She took his hand. “Detectives Steele and Stenson. You’re Aiden Adkins?”

  “That’s me.” He shook Trent’s hand, too, then said, “Come, let’s talk in private.” He took them to his office and closed the door behind them.

  Amanda and Trent sat in chairs facing his desk.

  “Looks like you’re a busy man.” She gestured to a heap of paperwork in a tray.

  “Even more now with the fire.” Aiden sighed deeply and raked a hand through his hair.

  “Insurance claims?” Trent queried.

  Aiden clasped his hands on his desk and leaned toward them. “The bank insured it, so really it’s just out of one pot and into another. Any external insurance companies wouldn’t touch the property.”

  Amanda angled her head. “Why’s that? People had been living in it…”

  “Sure, but at the time they insured it, the structure had been sound.”

  “That changed?”

  He nodded. “It wasn’t up to code. Mr. Burke, that’s the man who we reclaimed the property from, had added a bathroom under the stairs without a permit—not that he would have gotten one.”

  “Is that why the house isn’t for sale?” Trent asked.

  “Uh-huh. County Services reserves the right to request that the house be returned to its previous state. They can even levy a fine, but thankfully, I was able to negotiate that away. I got the contractor in about two months ago to do the work, but I’m still waiting for a county inspector to give us the all-clear. Then I’ll get the real estate agent back on it and insure the property with an outside firm.”

  When she and Kevin had renovated their house, he’d handled everything. Hopefully, he got the necessary permits, and it wouldn’t come back to haunt her. “Could you run us through what happens when the bank reclaims a property? I’m mostly interested in how many people would have been involved and may have known it was sitting empty.”

  “The bank always tries to help the homeowner retain their property, but once efforts to secure credit have been exhausted, legal notices are served. Upon foreclosure, we commission a third-party inspector and an estimator to go in. We also line up a real estate agent.”

  The list of people was growing. “We won’t take up much more of your time, Mr. Adkins, but we do have one other question about the property: why were the windows boarded?”

  “The neighborhood’s not the best, and we wanted to discourage squatters.”

  “Yet there were,” she said with some empathy for the spot the banker found himself in.

  Aiden frowned and rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, I read that there was a girl who died in the fire.” His gaze made his statement a question.

  “The body of a young woman was found,” Amanda confirmed.

  “Murdered?”

  “It’s an open investigation.”

  “Oy vey, so that’s a yes. I might as well just hand in my resignation. That house is cursed, I tell you. Who’s going to buy it now?”

  “A young woman is dead,” Trent said firmly.

  Aiden met his gaze and massaged his forehead. “I’m sorry… It’s just this property has been a nightmare from the start.”

  While Amanda felt for Aiden’s position, she wasn’t about to become influenced by emotion. She drew one of her business cards and extended it to him, and she took one of his from a holder on his desk. She pointed to hers in his hand. “Please shoot me over the names of everyone involved with this property. The inspector, estimator, real estate agent, contractor, and whoever you dealt with at County Services. My email’s on there.”

  Aiden looked at her card. “I can do that.”

  Amanda thanked the banker, and she and Trent left his office.

  Stepping into the parking lot, she said to Trent, “We just got a few more potent
ial suspects.”

  “A few? I’d say a lot more than that.”

  Her phone rang, and she answered as she got into the department car. “Detective Steele… We’ll be right there.”

  “Who was that?” Trent said, glancing over as he clicked his seat belt into place.

  “Malone.” She met his gaze, an ache burrowing into her heart. “Shannon Fox is dead. Found murdered in her bedroom.”

  Seventeen

  Becky Tulson was standing outside her patrol car, which was at the curb in front of Shannon Fox’s residence. She was talking to a woman who was crying and holding a yoga mat rolled under one arm. Trent parked behind the cruiser, and he and Amanda got out and headed for the house.

  Amanda caught Becky’s eye as she walked past. The woman was probably the one who had found the victim. They’d get back to her, but first Amanda wanted to look at the scene.

  She and Trent started up the walkway when the sound of a vehicle had her turning. The forensics van had arrived with two CSIs—Emma Blair behind the wheel. Amanda would have been happy to have a little more time before seeing Blair again.

  Amanda and Trent signed in with the officer at the front door, and he stepped aside for them to enter. He told them to go up the stairs and down the hall to the second door on the right.

  Up there, they found Becky’s new sergeant, Lisa Greer, in the hall with Malone. Now that the PWCPD detectives were on scene, Sergeant Greer would move out, along with the other Dumfries PD officers.

  “It’s not pretty in there,” Malone said to Amanda.

  “I’m going to go before we all start tripping on each other.” Greer excused herself and passed Amanda and Trent with a subtle nod before she headed down the stairs.

  Amanda edged closer to Malone. “What are we looking at?” He hadn’t given her any details on the phone. He’d just told her to get her butt over there quick.

  He moved aside to allow her and Trent the space to get past him.

  She held eye contact with him as she brushed by him into the room. She saw the body immediately.

  Shannon Fox was slumped on the floor and against the wall, like a puppet whose puppeteer had let go of her strings. One arm lay at her side; the other was folded into her lap, her hand closed. Her head was arched back so far that it was unnatural. Given the angle of her body, it would have made more sense if her head had fallen forward, chin to chest. It was like her eyes were looking upward.

  Blood had dried around her mouth and on her chin. A trail led down her neck and stained the front of her white bathrobe like a macabre bib. Farther down her torso another red bloom soaked through and around a hole in the cotton.

  Amanda pointed that out to Trent and said, “She was stabbed or shot.” She continued to scan the room. A wooden baseball bat was lodged in the wall, and she gestured to it. “Doesn’t look like she was beaten, but she may have tried to defend herself.”

  “Let’s hope she got some good hits in before her killer got the upper hand.”

  She felt the same way. A good beating might do the man some good. But had Jane Doe’s killer returned for Shannon? If so, why?

  Malone shadowed the doorway. “You take a close look at her mouth?”

  “No… I…” She couldn’t get too close to the body for risk of disturbing evidence, but she bent over and peered into the bloody cavern at Malone’s prompting. “He cut out—” she paused, recoiling in disgust “—her tongue.”

  “Yep.” Malone smacked his lips together.

  “That is so wrong.” Trent blew out a mouthful of air and glanced at the ceiling for a second.

  She was surprised by his reaction. Sure, it was a grotesque display, but Trent handled autopsies like a pro and they were far messier than this. “You going to be all right there?”

  “Yeah, it’s just not something you see every day.”

  “Thank God for that,” Malone lamented.

  “I’ll be fine.” Trent cleared his throat. “So are we looking at the same bastard who killed the girl and set the fire, or someone else? It’s a different MO.”

  Shannon’s killer had indeed used a different method of operation, but it was hard to ignore the fact her house was just a few down from 532 and hard to dismiss another truth. “She’s the one who called nine-one-one. Maybe the killer found out somehow and decided to silence her?” She motioned toward Shannon’s mouth, indicating the absence of a tongue.

  “Her name was in the newspaper,” Trent said, “along with the fact she was a nurse at Prince William Medical Center.”

  “Wow,” Amanda said. “Apparently, the media doesn’t hold anything back.”

  “It would have been easy for the killer to find out where she lived.” Trent’s voice held a sour note.

  “We need to keep in mind that we could be looking at someone else, possibly within Shannon’s circle.” As soon as they pigeonholed an investigation, they risked sabotaging the case. Regardless of where the evidence took them, she felt for Shannon Fox. She would have thought she’d done a good deed, but it hadn’t exactly netted a reward worth receiving. Even the intrinsic feeling of knowing she’d done an honorable thing had been short-lived.

  “I read the article on the fire last night,” Trent volunteered. “The reporter played up Fox as a hero, but Fox herself was quoted as saying that she did what anyone would have done in her place.”

  Maybe it hadn’t just been the call to 911 that had made Shannon a target. It wasn’t a leap that this killer might see himself as having done a good thing with the fire and killing of Jane Doe—and wanted the glory all for himself. Again, that was assuming that Shannon’s killer was also Jane Doe’s.

  “Excuse me.” Paula Jeffery ducked her head into the room. She was another ME from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in Manassas, and not Amanda’s favorite person. She took herself too seriously, in Amanda’s opinion, and fared better in relationships with the dead than the living.

  At her heels were CSIs Blair and Donnelly.

  “We’re going to need the room,” Jeffery said.

  “We’ll get out of your way.” Malone smiled cordially and was the first to leave.

  Amanda and Trent followed him down the stairs and out the front door. They gathered in a circle.

  Trent was the first to speak. “Doe’s killer had doused her body with gasoline, likely for the purpose of destroying it and making identification impossible. But the fire was put out before that could happen. I think the killer blamed Fox and her call to nine-one-one for ruining his plan. He thought he’d teach her a lesson.”

  Malone latched a hand onto Trent’s shoulder. “Let’s just slow down before we start jumping to conclusions.”

  Amanda turned away and settled her gaze on the woman who had been with Becky earlier. She was now in the passenger seat of the cruiser with the door open and her legs outside the vehicle. The yoga mat rested in her lap, and she was dabbing her cheeks with a tissue. Amanda nodded her head toward her and said to Malone, “That who found her?”

  “Yeah. You should go talk to her.” With that, Malone was off across the yard in the opposite direction from Becky and the woman.

  “Before we head over there…” She reached out and caught Trent by the crook of his elbow. “Just remember that we need to go into this investigation with an open mind. You understand that?”

  He scanned her eyes but said nothing.

  She continued. “We can’t just run on the assumption that the same killer is involved. We could blind ourselves to the actual evidence. We approach this like any other murder, looking first at the people in Fox’s life.” She was saying this just as much for herself as she was for him.

  Trent angled his head. “You don’t think it’s the same killer?”

  “An. Open. Mind.” She started toward the woman, Trent at her side.

  As they approached, Becky helped close the distance and said, “You’re a busy woman.”

  “You too. So who is she?”

  “Name’s Bethany Gree
ne, and she was the victim’s best friend, according to her anyway. She arrived here at nine thirty. She and Shannon were to go to yoga together at ten.”

  That explained the mat. “How did she get inside the house?”

  “Short answer, she has a key. Long answer, she knocked on the front door and called her friend’s cell phone, and when she got no answer, she let herself in.”

  Amanda glanced past Becky to Bethany and, at this distance, noted her cheeks were puffy, her eyes bloodshot, and her mascara smeared.

  “Did she touch anything in the house?”

  “She says no. She’s real shaken up, though.”

  “I can understand that. Okay, we’ll go talk to her.” She brushed Becky’s arm on the way past. “Ms. Greene?” Amanda called out.

  The woman looked up from where she’d been staring at the sidewalk, but there was nothing behind her eyes—like she was in some distant world, avoiding reality.

  “I’m Detective Amanda Steele, and this is my partner, Detective Trent Stenson.”

  Bethany barely blinked.

  “We’re very sorry for your loss,” Amanda offered softly. She paused, giving Bethany ample time to insert something, but she didn’t. “It must have been quite the shock finding your friend that way.”

  “I— I don’t have…the words.” Bethany’s voice cracked like thin ice.

  “We understand that you gave your statement to Officer Tulson, but we have some questions for you. Some may be ones you’ve already answered, but bear with me, okay?” Amanda thought she’d get in front of an objection that always came.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Bethany rolled her mat across her lap as if seeking a mindless distraction from her grief, her fear, whatever other emotions were swirling through her.

  “Do you know if Shannon was on the outs with anyone? Someone she didn’t get along with?” Amanda had told Trent they needed to examine Fox’s personal life, and she’d been serious about that endeavor.

  “I can’t imagine anyone doing that… that… to her. They cut out her—” She cupped her mouth.