by Alex Gates
Emily leaned forward, gripping a fresh tissue. “Anything, Detective. Just bring her home again.”
No family wanted to relive the worst day of their life, but neither of them had ever mentioned Alan Henry to me. Either they had no idea about their daughter’s relationships, or they had lied.
I hated ignorance, but I preferred it to deception.
“What happened the day Nina disappeared?” I asked.
“Which time?” Emily swallowed. “The first time she ran…or after she was kidnapped?”
The word was a sucker punch. “Kidnapped? Did something happen? Did someone call? You didn’t say anything about a kidnapping—”
“What other explanation is there?” Emily spat. “She came home. She was here, with us. We fed her. Clothed her. She was warm and safe and she knew she didn’t have to tell us a thing. We loved her! We just wanted to love her.” Emily rubbed her eyes, smearing more mascara than tears that couldn’t fall. “And now she’s gone again. No note. Not even a goodbye. Something must have happened to her…”
Or someone scared her enough to run again.
No one knew where Nina had been, and that made coming home that much harder for her. If she was scared for herself or her parents’ lives she might have done anything to escape.
“Walk me through the night of her disappearance,” I said.
Emily bit her lip. “I…I don’t know what time it was. I was asleep. I checked on her before bed, but I didn’t think to look in on her when I got up to use the bathroom. I didn’t want to disturb her…”
Ryan nodded. “She kicked out the screen in her room. Your team said so. It was pushed out, not pulled.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Emily hissed. “Maybe someone was in the house—maybe they threatened her!”
I’d taken the initial report when Nina went missing again. Nina’s own shoe made the imprint on the screen we found in the bushes outside the house. With no other forced entry into the home, and no calls made to the house that night, I’d believed Nina left under her own power. Whether she was in her right mind or not was a question only she could answer.
“What time did you notice she had gone?”
“Around ten the next morning,” Emily said. “I wanted to make her pancakes. Pancakes are her favorite. With chocolate chips. I make strawberry syrup from scratch. She’d eat it up with a spoon.”
I hated the pain in her voice, but I couldn’t get distracted or sentimental. “Did you notice any changes in her behavior?”
Ryan scoffed. Emily shushed him again, but he didn’t listen.
“She was completely changed,” he said. “That girl…she wasn’t ours anymore.”
Emily gave a soft sob. “She was still our little girl!”
I interrupted the fight as gently as I could. “What exactly was different with her?”
“Everything.” It was a mother’s betrayal, but even Emily couldn’t deny it. “She spoke differently—more formal. Pleases and thank-yous, sirs and ma’ams. Almost…”
He snorted. “Submissive.”
“Ryan!”
“That’s what she was! Not speaking unless spoken to. Not looking you in the eye. She was like a beaten dog begging for scraps.”
“I thought she was just polite,” Emily said. “Like she was scared. She didn’t want to make any fuss. But it was more than that. She…she used to love all those pre-teen bands. Taylor Swift and One Direction and whatever jelly belly music was on the radio. Once she got back, she pulled the posters down. And then she only listened to hymns.”
Not too many children found God on the streets.
Most times, the Devil got them first.
“She wasn’t a bad kid before,” Ryan said. “But when she came back, it was like someone had taken our daughter and scrubbed her brain with soap. She wasn’t just wholesome or polite. She was…”
“Vacant,” Emily whispered. “What’s the opposite of corrupted? I’ve heard so many stories from other parents of missing kids—they said their girls would act out, would be promiscuous, would be troubled.”
Ryan frowned. “Nina came home out of the blue. Knocked on the door. Called me sir. Asked to come inside like this wasn’t the same house she’d run in and out her entire life. She wouldn’t eat junk food. Refused to watch TV. She never listened to her music.”
He abruptly stopped. I gave him a moment to piece together what he wanted to say.
He apologized. “She had a Bible.”
Emily breathed her husband’s name. “Detective, you know us. We’re good people. We’re just not…active. You understand?”
The Catholic guilt took root in me, and I figured one day I’d turn into a pillar of salt. Despite what the priests would say—what my priest said—not everyone would find answers in the church. But to go from non-practicing to devout? One hell of a change.
“I asked her where she learned these things,” Emily said. “I thought she’d found a church group or someone to take her in while she was away. But she never said.”
“Do you have her Bible?”
Emily shook her head. “No. She took it. The only thing she had with her when she left. She didn’t even pack her clothes this time. It was like…”
“She had somewhere she could go,” Ryan said.
And I knew just where she’d end up. I broached the subject gently. “Did she ever talk to you about a Rachel Goodman?”
Emily glanced at her husband. “No. Was that one of her friends?”
“It was an alias she used while she was away from home. Has anyone attempted to call or contact you about a Rachel Goodman?”
Her shoulders slumped. “No. I’ve never heard that name. But she didn’t tell me anything…her own mother.”
And she had reason for that. Nina wouldn’t have hid anything from her mother out of spite or hatred. It was because she loved her that she’d stayed quiet. Emily wouldn’t understand it.
My mother never understood it.
Twelve-year-old Nina’s picture was centered over the mantel. It wasn’t recent—but they had nothing recent from her. For some reason, Alan Henry was the only one with a photograph of Nina at fourteen years old. The implications sickened me.
“Did your daughter ever mention a man named Alan Henry?”
Emily rapidly slapped her husband’s arm. “Yes! That’s the man Nina talked about. The one who helped her!”
Ross straightened. “Yeah. Alan Henry. I asked if he was a cop or something. She said he…watched over her.”
The words hung in silence. I wished they hadn’t curdled my stomach.
“Were they friends?” I asked.
Emily shrugged. “She wouldn’t say, but she spoke his name fondly.”
I hated what I had to ask. “Were they romantically involved?”
“Romantically?” Emily gave a weepy laugh. “She’s fourteen.”
“Did she ever say anything about Alan Henry being her husband?”
“Her…her husband?” Ryan’s beer tipped, spilling on the carpet. “She’s a child! She’s not married.”
“Ryan…” Emily’s whisper was a crush of pain. “Ryan…”
“She’s a child. She’s not involved with anyone. If anything ,she got taken advantage of on the streets. Christ only knows what she went through, but you’re asking if she willingly gave herself to someone?”
“Ryan!” Emily’s voice rose, a heretical screech to a woman who hardly had the courage to get out of bed every morning. “The ring on her finger…”
We quieted. Ryan shook his head. “No. No, don’t even think that.”
“She wore a ring when she came home!” Emily pointed to her left ring finger. “A plain band. She wouldn’t take it off. I asked her, but she just said that it was hers. Oh, my God. It’s not possible. How could she get married if she was that young?”
“You’d have to consent,” I said. “Legally, she couldn’t marry without your approval.”
“But this Alan Henry? He sounded…o
lder?”
“He’s in his mid-twenties.”
“Oh God. Oh, no.” Emily shook her head. “She left us to go to a pedophile?”
Ryan pointed a shaking finger at me. “Tell me you know where this son of a bitch is. Tell me, or so help me God—”
“We know,” I said. Not that it would help anyone. “We found Alan Henry dead yesterday morning. He committed suicide after murdering a woman we assume was his lover.”
Emily nearly fell from the couch. “Oh God. Nina?”
The only good news I could offer. “It wasn’t Nina. She was a twenty-eight-year old woman from Lawrenceville. Cora Abbott. Do you know the name?”
Emily couldn’t speak. Her cries muffled into the knitted afghan she’d dragged off the couch.
Ryan answered for her. “No. We don’t know her.”
“Was it…was that the woman who helped her?” Emily sniffled. “The one…”
“No.” Ryan helped her to the couch. “That was…Ellen? No. Eve.”
I jotted the name down. “Who was Eve?”
Emily shook her head again. “You don’t understand, Detective. We only got bits and pieces of information out of her. She only mentioned names when she…when she wasn’t paying attention. She’d say something about Alan in passing. Or about Eve…she liked Eve. I thought it sounded like…”
“Like what?”
“Like Eve was a mother figure. Someone who’d cared about her.”
“This is good,” I reassured her. “All these names. I can use them.”
“What about Alan Henry?”
“Homicide is investigating him now,” I said. “They’re looking for his family and friends. The name Eve might help us locate someone who knows what happened to Nina or where she might have gone. We’ll find her, or she’ll find us. She’s come home before.”
Emily sunk deeper into the couch. “It wasn’t by choice. She wasn’t happy to be here. I think…”
She was looking for a chance to leave?
I changed the subject. “Can you think of anything else unusual that’s happened? Strangers lurking around the home? Threats or times you felt uneasy?”
“No,” Ryan said. “Nothing like that. Just the usual bad luck.”
“What sort of bad luck?”
“My credit card got stolen, but we didn’t think anything of it.”
I frowned. “When did this happen?”
“A couple days ago. The day after Nina left. With all the fuss, we didn’t notice anything was wrong until I got an email about the purchases.”
“What did they buy?”
“Nothing to do with Nina.”
Desperate times called for desperate leads. “Anything can help.”
Emily shrugged. “It’s not like they bought anything extravagant. I told Ryan not to report it.”
“Why?”
“Everything was purchased from a Babies R Us,” she said. “And that’s all they used it for. It was a lot of money, five hundred dollars, but the person hasn’t used it since. Seemed cruel to report it.”
“Cruel?” I blinked. “Why?”
“It was all baby stuff, Detective. We thought…I thought it was a first-time mother who got ahold of his card. If the thief bought all electronics or something, we’d have stopped it. But whoever stole the card obviously needed help.” Her voice weakened. “And I know what it’s like for a mother to be scared and worried for her child.”
I slammed the lid shut on my laptop, pitching it into the bag. Emily and Ryan stood with me, confused. I hated what I thought—and I hated even more than I knew I was right.
The poor family didn’t understand—either willfully ignorant or completely naïve.
I almost envied that obliviousness, but then no one would be able to bring their daughter home.
“I need to contact that Babies R Us,” I said. “And I need to do it now.”
“Why?” Emily demanded. “What about Nina?”
“Nina’s the one who stole your card.”
“Why would she take our credit card?”
Fourteen was too young for this.
Too young to run. Too young to hide.
And too goddamned young to handle it on her own.
“Nina is pregnant.”
6
You wish you didn’t know the truth.
But where’s the fun in that?
-Him
The clerk at Babies R Us didn’t remember Nina Martin, but I hadn’t expected miracles. Dozens of pregnant women waddled the aisles every day. The ones ready to pop might have attracted attention, but Nina was young. I doubted she was even showing. She’d have passed unnoticed.
Especially since she didn’t give her real name.
Nina Martin hadn’t made any purchases, but Rachel Goodman cleared out the store.
The delivery was made last week, but, like everything else with this case, it didn’t make sense.
Nina had chosen to nest in a city well outside of Pittsburgh. The community of New Castle wasn’t a fantastic neighborhood to raise a family, but it did a damn good job of hiding people who didn’t want to be found.
The steel crash in the eighties devastated most towns surrounding the knot of the three rivers. Like a lot of the littler towns, New Castle never forgot. The town stayed in a stasis of times past. The only revitalization came from a new Giant Eagle grocery store, a Sheetz gas station, and all the soup and salad anyone would want from the local Eat N Park. The homes were old, the people tired, and, according to the FBI, the area had the distinction of being the second most dangerous city in Pennsylvania.
Not a place for Nina.
I parked outside a tiny house—more collection of timbers than anything resembling the sweet family home with picket fence and pretty garden Nina had left. I took careful steps over the half-rotten porch and knocked on the door.
Nothing.
If she had run, I didn’t expect her to welcome me with opened arms.
“Nina! It’s Detective McKenna from the Pittsburgh police.” I pounded again. “Remember me? We talked two weeks ago with your mom and dad.”
Silence. And not the good kind where you could hear someone listening back.
“Nina!” I pounded harder. The wood rattled against the frame. “Open the door!”
“Lady!” An irritated man hollered at me. “You break that door, and I’m suing!”
I turned, greeting a huffing, puffing man as his robe began to fail. He mercifully restrung the belt before I had to arrest him for indecent exposure—though, judging by the quick flash he awarded me, it’d be the proudest moment in his little life.
He hauled his pot belly between me and the door and pointed a sausage finger in my face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is my property. You can’t just bash your way into it.”
My turn to flash him, but the badge carried a bit more heft. Sufficiently cowed, he apologized with a quick wave.
“Sorry. Just protecting my rental.”
“And the tenants?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Right. “Are you renting this home to a girl by the name of Nina Martin?”
“Who?”
“Nina.” I pulled her picture from my coat and handed it to him. “Recognize her?”
“Yeah, but that ain’t Nina. That’s Rachel.”
“Rachel Goodman?”
“Yeah.”
“How long has she lived here?”
“About…three months? Maybe?” He fidgeted on the porch, stomping his slippered feet against the cold. “She okay? I didn’t get this month’s rent yet. Figured I’d cut her a break since she was so young—”
I frowned. “More than young. She’s fourteen.”
A dozen guilty realizations flooded his expression, and he tightened his robe a bit more. “Fourteen? Nah. You got it wrong.”
“Listen…” I prompted him with a wiggle of my eyebrows.
“Frank. Frank Delain.”
“Look, Frank.
The kid’s fourteen. A minor can’t legally sign a rental agreement, and I got a feeling you didn’t ask for ID when you let her move in. So, let’s do it the easy way. Let me in the apartment.”
“Why?” He bristled. “I know my rights. You got a warrant?”
“This girl has been reported missing by the Pittsburgh Police Department. There’s an Amber Alert out for her return.”
“Shit.”
“And a man she’s associated with just murdered a woman in the city before taking his own life.” I frowned. “There’s reason to believe they’re married.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Frank rubbed his face, his hand not stopping until it brushed into the receding gray around his temples. “Alan? You tellin’ me Alan murdered a woman?” His voice lowered to a hiss. “You tellin’ me they’re married?”
“Do you know Alan?”
“Know him? Christ. He paid me the first two month’s rent! I had no idea they were married!”
They weren’t. Not legally. “They’re involved. Now he’s dead, and you haven’t seen or heard from Nina…Rachel? She hasn’t contacted her family in two weeks, but I know furniture for the nursery was delivered here last Friday.”
“Holy Christ—she’s pregnant?”
I didn’t have the patience for this. “Let me save you the hundred bucks. Unlock the door before I put my boot through it.”
“You wouldn’t…”
I sniffed the air. “Smells like smoke to me.”
“Fine. Just wait.” His face shaded a shamed red as he hunted through his pockets for the key. “Can’t believe she’s pregnant.”
“Really?” I hardened my voice. “Got a reason to be worried?”
“I never touched her. Never did anything wrong. Honest. Couldn’t have.” He fiddled with the key, his hands shaking too hard to get it in the lock. “She was…weird.”
“How so?”
Wrong key. He fumbled with the ring and it clattered to the porch. I resisted the urge to bust the damn thing in.
“Quiet. Too quiet. She wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. Hell, she wouldn’t talk to me unless Alan was here. It was like…” He shrugged at me. “She was afraid of men.”
My heart twisted, but I’d expected that. Two years was a long time to be away from home and more than enough opportunity to find trouble. But she could still change it. She could go home. Face what happened. And her family would help her—and her baby.