Stolen Daughters

by Carolyn Arnold

  Amanda froze, her heart thumping wildly. Was the killer standing on her front step ready to overpower her the second she opened the door? Did killers knock? She shook her crazy imaginings away but laid her hand over her hostler, ready to pull her Glock if needed.

  She stood on her tiptoes to see out the high window in the door. Logan stood on the doorstep with flowers. She took a deep breath and opened the door. “Hello… What are you doing here?”

  He smiled and extended the bouquet. “Thought I’d hand deliver these.”

  She took the flowers from him. “What are they for?”

  “Your birthday. It is today?”

  She sniffed the blooms appreciatively but shook her head. “It’s tomorrow.”

  “Shoot! I thought for sure I had it right. Well, it’s better early than late.” He hugged her and tapped a quick kiss on her mouth.

  She licked her lips and smiled. “I wish I could ask you in, but I have to be going.” She touched his cheek, appreciating that his face was becoming familiar and trusted, even a comfort.

  “No problem. I’ve got to get to a dentist appointment myself. Just figured I’d try to catch you. I swung by last night, but you weren’t here.” There was the enclosed question of her whereabouts, and she’d answer—this time.

  “I’m working all hours right now. I actually didn’t get in until after five.”

  “I don’t know how you pull it off.”

  “Me either, honestly.”

  “Oh, not just the long hours, but still looking the way you do.” He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”

  “You caught me after I caked on makeup with a spatula, but I’ll take the compliment.” She grinned. She wanted to open up to him about the investigations that had her on the go at all hours, but why darken his day? She lifted the flowers. “Thank you for these.”

  “Don’t mention it. But do call me. We’re past due for some quality time.”

  “That we are.” She remained at the door, appreciating the view as he walked off and got into his black Dodge Ram. Logan was one good-looking man, and she was grateful for his attention, but she was determined to keep a level head and not get too attached. She knew all too well that good things had a way of being taken away.

  She put the bouquet in some water and headed out the door for Central. She grabbed a coffee at Hannah’s Diner on the way. Then, she settled at her desk.

  The first thing she did was send a copy of the mystery man’s photo to CSI Blair asking if she could run it through facial recognition. Getting a hit there would mean their guy had a record. Next, she searched the internet for white of eyes black. She had enough time to read some results before Trent arrived.

  “Mornin’.” He put a to-go cup on her desk and smiled at her before heading to his cubicle.

  She eyed the brown cup with the small, scripted H in a circle. It was from Hannah’s Diner. “You have impeccable timing. I just finished the one I was working on.”

  “I know how much you love their coffee.”

  “They’ve got the best I’ve ever had.”

  “As you’ve said before.” Trent laughed. “It’s pretty good, but I think you might be stretching it a bit… or you need to get out more.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn’t get too angry at him though; he had brought her coffee—and she rather liked the frequency with which it was happening these days. “Just before you got here I googled what could make the whites of a person’s eyes black. The guy could have a rare case of severe kidney or liver failure, wear black sclera contact lenses, or he had the whites of his eyes dyed.”

  Trent’s jaw dropped, and he lowered into his chair. “Dyed. Are you kidding me?”

  “Add it to the list of the strangest things I’ve ever heard. But it’s called scleral tattooing. It’s where a dye is injected between two layers of the eye and the color spreads out.”

  “Yikes. The thought sends shivers through me.”

  “Makes two of us. Unless he’s wearing contacts, the black is a permanent feature of his appearance, so it should make this guy easily recognizable.”

  “That’s true. So how did you make out last night?” Trent asked, then pressed his cup to his mouth.

  She’d taken Crystal to Washington by herself and let Trent go home and get some rest. “It was an emotional night.” She stopped there, impacted by the memory of Crystal’s face upon seeing her parents. There was spite that had flicked across her eyes, and then there was sorrow. The teenager had ended up bawling as hard as her father.

  “I can understand that. Did you tell the Fosters everything—about Ashley, and how Crystal might have something to offer our investigation?”

  Before she’d taken Crystal back home, Amanda and Trent had discussed it might be useful if Crystal sat with a police sketch artist and have them draw the woman and the man with the black eyes. “I did. I gave them a heads-up that a police sketch artist might become necessary and gave them the very basics, saying that Crystal might be able to help the police. I recommended to the Fosters that they keep a close eye on Crystal for the next while I also called Detective Robbins to notify Lynch’s family.”

  “Yeah, it seems we have no doubt it was Ashley Lynch now. But how did the Fosters handle everything?”

  “About as well as can be expected. They just want to shelter their daughter now that she’s back, and I can’t blame them.”

  “Maybe it won’t come to needing a sketch artist, but it would be nice to make a dent in this ring.”

  “You could say that again.” Her gaze caught on an incoming email. It was from CSI Blair, subject: Graveyard & Memorial Notes.

  Amanda opened it and read. The card from the memorial didn’t have any useable evidence on it, but they knew its origin now. The note found at Lindsey’s grave, along with the envelope, were clean of prints except for Amanda’s. Blair said if they found a printer, she could confirm if it was the one used to print the label and message. She might as well have said “go find the needle in the haystack.” The envelope itself had been a peel-and-stick, so no saliva mixed with the glue. Blair also said that she had a look at the photo Amanda had sent of the mystery man and could tell immediately that it wasn’t of high-enough quality to run through facial recognition. Just one more dead end in trying to get the name for Tom Cruise’s lookalike. She recapped everything for Trent.

  “It was almost too much to hope for something,” he said. “Just like trying to read this killer’s mind is proving impossible.”

  “Challenging, sure, but not impossible.”

  “If we think of him as being mission-oriented, why these girls who are already victims? It’s not like he’s really cleaning up the world. If he wants to do that then he should kill the guy with the devil’s eyes.” Trent was getting himself worked up, but Amanda could empathize. It was frustrating not knowing exactly what was motivating their killer—or how to stop him from murdering more people. Trent added, “Our killer’s actually targeting victims, and I’m not sure what to make of that.”

  “Maybe we should worry less about motive, and just follow the clues. Let’s revisit the interviews conducted with people from the crowd. And maybe the ones from the door-to-door canvassing are in now too.”

  “Detective Steele!” Malone was rushing toward her, and he rarely moved fast.

  She got to her feet, sensing there was real trouble. “What is it?”

  “Got a lead. A good one.”

  She’d woken him up last night to fill him in on Crystal, how that went down, the man with the black eyes, and the as-of-yet unidentified man in the photo. “Let’s have it.”

  “A lady here in Woodbridge called the tip line. She saw a man with two young women near her home on Saturday night. Said it looked like he forced them into the back of a van.”

  “Could be the same man and women from the Clear Mountain Circle crime scene. Trent and I will check it out.”

  Forty-Six

  Janet Mills welcomed Amanda and Trent inside her h
ouse and told them to get comfortable in the dining room while she put on the kettle for tea. She was in her early sixties with a rotund body and a pleasant smile, though it came quickly and disappeared just as fast.

  Amanda and Trent were seated at her dining table while the woman walked around, getting mugs from the cupboards and milk and sugar. It would have been nice to turn down the tea and crank up the urgency of their visit, but Amanda had the sense that, with a woman like Janet, hastiness would just clam her up. She was talking to the cops because she wanted to help, but in return, she expected respect.

  “We just need to wait for it to steep.” Janet poured the boiled water into an actual teapot and set it on the table. As much as Amanda’s family loved tea, they were good with a bag in a cup.

  Janet sat down, smoothing out the front of her yellow, floral-patterned dress as she did so. She’d apparently put some effort into beautifying herself for their visit. Her gray hair was bobby-pinned in tight pinwheels against her scalp. She had on red lipstick, which was half worn off due to her dry lips, and some color was outside the lines.

  “Thank you for calling in about what you saw, Ms. Mills,” Amanda started, and had her mouth open to continue when Janet proceeded to talk.

  “Of course, dear. It’s the least I could do after hearing about those two dead girls in the fire.” She tsked and shook her head.

  “You said that you saw a man with two young women getting into the van Saturday night?” Trent asked, leaning forward, his notepad nearby.

  Janet slowly drew her eyes from Amanda to Trent. “I did, and I just got the feeling that something wasn’t right. He forced them into that van, I tell you.”

  “Actually, before we get to the details of what you saw, what time was this?” Amanda asked, passing a soft glance at Trent.

  “It was somewhere around eleven thirty.”

  Justin Cooper said that he saw the man and women around midnight, so that could fit. They would have had to drive from Woodbridge to Dumfries, park, and go from there. “Okay, so you saw them around eleven thirty… Did you see where they came from before getting to the van?”

  “They came from that way.” Janet pointed toward the front window, which was visible from where they were, and crooked her finger to the right.

  Janet’s house was in an area that was mixed residential and commercial. “Great. Did you see them coming out of a house or another building?”

  “No, I’d remember that.”

  “Did you ever see them before?” Trent interjected.

  “I don’t think so. Now, if you look out my front window—” she gestured in its direction again “—you see that parking lot across the street?”

  Amanda nodded.

  “The van was parked over there,” Janet said.

  Amanda had seen the sign when they’d pulled up—the lot was attached to Gamble Insurance, quite a name given their business. But if they had surveillance cameras, their recorded footage might be useful to the investigation. They’d go over there after finishing with Janet. Now, an insurance company would likely be barren at night, let alone on the weekend, but Amanda asked, “Were any other vehicles parked there at the time?”

  “Just that jalopy in the corner.” Janet got up and walked to the window. Amanda joined her but noticed that Trent had removed the teabags from the pot and set them on a saucer, before following.

  There was a rusted sedan with at least one deflated tire—the car sat on an angle, like it was depressed. It was at the edge of the lot, newer models all around it. Monday morning: everyone was at work now.

  “Think it belongs to one of the owners,” Janet started. “It’s been there forever. Wish they’d move the bloody thing, though. It’s such an eyesore.”

  “But there were no other vehicles or people around that you saw Saturday night?” Amanda just wanted to be sure.

  “No. I would tell you.” She flashed a pleasant smile.

  Amanda returned her gaze out the window and across the street. There were streetlights around the edge of the lot. “Were you able to get a good look at the three of them?”

  “Fairly, I suppose. As you see, there are lights, but only one works. The other is constantly flickering. Like it needs a swift kick.”

  Amanda laughed. Janet had spunk; she’d give her that.

  “Where was the van parked?” Amanda swept the curtains back more to afford a wider view.

  “A couple of spots away from the useless light, but he parked so the van was lengthwise to my house.”

  Staying in the darker area made sense, but why park lengthwise? For that matter, it had been brazen to bring the girls there and load them into his van where anyone could see. Had he been relying on the girls to be more cooperative and not give the impression of being coerced? Amanda wanted to know more about this van. “What—”

  “Oh! The tea!” Janet exclaimed, arms flailing the air, as she hurried back to the dining table. “Sorry, but the bags need to come—” Her words stopped there as her gaze hit the plate where Trent had deposited the teabags. He was standing next to her, smiling. “You did this?” she asked him.

  Trent nodded.

  “Such a nice boy,” Janet said, and he blushed.

  Janet proceeded to pour the tea and distribute the cups. Everyone made up their tea the way they liked it and sat where they had been before the little trip to the window.

  “Ms. Mills, as I was about to ask,” Amanda began, “what can you tell us about the van? Its color, age, make and model?”

  “It was a GMC Savana. Looked pretty new.” Janet blew on her tea and took a sip. “It was white, but it had lettering on the front door. One of them magnet signs, I think.”

  Amanda sat straighter. She’d seen a white van with lettering recently, and it had been a couple of blocks away from the second fire. “What did it say?”

  Janet chewed her bottom lip. “Sorry, but that I couldn’t make out. It was black lettering, if that helps. Oh, and it was rather—” She swirled her left index finger in the air.

  “A scrolly font?” Trent wagered a guess.

  Janet smiled. “Yes, that’s it.”

  The lettering used for the Pansy Shoppe would be considered a scrolly font. That was the business name on the van that Amanda had seen pulling away, and Janet’s description, though vague, could fit. Had they finally received a solid lead on their killer? But why would he essentially advertise where to find him? And did the decals have anything to do with the reason he’d parked lengthwise? If so, it was like he wanted people to take notice.

  “There were no windows on the side facing me, or on the back of the van,” Janet added. “I noticed that when he had the door open, and later after he drove away.”

  “That’s often the case with commercial vans.” Amanda was still chewing over how this made sense. “Please run us through exactly what you saw.”

  “Sure. Ah, the three of them went to the van. One of the girls stopped and pointed at the lettering, and he swept up her arm and sort of corralled her and the other one to the rear door. He opened one side, and the girls seemed hesitant to go inside.”

  “Did they appear scared? Like they were pulling back or trying to get away?” Trent asked.

  “They resisted by what I could tell, but they weren’t steady on their feet. The man tried to keep them upright. One of the girls fell down, and he helped her to her feet and put her into the van. Then he lifted the other one inside too.”

  Amanda wasn’t sure that exactly translated to forced, but it had obviously been enough of a spectacle to get the older woman’s attention. “Then what happened?”

  “He got into the driver’s seat, and they drove off.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  Janet pointed left this time—the opposite direction than she had earlier.

  Amanda nodded. “Was he driving fast or slow or…?”

  “Just at a normal speed.”

  If this was their killer and the two victims from the second fire, he was ce
rtainly calm and collected, like nothing unnerved him. Amanda wouldn’t be getting any sleep until he was behind bars, and she was already running on fumes. She and Trent had to take a look at the Pansy Shoppe—especially now that it had come up twice. “Can you tell us what the man looked like?”

  “He was wearing a dark sweater with black jeans, and he had brown hair.”

  They needed more than a man in black. “Did you see his face?’

  “Not enough to make out any of his features. But I assume he had two eyes, a nose, a mouth.” A small chuckle.

  Amanda smiled. “How old would you say he was?”

  “Hmm. Maybe thirty-something. Your age, possibly younger?” Janet flicked a hand toward Amanda.

  “A woman never reveals her age.” Especially with another birthday around the corner. “What was his build like? You said that he lifted the girls into the van. Did he appear strong, muscular?”

  “Sure, I guess. He was probably about six feet tall.”

  She’d show Janet the picture of their mystery man, but if he turned out to be their killer, a skilled defense attorney would allege that Amanda had fed Janet their suspect. They were best to wait until they could add him to a photo spread. Better yet, an in-person lineup. “What about the girls? Could you describe each of them, please?”

  “They were both young. Dressed like hookers, if you ask me. If my daughters ever tried to sneak out like that, I would have sent them back to their rooms for a wardrobe change.”

  Justin Cooper had commented on the provocative clothing, though he’d never made the “hooker” comment. Could be a generational thing. “Like hookers, huh? Can you elaborate?”

  “Just tight leggings on the one and a low-cut shirt.”

  Low-cut shirt… “Did you happen to notice any markings on her chest?”

  Janet raised her eyebrows. “Can’t say I was looking.”

  “The other one?” Trent asked.

  “A short skirt, well above the knees, and a skintight shirt that left little to the imagination. She was big chested, that one. Both had heels taller than they could manage.”