[Special Agent Tess Winnett 01.0] Dawn Girl

by Leslie Wolfe

  “Oh, no,” the mother wailed. “How could you do this, Han?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he replied. “I don’t even have one of these for myself. She got it on her own.”

  “But you knew about it,” Mr. Lin said loudly, in a threatening tone. “And said nothing!” Then Mr. Lin spoke something in Chinese, a rapid fire of anger-filled sounds that refueled Mrs. Lin’s sobs.

  Tess put the fake ID on the desk and started looking through the room. It was exquisitely decorated, like the rest of the house, in a classy, yet youthful style. Her parents had tried to give her a space to call her own, and she’d pasted posters of One Direction, Bruno Mars, and several sports cars on top of the silk-laden wallpaper.

  The bedroom came with a walk-in closet, where her clothing was neatly arranged. Tess fingered through the clothes hangers, seeing mostly jeans, jackets, shirts, and blouses, nothing really out of the ordinary. A couple of cocktail gowns were covered in plastic protectors, and Tess recognized the dress she’d worn at the investors’ gala. She took a step back and looked again, this time searching for asymmetries and imperfections in the way the clothes were arranged. She saw something, a silk blouse that seemed too thick on its hanger. She removed it carefully and found underneath it a second garment, a little black dress, a sequined tube that must have barely covered May’s buttocks. She continued her search and uncovered several items more, a shredded pair of jeans shorts that must have showed a lot of skin, tank tops, and short skirts, all dance-club worthy pieces of clothing.

  Then she moved on to May’s lingerie drawers, where she didn’t waste any time and reached out to the back, where she found lace panties and bras. Hidden at the back of the scarves drawer, a small pouch held her makeup kit, and another was a treasure trove of jewelry. Yep, May had been the typical teenager, living a life her parents knew nothing about.

  Tess stood in the bedroom’s doorway, thanking May’s family for their help. She looked at the Lins, huddled up together, wounded, unable to comprehend why their daughter had lived such a secretive life.

  She wished she had more time to spend in Chicago, to interview May’s girlfriends, and check out the clubs she’d frequented, but she had a plane to catch.

  24

  A Night Out

  She lifted her arms in the air, looking at the myriad lights spinning and flashing above her head, and let the loud music take control of her body. She moved effortlessly; the rhythm carried her away, and the fancy, laser-enriched light show was worth every dime. She drew arabesques through the air with her thin, manicured fingers, running them through her hair, then letting the wavy, silken strands fall back on her shoulders. Her hips punctuated every statement the music made in the latest club remixes of the year’s megahits. Miami’s music scene was sizzling, glorifying its torrid night life and hot women, and attracting tourists at least as effectively as its famous beaches.

  The rhythm changed somewhat, as the MC faded into another latest hit, and her thoughts moved away from the charm of Miami’s attractions and into savoring her newly acquired freedom. She was an adult. Finally, yeah! She felt her heart swell, as she remembered her coming-of-drinking-age improvised ceremony she shared with her best friend Tiffany, when they’d both cut their fake IDs and scattered the pieces through the open window of their speeding Beemer. Nice! She’d grown sick and tired of being afraid she’d get busted every time she went out. What stupid laws, made by stupid people… So you could work, or join the Army and get yourself killed at 18, but you had to wait until 21 to have a drink? How fucked up was that? Well, that was all over now. Let the party begin.

  She signaled her girlfriend she needed a break. Tiffany, lost in her moves and making sustained eye contact with some guy, pouted a little, but then turned and walked away. She followed her closely, as she left the dance floor. They made their way with difficulty through throngs of young people, sweating their energy off on the glitter-covered marble. Tiffany wasn’t hesitant to push her way through and beelined it to their booth. Walking a couple of feet behind her, she envied Tiffany’s perfect, little waist and long, sleek legs for a second, then shrugged the envy away. She wasn’t so bad herself. She was taller, and her light brown hair shimmered like silk under the club lights, bouncing on her back in large waves as she walked on her four-inch heels with a spring in her step.

  She barely contained a smile when she noticed the impression she’d made on a bunch of guys, who leaned against the bar counter looking for a hookup, sizing girls up, drinks in hand. Yeah, she was hot.

  They finally sat at their small table, and she let out a sigh of relief, thankful they’d come in early enough to catch one of the very few booths available.

  “Whew, this is so cool,” she yelled over the small table, but Tiffany gestured she couldn’t hear her. She gestured, “never mind,” and wanted to check her messages, while a bartender swung by with tall, frosty glasses filled with chilled champagne.

  She opened her tiny purse and went through it in a hurry, but her phone wasn’t anywhere. She checked the time on Tiffany’s phone and frowned. Drew was never late. She wondered what happened. Her boyfriend must have had a good reason to be late, or the flat tire he’d called her about must have taken forever to fix. Strange… He’d bragged he could switch a flat in under five minutes, like it was something that would make a girl fall head over heels. Yeah, right. Who cared, when a tow truck could come and fix it in no time?

  She must have left her stupid phone in her stupid car, and, with Drew being so late, she had to go out and get it. She yelled a few unintelligible words to Tiffany, waving her car keys, and Tiffany nodded. Then she started making her way to the entrance, pushing and elbowing through hordes of sweaty, alcohol-infused dancers waving glow sticks to the beat.

  She finally made it to the entrance hallway, where the crowd wasn’t as thick, and she could breathe better and walk faster. A young, attractive man locked his fascinating, blue eyes with hers, and she hesitated a good, long second before looking away. If Drew hadn’t been in the picture, she would have liked to get to know that guy. He looked familiar somehow and totally hot. She tried to remember, but couldn’t place him. Two more steps, and she’d forgotten all about him, flattered by someone else’s appreciative glance.

  Then she felt someone grab her arm. She turned and saw the man she’d just looked at, holding her arm and smiling, his hypnotizing blue eyes drilled into hers. She pulled away angrily, but didn’t manage to free herself. She felt a small prick in the side of her arm and yelled at the stranger.

  “Hey,” she shouted, barely able to hear herself over the blaring music.

  The man didn’t react and didn’t let go of her arm. She felt his fingers like steel claws dig into her flesh, unforgiving. He still smiled, looking at her, as her knees grew weak, and, instead of pulling away, she started leaning into him for support. A wave of panic rose to her throat as she realized she’d been drugged. Dizzy and nauseous, she tried to grapple at passersby, reaching and clutching at their clothes, at furniture, at the walls. Then she felt him grab her shoulders firmly, supporting her, and felt the hot, humid air of the Miami night against her face. They were outside.

  “My girlfriend’s had a few too many,” she heard the man tell someone. “She needs a bit of fresh air. Excuse me.”

  She tried to scream, but only a choked whimper made it through her numb throat. Then heavy darkness engulfed her and pulled her into oblivion.

  25

  Empty Nest

  Tess had arrived in Atlanta the night before, but willed herself to visit Carolyn O’Sullivan the next morning. Somehow, having the FBI ring the doorbell at 10:00PM made things worse for everyone. SAC Pearson would be proud of her newly found consideration. If only he knew how hard it had been for her to add the slightest delay to her fact-finding mission.

  She pulled in front of a tall, wrought-iron gate, and lowered her window to press the buzzer on the access pad. Before she could reach the button, she heard a voice coming from
the small box. A camera whirred, training on her face.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “Special Agent Tess Winnett, FBI, to see Carolyn O’Sullivan. I have an appointment.”

  No one replied, but the gate opened quietly, rolling to the side. She drove through and pulled in front of the main entrance.

  Now that was wealthy living. The residence was a massive, two-story, white colonial, at least ten thousand feet. It was built on a slightly sloped stretch of perfectly green grass, in a landscaped garden worthy of a king’s palace. Carolyn’s romance novels must have been selling like hotcakes.

  The main door opened before she could reach the door knocker. Well, of course.

  A uniformed housekeeper held the door for her, then showed her into a stunning living room.

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “I’ll get Miss O’Sullivan for you.”

  She disappeared quietly, leaving Tess to admire the setting. Large, luminous windows let in the Atlanta sun through sparkling white sheers. The furniture was modern, in shades of white and light gray, on accented area rugs thrown casually here and there, bringing swatches of color to a magnificent setting.

  The far wall was set up as an ego wall, displaying Carolyn’s best-selling titles, awards she had won, and photos of her with several famous people. Tess gave into her innate curiosity and went over to study everything closely.

  “That one, right there, is at the Oscars, two years ago,” Carolyn said, startling Tess. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s all right,” Tess replied, repressing a frown of frustration with her own jumpiness, and shook the hand Carolyn offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Back in the day when I had time to read, I was a fan.”

  Carolyn smiled gracefully and invited Tess to take a seat next to her on a massive white leather sofa. She was a stunning appearance. She must have been in her late 50s, but she looked amazing. Her hair was styled back, revealing her tall, smooth forehead. She wore a cream-colored pants and jacket suit with a darker cream, silk blouse, just a shade darker, for accent. Diamond studs and a ring completed the elegant attire. Carolyn O’Sullivan had class.

  “This is about Shanequa, I presume?”

  “Yes… but first, let me ask you, ahem, you’re—”

  “White?” Carolyn asked, with a smile. “Yeah, I get that a lot when it comes to Shanequa. She was adopted. She was the daughter of my late husband’s war buddy. When Fred Powell died, it was the natural thing to do. Then my husband died too, only a few years later. Then Shanequa…”

  “I am very sorry for your loss,” Tess said.

  “Not only did her death leave this huge house empty and silent, but my heart too. I feel I failed Fred’s confidence, and my husband’s. They entrusted me with the well-being of Fred’s only child, and I—”

  Carolyn stopped mid-phrase, too emotional to continue. She patted the corners of her eyes with a tissue, then took a deep breath, stifling her tears.

  “She was everything I had left.” She reached out and took Tess’s hand with both hers. “Please tell me you found her killer.”

  Tess lowered her eyes for a split second, then looked at Carolyn confidently.

  “Not yet, but we have new information, and we will get him, I promise.”

  “Good,” Carolyn replied, still sniffling quietly. “Tell me how can I help.”

  Tess hesitated for a second. She’d perused Shanequa’s social media accounts the night before and didn’t find anything useful. No permanent male presence in her photos, so she wasn’t in a stable relationship. Not a lot of party photos either. She wondered how much information Carolyn had from the police, how much she knew about what had happened to her adoptive daughter. She decided to tread carefully.

  “Tell me about Shanequa,” Tess asked. “What was she like?”

  “She was intelligent and hard-working, almost shy. She’d never got used to any of this,” Carolyn said, gesturing vaguely, “although it was going to be all hers one day. She grew up in a challenging situation. Her mother passed away when she was only four, then Fred struggled to make ends meet for so long.”

  The housekeeper appeared with a tray with iced tea in tall crystal glasses. Tess accepted a glass and took a sip. It was delicious.

  “Don’t think we didn’t offer to help,” Carolyn added. “Fred was a stubborn man, like most men are. Too proud. He worked himself into the ground, that’s what he did.” She sipped some tea, then placed the glass back on the tray without making a sound. “Shanequa had mourned a lot of people by the time she turned 18, poor girl. Then it was just her and me. After a while, she immersed herself in her studies, and I in my writing. She made me proud. She earned her degree in economics before she turned 21.”

  “Was she romantically involved with anyone?”

  “Huh,” Carolyn reacted with a sad chuckle. “No, I would have known. I know romance. I write it for a living. Shanequa hadn’t met the love of her life yet.”

  “How about dates? Casual boyfriends?”

  “There were some young men, but—” she hesitated, seemingly uneasy. “It’s hard to know what men are after, even without this,” she said, repeating her vague gesture. “But Shanequa was smart. If she sensed a man was after money, she rejected him immediately. With her hard life she had growing up, she was a little paranoid, distrusting.”

  Tess knew exactly how that felt.

  “How about girlfriends? Did she go out anywhere with them? To clubs maybe?”

  “She had a couple of good friends, nice, smart, hard-working girls, and they did go out on occasions. I pushed her to go out and live a little; it wasn’t the other way around.”

  “Any place in particular where she liked to go?”

  “I don’t think so. They tried different places, I remember her telling me.”

  Tess frowned. She didn’t have anything after their conversation. No new data, no workable clues. Just like with the Lins, she’d probably need to spend time with the girlfriends, figuring out what places they frequented, then poring over countless hours of video surveillance looking for that one face Atlanta, Chicago, and Miami had in common. A killer, hunting for his prey.

  Facial scanning software was long past due, although insider rumors had it the FBI was working with a software firm to develop something that could scan through hours of video in just minutes and compare faces. It wasn’t going to be available soon enough for her case though.

  So far, her only gain from visiting the families was that she got to know the victims a little better. She knew who they were, how they lived, what they cared about. They weren’t just police reports and crime scene photos anymore. That was important. She was going to visit with Emma’s family next. Her flight to Charleston, South Carolina was in two hours.

  “If you remember anything, please call me,” Tess said, offering her business card. “This is my mobile number.”

  “Do you think that’s where she—”

  A chime interrupted Carolyn; it was Tess’s phone, alerting her she had a new message. It was from Michowsky, and it read, “Come back ASAP. New missing persons filing just in. Fits the damn profile to the letter.”

  26

  Missing

  Tess made it to Palm Beach County Police Office by mid-afternoon, covered in dust, sweat, and airplane grime. She climbed the stairs two at a time and entered the almost-empty squad room, looking for Michowsky and Fradella. They weren’t anywhere to be seen, but a uniformed cop lifted his eyes from a report he was typing.

  “Where are they?”

  The cop pointed his finger at the conference room, then resumed his work on the report.

  She entered the conference room without knocking and stopped the conversation that was taking place in there.

  “Finally,” Michowsky greeted her and moved away from the whiteboard.

  She noticed they’d finally hung the whiteboard on the wall, and a second,
smaller one, right next to the first, where they had pinned details about the new missing-person case.

  At first, she studied May Lin’s face, patiently, carefully, as if she’d never seen her before. She wanted to capture all the new information gathered from her visit and make it work somehow, give some results. Then she remembered something. She pulled out her phone and retrieved an image, then handed it to one of the uniformed cops who leaned against the wall doing nothing.

  “Please have this printed letter size, full color, and bring it back.”

  The cop shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable and undecided.

  “What, now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  He left the room scoffing, without closing the door. Tess was still revisiting May Lin’s notes on the board when he came back with the print. It was the photo of May Lin’s family at the investors’ gala, and Tess pasted it on the board with two pieces of tape.

  Then she studied Shanequa with new eyes, remembering what her adoptive mother had shared. Not going out much, working hard, had lost a lot of people. She tried to see those details in the way Shanequa looked before her abduction. Then she looked at the crime scene photos again and found herself grinding her teeth.

  Finally, she moved on to the second wallboard, where they’d pasted the photo of a beautiful and confident young woman. In the photo, she wore a thin-strapped, red dress, matching the color of her lipstick. She had smiling green eyes and wavy brown hair, shoulder length, worn casually styled, parted on the right. “Julie Reynolds, 21,” Michowsky had written in black marker, right above her photo. Missing since 10:30PM the night before. Already 16 hours since she’d been gone.