Thirty-Two
Amanda had left the Malones’ about seven forty-five and was still shaking with frustration when she walked into Central fifteen minutes later. She thought for sure she could have helped Malone see logic in implementing a media ban. Her failure to convince him rested on her shoulders. More lives were at stake because of her.
She found Trent at his desk. He got up and rounded the partition with a piece of paper in his hand.
“How did you make out?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Oh. Well, we just keep working the case, doing what we can. Speaking of…” He handed her the sheet he’d carried over.
It was a color printout of Ashley Lynch as a thirteen-year-old girl. It was the one she’d seen briefly on the computer in the department car but much bigger. Amanda’s heart splintered. “What did you find on her?”
Trent lurched in her doorway and leaned against the cubicle wall. “She was reported missing by her parents, Hugh and Sabrina, as you already know. What you don’t know is the notes on the file say that Ashley had been quiet in the days leading up to her leaving. Spending a lot of time alone in her room, dressing in black.”
Amanda sat in her chair and swiveled to face Trent. “What else?”
“She was easily irritated and snippy. Her behavior changed, and things she used to enjoy, such as playing the piano, she put aside. She made her parents cancel the lessons.”
“A teenager wanting to be left alone, being moody, etcetera, that’s pretty normal. But when it’s abrupt and the crowd she hangs around with changes, along with her personality, that’s reason for concern.” Amanda’s mind was spinning. After she’d rescued those girls in January, she did a bit of research on the red flags of sex trafficking. She’d discovered the victims weren’t always snatched from the streets; some were coerced while living at home. The Fosters said that Crystal had changed and was getting into more trouble too. Had both girls gotten caught up in the DC ring?
“Did Ashley have new friends show up in her life?” she asked.
“Not that’s noted in the file. I do have more, though.”
“Go ahead.”
“The parents had their suspicions Ashley was lured out by someone on social media.”
If Amanda had any doubts as to when Ashley was caught in the web of sex trafficking, she was getting her answer. At the age of thirteen. The steak and potato Amanda had eaten earlier threatened a reappearance. “We’ll need to speak to her parents at some point.” She realized that was the truth, but there was a part of her that wanted to put that off as long as possible, given how things had turned out with the Fosters. “We should reach out to the investigating detective. Detective Robbins…?” She recalled Leila Foster mentioning his name and thought she had it right.
“Yeah, Chester Robbins with the Metropolitan Police in DC. Who names their kid Chester?”
“Number?” She grabbed her desk phone’s handset.
Trent ran around to his cubicle and called it out to her, and she pushed each digit as he said it. The call rang over to voicemail, and Amanda left a message for the detective to call her back regarding Ashley Lynch as soon as possible. She hung up and sat back in her chair, discouraged. She hated feeling like she was on the losing end. “If they think Ashley was groomed on social media, then they must have messages. Were they included in the report?”
Trent shook his head.
“We definitely need to speak with Detective Robbins.” More waiting. But they didn’t have time to sit around—not if their killer was going to act again. They had to piece some of the nightmare together. “Ashley had been a victim of sex trafficking. We know that from the tattoo on her chest. Brandon told me there are different types of serial killers. In relation to our guy, we discussed those motivated by a mission.” She paused and scanned Trent’s eyes. He seemed to be following her thus far. She continued. “Shannon Fox only became a victim because she interfered with the killer’s plans. He had to take her out, teach her a lesson.”
“Sounds like the meting out of punishment.”
She nodded. “I think so, and I say we put our focus on Ashley’s case. She probably more accurately represents who he plans to target.”
“All right, I get that.”
She went on. “Brandon suggested that maybe the killer was affected by a similar crime when he was younger. He pointed out that our killer may have struck before. Let’s look up cases similar to ours where the killer was caught and served time.”
“Time to go fishing in the CCRE?”
The Central Criminal Records Exchange was a searchable database that cataloged closed cases, including a record of sentencing for the state of Virginia.
“We should. You focus on female victims and arson, and I’ll look at female victims and strangulation.” Her mind was also full of other possible angles they could try, such as revisiting the canvassing officer interviews and the photos of the crowds. She thought, too, of the card taken from the memorial that she’d passed over to Forensics. She’d follow up with CSI Blair on Monday to see if she got anywhere with it.
“As for geography?”
“Expand it statewide in case this guy has moved around.” She remembered that Brandon suggested their killer was local, but he’d also added the caveat he was attempting to build a profile on the very little she’d provided him.
“Timewise?”
“I wouldn’t think we should look any further back than thirty years.” Chris Ingram estimated the man he saw as being in his thirties or early forties. If that man was the killer they were after, the parameter would make him ten, at the oldest, when he went to prison—which, obviously, wasn’t realistic. But Chris had said he didn’t get a good look, and the man could appear younger than his true age. Either way, the net was cast wide.
“I’m on it.” Trent started clicking away.
She brought up the CCRE and entered her parameters. As she watched the various results fill her screen, she swelled with pride. Law enforcement in Virginia had taken these people off the streets and held them accountable for their crimes—though that same justice system would see her mother spending time behind bars. That thought reminded Amanda that she hadn’t followed up with her mother. What had Hannah worked out, if anything? Amanda would just wait until the family dinner at her parents’ tomorrow night and ask then. Her mother usually tucked in early, and at nine o’clock, she’d be getting ready for bed. Then again, that could have changed.
Her mother’s personality obviously had. She’d gone from being a gentle spirit to one who exacted revenge. Her mother hadn’t even taken the easy route and used a bullet to kill her victim. She’d chosen a murder method that had inflicted suffering and taken hours.
Amanda pinched her eyes shut and felt the warmth of unshed tears welling in them. If only she had been around for her mother after the accident. Then maybe she would have healed from the loss of her granddaughter and son-in-law and come to grips with her emotions. Maybe Amanda would have done better too. But who could really know? The circular thinking got Amanda nowhere. She shook aside her personal life and put her focus back on work.
She read through file after file, dismissing each one in turn. The arms on the clock were turning, the hours passing quickly. Then, finally, she found one of interest.
Samuel Booth. Served fifteen years. Was released three and a half years ago.
She went to the details of his crime and felt the goosebumps rise on her arms. “Ah, Trent.”
“Yeah.” He’d responded but sounded like he was concentrating on something.
“I think I found someone.”
“Me too.”
“Okay, I’ll go first. Mine’s a guy named Samuel Booth.”
Trent glanced over at her. “Small world. I’m looking at him too. Served fifteen for killing a woman.”
“A woman he strangled and stabbed,” Amanda added.
“Yep. And did you get to this morsel yet? He lives only three blocks over from
Bill Drive.”
She felt herself go cold. “We’ve got to have a talk with Mr. Booth.”
Thirty-Three
Amanda banged on Samuel Booth’s door. It was just after midnight when she and Trent had arrived. They’d pulled a background on Samuel and found out he had been twenty-three when he went to prison and was now forty-one. That fell within the age range Ingram had assigned the jogger. Samuel’s DMV photo showed a man who could pass for thirty-something. The hard time in prison didn’t seem to have aged him beyond his years. Maybe he was one of those people who thrived behind bars and three squares a day. Their home away from home.
A year after getting out, Samuel had married a woman named Alesha, who was a couple of years younger than him.
Amanda knocked again. “Samuel Booth, Prince William County PD!”
Footsteps headed toward the door, and the deadbolt was unlatched.
A man stood on the other side of the threshold, matching the DMV photo for Samuel Booth. He was dressed like it was the middle of the day, not the middle of the night, in jeans and a T-shirt.
She held up her badge and so did Trent. “Samuel Booth?”
“Who wants to know?”
“We’re Homicide Detectives Steele and Stenson. We’re going to need you to come with us.”
“Sam?” A woman called out from behind the man and joined everyone at the door. She was petite and had a nose that sat crooked on her face, like it was broken at one time, but it had never been set right. She was also dressed in casual clothes. “Who are you?”
“They’re the police, Alesha.” Samuel answered for them.
The woman gnarled up her face at Amanda and Trent. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. What do you want with him?”
Samuel looked calmly at his wife, put a hand on her arm. “I’ll just do as they ask and get this over with.” He made eye contact with Amanda. “Yes, I’m Samuel Booth.”
“What do you want with him?” Alesha squealed.
“We’d like to question your husband regarding the murders of Ashley Lynch and Shannon Fox.”
“Murders?” Samuel’s voice hitched. “I didn’t—”
“No.” Alesha stared at her husband. “Don’t you let them do this to you. They’re just targeting you because of your history.” She met Amanda’s gaze. “He didn’t kill anybody. He was with me.”
“You don’t know the time of the murders, ma’am, and I ask that you move away from him.” Amanda motioned with her hand for the woman to step aside.
“I can’t let you do this to him,” Alesha griped.
“We’re just bringing Samuel in to talk to him. That’s all.” Amanda tried to assure the woman as best she could.
Samuel looked at Alesha. “This will work out. I didn’t do anything. You know I didn’t do anything. Just trust me.”
“It’s not you I have a problem trusting! It’s them!” She thrust a finger to within a few inches of Amanda’s face.
“I’m going to have to ask that you step back, ma’am,” Amanda warned her.
“I’m not letting you take him.” Alesha’s eyes became wild, and she lunged toward Amanda.
Trent caught her and had her spun and in cuffs before she could blink.
“Looks like your lady friend got a ticket to the cells,” Amanda said. “Are you going to join her?”
Samuel stepped outside. He proceeded to pull a key from his pocket and lock the front door. “I’m only going with you because I know I’m innocent.”
We’ll see about that…
* * *
They booked Alesha Booth for attempted assault on an officer, and they got Samuel into an interrogation room.
Amanda entered with Trent, and they both sat across from him.
She started. “It sure took you a while to answer the door, considering you and the missus were both up and dressed.”
Samuel cracked his knuckles and clasped his hands on the table. “We were watching a movie and didn’t hear you at first.”
“I thought maybe you were considering running out the back door.” She put it out there nonchalantly.
“No reason to. I have nothing to hide.”
She opened a folder she’d brought in with her and consulted his background, though it was more for show than her needing a refresher. “You have a history of violence, Mr. Booth.” She paused there, giving him a chance to defend himself, but he remained mute. She went on. “You have a sealed juvie record, but I’m going to guess it would support what I just said.”
Samuel remained silent.
“Your wife’s nose—”
He met her eyes. “What about it?”
“It’s been broken and reset. Did you break it?”
“No, I’d never touch her.”
They’d check hospital records and see if there was a history of domestic abuse in the Booth household. “But you did kill Joyce Summer.”
“A matter of public record, and I served my time for that.”
“Why did you kill her?”
Samuel clenched his jaw so hard a pulse tapped in his cheeks.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened? Help us understand.”
“Can’t you look it up?”
“Hmph.” Amanda glanced at Trent, back to Samuel. “You’re not exactly being cooperative with us, Mr. Booth.”
“I’m not? I could get a lawyer down here. I know my rights.”
“Did you know Ms. Summer had a right to live? She’d be forty if she were still alive today.”
“As I said, I did my time. Move on. I have.”
Amanda leaned forward and angled her head. Samuel was questionable enough to bring in, but his attitude was rubbing her the wrong way. “Have you, though, or are you back to your old tricks? Why did you kill Joyce?”
“I was angry.”
“Why?”
“She was a slut,” he spat.
Amanda cringed at his reaction. “So what? She deserved to die?”
“She screwed my best friend.”
“Yet, is he still alive?”
Samuel broke eye contact, dipping his gaze to his hands.
“It takes two to play. Why didn’t you kill him too, Mr. Booth? Why just Joyce?” She had her reasons for pressing him and digging into his past.
He continued to avoid looking at their side of the table.
“Did you kill her because as the woman she deserved the punishment? To know what she’d done to you? Were you teaching her a lesson?” She wanted to see if she could get a telling reaction.
“I didn’t…”
“Didn’t what, Mr. Booth?”
“It wasn’t about punishing her. She just got me so angry.” Finally, some eye contact. His nostrils were flaring now, and his shoulders and chest heaving as he breathed heavily.
“So it was her fault?”
“Not what I meant, but, yeah, it was.”
“You get angry again recently?” She pulled a photo the folder and put it on the table. “Ashley Lynch, sixteen. She was strangled, doused with gasoline.”
He remained silent as he looked at the photo. His face was expressionless, giving nothing away.
“And Shannon Fox. Forty-three, stabbed, drugged, and mutilated.” She slapped a printout of her picture down.
“I don’t know who they are.”
“Huh, and is this from you?” She set a picture of the note next to the ones of the victims. Her entire body quaked as she did so. “Did you think I’d understand what you did? And how, in any way, are we on the same team?”
Samuel’s gaze lifted, though he remained mute.
Her heart was racing, and it was like she was watching herself, not really in possession of her faculties. “Answer me.”
“I didn’t kill either of those women.”
“That’s your story?”
“That’s my truth. And I don’t have any idea what this is…” He flicked a finger toward the note.
She shrugged. “Then you won’t have a problem giving us your al
ibis for the times of their murders.”
“None at all.”
His confidence and demeanor had her second-guessing their decision to bring him in. Maybe they simply saw what they had wanted to see. She told him the times he needed to account for.
He paled and glanced up at the ceiling, let out a huff. “Doubt you’ll believe me, but I was at home with my wife.”
She sprung to her feet and went into the hall.
Trent joined her. “Do you think he killed them?”
She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know… Probably not, but I’m not ready to let him go just yet.”
“I know you want to close this case—so do I—but if Samuel Booth’s not our killer, we need to release him.”
“No, we have time to hold him without pressing charges. I can’t ignore the fact he killed a woman for sleeping with his friend, and that he killed her because he saw her as a slut.”
“You may have taken some liberty with that conclusion…” Trent winced.
“Nah.” She shook her head. “What’s to say he’s not targeting women now for essentially the same reason? You know, cleaning up Prince William County.”
Trent knotted up his face. “I think we need more.”
She considered his words, and he was right. “We’ll hold him overnight and do some more digging. If nothing turns up, we’ll set him free.”
“Sounds fair.”
“I’m getting started right away.” She headed to her desk and thought about what Brandon Fisher had said—that their killer may have been traumatized in his childhood. She’d just go rooting deep in Samuel Booth’s closet to see what skeletons she could find.
Thirty-Four
Amanda might have only gotten about five hours’ sleep, but it had done her a world of good. She probably slept well because before heading home she’d been successful at finding potential evidence that could support Samuel Booth as their killer. However, his wife had denied any allegations that her husband beat or abused her in any way. There also wasn’t any record of her receiving medical attention for unexplained injuries. Alesha was adamant that her nose had always sat crooked on her face, and she’d backed that up by showing them a childhood photo of herself.
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