by Mary Stone
“I guess you’re right. I hope this is enough, because I really need a break on this case.”
“Fortis riding your ass?”
“Not really, but he’s been asking about it.” Her eyes went to the door to the evidence room. “And John Doe is just one man. There are so many more cases I need to hit.”
“And when those are done, there’ll be more to take their place.”
Ellie rolled her head until her vertebrae snapped and popped, then let it fall back until she was looking up at the ceiling. “Let a girl dream, okay? I know for every case we solve, more are going cold every day, but I’m not slowing down until they’re all solved.” She gestured at the picture of John Doe, her heart going out to him. “This man and others like him deserve to rest in peace.”
“We have some hits,” Jillian said, drawing Ellie’s attention back to the computer screen.
“That looks like him.” Ellie pointed at the photo of a smiling brown-haired man standing next to a dark-haired, blue-eyed woman holding the camera for a selfie. “Was this man in the photo in any of the original search results?”
“I don’t think so.”
“This woman is in almost all of his recent photos. Can we see who she is?”
Jillian nodded, and a few keystrokes later, they had their answer. “The woman in the pictures is the owner of the same social account that posted the pictures. Valerie Price.”
Ellie’s heart picked up speed. “Did she tag him in those photos?”
Jillian shook her head. “No, but she names him more than once as Ben Brooks, her boyfriend. She also points out that he’s not big on social media, so she has to be the one to show the world what a wonderful man he is.”
“Sounds like they were happy, and he was just a little camera shy.”
“If this is him, it explains why he was so hard to find in the first place.”
“Can you check her posts from two years ago and see if she mentioned he was missing?” The excitement that zinged into her bloodstream every time Ellie found a lead hit her, making her feel like she’d consumed a box of Twinkies and was on a sugar high. “Maybe we can get a more accurate timeframe for his death than thirty to a hundred days.”
“Why is it so many days?” Jillian’s fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard.
“Dr. Faizal’s report said that the body thawed and refroze more than once, which made nailing down a smaller window difficult. There were also the scavengers and being outside but partially protected.”
“That’s a lot of variables.”
“It is.” Ellie checked the case file like she had a million times so far. “And apparently Jones was satisfied with Dr. Faizal’s estimation because there’s nothing here tracking the weather during that time.”
“It’s a wonder he solved any cases as inept as he was.” Jillian lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you think he was having issues, and they made him retire?”
“It’s possible. People can show early signs of dementia younger than most of us realize. By all accounts, he was a good detective before, and he managed to solve quite a few cases.”
“It could be burnout, I guess.” Jillian pulled up Valerie’s social media account. When it finished loading, she sucked in a deep breath.
Ellie barely dared to inhale as Jillian scrolled down the feed and back up, going back to the most recent post again. She tapped the screen.
“This post was a little over two years ago.” Ellie read the caption beneath the photo of Ben and Valerie’s smiling faces out loud. “‘Hitting the soup kitchen tonight and spreading all the love. As you make your New Year’s Resolutions tonight, resolve to do more good and spread more light in the world. Thankful for my Ben.’ Is this her last post?”
“Yeah. Sounds like they had big plans together. Do you think she’s missing too?”
“I think we should look into it. This picture has thousands of comments, even though Valerie only has a couple hundred followers.”
Jillian opened the comments section, and they read through the messages from friends.
By the end of the first page, Ellie knew they were dealing with two missing persons, not just one.
“There are dozens of accounts asking where Valerie is, starting about a week after she posted the last picture with Ben. Then here, her friends are obviously talking to each other about organizing a search a week after that.” Ellie jotted down a few of the names. “This woman right here seems to be the most vocal.”
Jillian clicked on the name, opening a separate tab so they could compare the posts side by side. “Tanya Valle. Her bio lists the same sorority as Valerie’s.”
“That makes sense. They were probably good friends, according to the pics she has posted of them.” Ellie pointed out a post as Jillian scrolled through the woman’s page. “There’s an announcement that a search was unsuccessful.”
“Then, a flood of thoughts and prayers start.” Jillian continued to scroll. “These go on for almost a month, but after that, people seem to check in on milestones. Here’s a bunch of ‘Still thinking about you’ six months later, and again at one year, eighteen months and on the two-year anniversary.”
“What about Valerie? Can we run her through a search?”
“Since she uses her full name as her handle, it should only take a minute.” Jillian keyed in a few commands, intent on the screen in front of her. The results came in moments later, and Jillian clicked through them while Ellie took notes. “All her other social media accounts are the same as the first one. Lots of activity that stops abruptly a little over two years ago. No one seems to know what happened to her after that.”
Ellie nodded, her eyes darting over the screen as she skimmed through the comments from concerned friends and family members. “And it looks like our John Doe might not be the only missing person in this case.” Ellie took a few notes, then gestured to Valerie’s picture on the screen. “Can you compare Valerie’s picture to our Jane Does while I check out Ben Brooks?”
“Of course.” Jillian caught her lower lip in her teeth, hazel eyes intent on the screen.
“What about a dark web search? Are we getting anything from that?”
Jillian groaned and deflated in her seat. “I put in for permission to remove the safety net that blocks that from our computers. It keeps them out.”
“Them?”
“Phishers, scammers, criminals. You name it. The police department isn’t any safer from cybercriminals than your average citizen. The anti-virus software we use is better than what the public can buy, and it protects us from being hacked, but it also prevents me from accessing the shadier sites. I can search standard websites that are password protected, but the dark, deeply guarded stuff is still off-limits.”
Ellie pursed her lips in disappointment. “All right, we’ll deal with that later. Right now, I need you to find out everything you can about Valerie Price, and I’ll take Ben. Now that we know who they are, maybe we can put together some more of the pieces.”
Jillian nodded and went to work.
Ellie sat down at her desk, reviewing all the notes Dr. Faizal had given her and jotting down her thoughts as she went. When she’d gone through everything she had, she searched for information on hunting seasons, comparing the opening and closing dates from two years prior to what she knew about Ben’s movements. She scowled as she wrote down the dates and compared them to the timeframe of his death.
“Valerie isn’t a Jane Doe.” Jillian grabbed a sheet of paper off the printer, yanking Ellie out of her thoughts. “At least, not one of the ones we have in our database. Valerie was reported missing a few days after that picture was taken.” Jillian paused when Ellie frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“That picture was posted on January first, in the evening.”
“Okay?”
Ellie tapped her pen on the notepad. “Hunting season ended on January first, and the location tag on that picture is hours from where John Doe was found. It’s not possible that it was a hunti
ng accident unless someone was hunting after the season ended. I had my doubts, but this confirms it.”
Jillian shrugged. “It could’ve been a poacher hunting without a license. That happens.”
“I guess it could be, but why hunt a few days after the hunting season ends? Wouldn’t the person might as well have just hunted legally?”
“People do ridiculous things, maybe they were still tracking that elusive monster buck. But I wonder if the hunting season actually ended on the first?”
“That’s what the search brought up.” Ellie pointed to her notes. “I searched by year.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Jillian got up and moved over to check out Ellie’s notes on hunting. “Didn’t you say the area where he was found is an open space preserve?”
“Yes, it is. Does that matter?”
“Absolutely. Hunting season at open space preserves can run a little differently than everywhere else. It usually starts on the same day as the zone-wide hunting, but how long the season lasts depends on the deer population, because hunting there is only allowed when the herd needs culling.”
Ellie nodded. “That’s what Tucker Penland said. What if the population is still too big at the end of the designated season?”
“That doesn’t happen often, but they would extend the season in that case and offer special permits.” Jillian typed on Ellie’s keyboard as she talked, and when the search results popped up, she smiled triumphantly. “There it is. Hunting season on Bartlett Woods ended December fifteenth two years ago.”
“That’s two weeks before Ben and Valerie went missing.”
“Which means it definitely wasn’t a hunter with a valid license.”
“And it probably wasn’t an accident.” Ellie went silent for a moment, churning through the new information. “This isn’t mentioned anywhere in the file. Why didn’t Jones verify the dates?”
“Maybe it never crossed his mind? Someone who doesn’t hunt might not even know about the open space preserve hunting season differences.” Jillian shrugged. “My dad is a big hunter, which is why I know. He used to drag me out into the field. Even shot one, which put an end to my hunting career when I cried a river. You would think it would be common knowledge, but most of us hunt for grocery store bargains instead of hunting animals for food.”
“Could Jones have really been this incompetent, though?”
Jillian scowled. “Or lazy. Plus, no one Ben Brooks knew bothered to report him missing. As far as cases go, this one obviously didn’t warrant much attention. It wasn’t a priority, and Jones was probably trying to move it off his desk so he could get to the next one.”
“So, if it seems like an accident and basically open and shut, no one in the community is going to raise a fuss.” Ellie frowned, blowing out a frustrated breath. “There still should’ve been more done on this case. So many things didn’t add up from the start, yet he blew through it fast and moved on.”
“We’re doing something about it now.” Jillian’s resolute voice bolstered Ellie’s determination.
“And what about Valerie? Is her body out there somewhere too? Her family and friends deserve closure, if so.” Ellie gestured to the entrance of the evidence room and the cold case locker beyond. “They all do.”
“Lucky for them, you’re here to give them that,” Jillian said. “But you know how it feels not to have that closure, and Jones didn’t have that feeling driving him. I’m not saying he wasn’t a crap detective, but it’s obvious you have far more passion for the job than he did near the end of his career. That’s the difference.”
“I hope you’re right.” Ellie’s jaw tightened. She searched Jillian’s face for a long moment before she continued. “Speaking of my case, I wanted to ask you about searching my picture using Entity. Maybe we can find something that will help with my own case.”
Jillian’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure you want to do that? There’s no telling what we might find.”
Ellie nodded. “I’m sure. I need to learn as much as I can about what happened, so no one else goes through what I did.”
Jillian grimaced, scrunching up her shoulders. “I guess now is a good time to admit that I already did.”
“You did?” Ellie blinked, startled by the admission. “And?”
“Without being able to look into the dark web, I couldn’t find much, and what I did find was just chatter about what happened to you in private forums. Nothing that led anywhere.”
Chatter was more than they’d had before. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Maybe what we’ve found about Ben Brooks and Valerie Price will convince Fortis to push for more online access, since Brooks is his pet project.”
Ellie lifted her chin, already preparing herself for the confrontation. “I’ll talk to him.”
“And after our success with the sketch of Ben Brooks this morning, I think a picture of you from when you were fifteen might help.”
“I’ll dig one up.”
“I don’t know if it will make a big difference, but it can’t hurt.”
Ellie nodded, gathering her notes from the desk and shoving them into her messenger bag.
“Where are you going?”
“To talk to Fortis about getting you the authorization you need without telling him that we’re investigating my abduction, then I’m going to focus on Valerie’s disappearance. Her body has to be somewhere. It’s pretty obvious that she and Ben must have been abducted together, so my money is on the same killer. If she’s still in Bartlett Woods, we need to find her before whoever killed them knows we’re on to them.”
11
There was a moment each day, just before Valerie opened her eyes that she forgot about it all.
Remembered walking with Ben after dark, hand in hand.
The last night she’d been free.
Before the moment of terror.
The bag going over her head.
Her stomach dropping, like that first plunge over the highest point of a rollercoaster, when she was yanked off her feet and tossed into the back of a vehicle. A van.
Fear had consumed her as she groped around on her hands and knees in the pitch-black, trying to find a way out as the vehicle sped down the streets. Every turn threw her one way, then the other on the rough carpeted floor. Each breath felt like it might be her last. Then a sudden stop, so fast she tumbled forward, her body coming to a stop at the same instant the door was flung open. She was picked up by a rough hand and thrown over a large man’s shoulder, her muffled screams falling on deaf ears.
Reality came filtering in, the tiny stretch of time after sleep held her hostage never lasted long enough. It was the only place she was free. Once she opened her eyes, the illusion of safety disappeared, replaced by the never-ending nightmare that had been her reality for the past two years.
This day started the same as every other day. Bleary-eyed, Valerie crawled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom with her head down, pretending to be overwhelmed by the lights that were gradually growing brighter. With one delicate hand shielding her face, she pushed through the bathroom door and closed it behind her. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.
I’m not a pervert, he’d said, explaining why the large bathroom was the only room without a single camera. The only time he didn’t watch her was when she was in this tiny space. As if he had morals.
As if it made the rest of what he did all right.
She stepped in front of the bathroom mirror and ran a brush through her hair, pointedly looking into her own blue eyes in her reflection. Her dark brown hair was darker now than it had ever been, having not been touched by the rays of the sun for so long. On the plus side, the freckles that she’d hated since childhood had all but disappeared.
“It’s been sixty-five weeks and five days in this place. This is not your home, these are not your clothes, and your name is not Taryn. You are Valerie Price, and you will escape this hellhole someday. I swear to you.” Her hands t
rembled as she whispered the words to the scared-looking woman in the mirror, but her voice was even, unwavering, as it was every morning.
Done with the daily pep talk, she dropped to the tiled floor and hurriedly did several push-ups, knees off the floor.
Next, she laid on the plush bathroom mat and did sit-ups until her core burned, and she struggled to keep her breathing quiet. The décor was half college coed, half preteen struggling to hold on to her childhood, and at the same time, grasping desperately for the womanhood just out of her reach. At twelve, Valerie would’ve killed to be surrounded by so much fluff and frill. Now, she wanted to kill the man who’d put her in it.
Her eyes drifted up to the timer above the door that counted down the minutes. Her morning routine was the longest. A full hour of privacy. The only time she ever felt free. She’d already burned five precious minutes.
She jumped to her feet, stretching until her breathing quieted, and the urge to scream was tamped down.
The routine was the same every day. Keeping it up was the only thing that kept her grounded, kept her strong. It took exactly twelve minutes to run through the entire set, but if she worked out outside the privacy of the bathroom, he would know. He would wonder why she was working to stay fit, what she was up to, and he would know he couldn’t trust her.
You can trust me, Taryn. A low moan caught in her throat as the words echoed in her head.
She needed him to believe he could trust her, and that she trusted him. When she didn’t do exactly as he asked, he took away her food. And when that didn’t work, she was plunged into darkness until she complied.
He controlled her.
He controlled everything.
She quickly stripped out of her delicate lace panties and matching t-shirt, stuffing them into the laundry chute that was no bigger than the size of her fist. Activated by a motion sensor, the vacuum hidden in the thick wall turned on, sucking her garments away to be laundered. At least, that’s what he said happened to the “clothes” she wore, but if he washed them, then why did she never wear the same item twice?