by T. R. Ragan
The picture had been taken a few days before she’d disappeared. Five years old and dressed as a princess, she’d been ripped from Dani’s life at the time when playing pretend had become more complex and her favorite three words seemed to be “Look at me!”
The door opened and her assistant, Quinn Sullivan, walked in, carrying a bankers box.
“Hey,” she said as she strolled across the room, set the box on her desk, and went about removing her backpack.
At five foot seven inches, twenty-two-year-old Quinn was a good three inches taller than Dani. Her long dark-brown hair was parted down the middle. She never wore makeup. Her teeth were straight and white, her brows naturally thick. The jeans she wore were ripped so that when she sat down, her knee jutted out like a sun-bleached bone in the Sahara Desert.
“Good morning,” Dani said. “What’s in the box?”
“Grandma decided to take up watercolor, which meant cleaning out the extra bedroom. I wasn’t happy about it, but then I remembered the unused basement here at the office and figured you wouldn’t mind if I set up shop down there.” She gestured toward the door that led downstairs to a damp, windowless room.
Dani raised an eyebrow. “‘Set up shop’?”
“Yeah. I like to spread out all the information I’ve collected over the years on Tinsley’s case and others, like the teenage girl who disappeared recently. Seeing everything together helps me focus on what I’m trying to accomplish.”
“I had no idea you’ve been gathering information all this time.”
“Really? Even before you took me on my first stakeout, I would spend hours on the internet. If I wasn’t at the library, I was usually sitting in front of Detective Whitton’s desk, picking his brain about one case or another. In fact, that’s where I was when I first heard about Tinsley.”
James Lee Whitton, a detective with the Sacramento Police Department, was the lead investigator for Tinsley’s case. He’d always been there for Dani, listening when she called him with a new lead. No matter how many times the information went nowhere, he took what she had to say seriously. She trusted him.
“How did you meet Detective Whitton?” Dani asked. “I always assumed it was through his wife, Teresa, since she worked at the high school you attended.”
Quinn shook her head. “I’ve never met his wife. After Mom took off and Dad got sick, I called a taxi and was dropped off at the police station. I sat in the front lobby all morning until Detective Whitton took pity on me and brought me into his office. I was sixteen and more determined than ever to find my mom, refusing to believe she would just up and leave us without a word said or even a note.” Quinn looked to the ceiling as if in thought. “I believe I had just turned seventeen when I was sitting in his office and he got the call about a little girl who’d gone missing on her first day of kindergarten. Detective Whitton wouldn’t tell me what was going on. After he jumped up and left, I noticed he’d scribbled the name Tinsley Callahan on his desk calendar.”
Dani’s chest tightened.
“Months later,” Quinn went on, “you moved onto our street, and I remember thinking it was fate. We both had someone we needed to find, and two heads are always better than one.”
Quinn scooped up the box again and looked at Dani. “The five-year anniversary of Tinsley’s abduction is coming up. I have a great picture of her that I think I’ll print and distribute to keep her in people’s minds.”
Quinn headed off before Dani had a chance to respond.
Again she looked at the picture and exhaled. Tinsley.
Three months ago, a man by the name of Kyle Harmon, doing time in the high-security lockup at Corcoran, had confessed to Tinsley’s abduction. His face had been plastered on every news channel for weeks. Dani didn’t believe his story about how he’d gotten the help of a random woman whose name he didn’t recall. He said he’d buried Tinsley in a greenbelt off Bond Road in Elk Grove. So far, though, no body had been located.
Whitton’s superiors. The prosecutors. The judge. And even Matthew, her ex-husband, had been quick to believe him, certain that Kyle Harmon, a drug user with violent tendencies, was their man and justice was being served since he was already behind bars. Harmon had confessed from his prison cell, where he was doing time for killing a man during a bar fight. Dani thought his confession had appeared forced—a plea-bargaining ploy to escape a life sentence.
Everyone wanted closure.
They wanted the case closed.
But Dani wanted more than that. She wanted to find her daughter. It was exactly the reason she’d become a PI. As it turned out, she was a decent investigator. Although she had yet to find Tinsley, she’d had the good fortune of finding other people’s children.
Despite Kyle Harmon’s confession, her daughter’s case was still open. The number of officers working the case had long ago been scaled down from twelve to one, leaving Detective Whitton as the last man standing.
The sound of Quinn trudging back up the stairs caught her attention. She looked up in time to see a Channel 10 News van pull to the curb across the street.
After all the brouhaha with Kyle Harmon’s confession, Dani had thought the media would have forgotten about Tinsley. But the fifth anniversary of her daughter’s abduction was tomorrow. Having the media show up was a surprise—a good surprise—and yet talking to reporters, trying to stay optimistic year after year, was beginning to take its toll on her psyche.
Quinn stood at the window, looking out. “They’re here to talk about Tinsley, aren’t they?”
“I think so,” Dani said, swallowing the knot lodged in her throat. As lucky as she was to have the media show up, especially since most missing children were never publicized at all, she was suddenly flooded with emotions.
“I’ll take care of them,” Quinn said, as if she sensed Dani’s reluctance to talk to reporters.
Quinn took long, brisk strides toward the door.
Dani considered stopping her, and yet she didn’t budge. Another year had passed, and she still had no idea who might have taken her little girl. Nothing had changed in all these years. The first question asked when a young child went missing usually had to do with custody violation and visitation rights—but she and Matthew had been happily married at the time. Next came other relatives who might have a bone to pick—but Dani was an only child, and Matthew’s sister lived back East and they rarely talked. That left a stranger abduction, which was extremely rare.
And if that were the case, why Tinsley? That was the second question authorities and Dani asked themselves over and over again. Someone went out of their way to dress up like Dani and walk right onto the school premises—a high-risk scenario with lots of people and security cameras. Who would do such a thing?
The third question was about Dani and whether she had enemies. People who would want to cause her pain or make her suffer. How many nights had she spent over the past five years, staring into the dark while trying to recall if she’d upset a friend, coworker, acquaintance, or complete stranger?
No one ever came to mind.
Dani wasn’t one to make enemies.
She wasn’t perfect. Not even close. Like most people, she had bad days. When she used to get frustrated, she would sometimes cry. But she’d never been one to shout or curse. She’d never understood road rage, and never once had she thrown an object in anger. It wasn’t who she was.
At least it didn’t use to be.
These days, she often felt restless and jittery, irritated and hostile. Sometimes her hands would involuntarily curl into fists at the slightest upset. The changes had happened slowly. In the beginning, a perceived offense made her heart race. As time went on, frustration turned to anger.
Anger had become her friend.
Not always a good friend, but a friend all the same. Hovering and protective. She felt it most days—the physical and mental changes in her body as adrenaline soared through her veins, affecting her organs, digestion, and mood. Her heart rate would elevate and g
et her blood pumping fast until she felt an incredible heat. Her breathing became shallow, and her abdomen would tighten. Sweaty and shaky, she wondered sometimes if she were morphing into the Hulk.
And she was glad for it because feeling angry was so much better than feeling pain.
Outside she could see the camera crew setting up equipment on the sidewalk. Quinn approached a woman in a suit who was holding a microphone and barking orders at those around her.
Quinn started talking to the woman, and when she finished speaking, the reporter signaled to her crew, prompting the cameraman to rush over.
Dani found the remote in her desk drawer and clicked on the television mounted on the wall. She scrolled to Channel 10 News. After a commercial break, the camera zoomed in on an anchorwoman sitting behind a desk. She talked about Tinsley’s abduction, updating viewers about what had happened five years earlier. Then she turned it over to reporter Abby Moretti, who was on the scene for a live update.
“Good morning,” Abby Moretti said, the microphone held close to her chin. “I’m standing outside Dani Callahan’s office in Sacramento. After five-year-old Tinsley Callahan went missing, Dani Callahan spent every waking hour searching for her only child. Month after grueling month, without an answer to what happened, led to Dani Callahan’s decision to become a private investigator. Although she now spends her time helping others find missing loved ones, she has yet to find Tinsley.”
The cameraman panned outward so viewers could see Quinn.
“I’ve been talking to Dani Callahan’s assistant, Quinn Sullivan, about the disappearance of young Tinsley Callahan. Five years ago, Tinsley’s abduction held the world’s attention. Quinn, what can you tell us about Dani Callahan? How is she holding up?”
“She is just as heartbroken today as she was the day Tinsley was taken.” Dani watched with surprise as Quinn held up a five-by-seven-inch picture of Tinsley on her first day of school. “She will never give up hope of finding Tinsley alive.”
“What about Kyle Harmon’s confession?”
Quinn snorted. “Kyle Harmon is serving time for murder, and we believe he made a plea deal to avoid additional prison time.”
Dani groaned. Not because that wasn’t the truth, but because she had no way of proving it.
Abby Moretti perked up. “Are you saying you believe Kyle Harmon is not responsible for the disappearance of Tinsley Callahan?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“Not at this time,” Quinn said. “But I think it’s important we ask ourselves why he chose to confess now. And where’s the body?”
“If Harmon didn’t take Tinsley,” the reporter asked, “then who did?”
“The woman seen on the security camera at the school,” Quinn said with confidence. “We are tracking her down and getting closer every day.”
The reporter pursed her lips, seemingly thrown off her game by the unexpected. “Can you tell us more?”
“Afraid not,” Quinn said. “I’ve said too much already.”
Dani’s cell phone buzzed just as Quinn held up Tinsley’s picture again so the viewers could get a good look at her. Dani’s ex-husband, Matthew, was calling. Dani turned down the volume on the TV and picked up the call.
“Why the hell are you letting Quinn speak to reporters on our behalf?”
“She’s not speaking on anyone’s behalf,” Dani said.
“You need to put a stop to it right now.”
A few seconds ago, Dani had been caught off guard by Quinn’s falsehood about being closer to tracking down the woman who took Tinsley, but as she listened to her ex-husband’s complaints, she realized there was a reason Quinn was showing Tinsley’s picture and stirring the pot—she wanted to get people talking about the case again. Kyle Harmon’s confession a few weeks ago had brought Tinsley’s abduction back to the forefront of national news, but when a body wasn’t found and seventeen-year-old Ali Cross went missing, Tinsley had been quickly forgotten again.
Dani’s heartbeat kicked up a notch. Quinn was onto something. She could feel it in her bones. “I’m not going to stop her,” Dani said, interrupting Matthew midsentence as he rambled on. “Until we find Tinsley this case is still open.”
A low grumbling came over the line. “Not again, Dani. We need to move forward, not backward. Kyle Harmon confessed to the crime. It’s time to take down the website.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Dani,” he said with a sigh. “It’s over.”
Her pulse accelerated. Other than setting up the website and keeping it updated, which took no time at all, Matthew had rarely talked about their daughter after she went missing. The second their divorce was finalized, Matthew had begun dating. Two years ago, he had married a woman named Carole. Their first child was due next month. Dani couldn’t help but feel envious.
“I never believed Kyle Harmon was the culprit,” Dani said. “Doesn’t it bother you that they haven’t found her remains, that there is zero proof he’s our guy?”
“He confessed. They will find her.”
“You don’t know that,” Dani said, fighting to stay calm. “Until Tinsley is found, nothing has changed.”
“You’re obsessed.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Did you stop taking your medication?”
She didn’t need this. Her life was no longer his business. She disconnected their call. After their divorce, her obsession with finding Tinsley had become a major source of contention between them. He’d begged her to go to therapy, pushed her to take whatever medication the therapist—his therapist—suggested. He hadn’t stopped bugging her about it until she’d told him she had a prescription for Prozac. That much was true. But she’d never taken a pill. Not because she didn’t believe in taking medication, but because she wanted to feel every emotion that came with losing her daughter. She wasn’t a sadist. She was an optimist—at least when it came to finding her daughter. It would happen. She would find her.
The door opened. It was Quinn. Her face appeared flushed, invigorated. She glanced at the television on her way to her desk, took a seat, and got to work as if nothing unusual had just happened.
“You lied to the reporter about being on the trail of the woman who took Tinsley.”
Without looking up, Quinn shrugged. “It wasn’t a lie. We will find that woman and Tinsley. It’s only a matter of time.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ali Cross woke with a start, her heart pounding against her ribs. The cold seeped up from the cement floor through the paper-thin mattress, reminding her that this wasn’t a nightmare—it was real. She’d been taken by a madman, thrown into his van, and then dumped in a cold, dark room in a garage or warehouse, she wasn’t sure. Her throat was raw and sore from screaming and calling out for help for too many days and nights. She pushed herself to her feet, her legs weak and knees wobbly as she blindly made her way across the room. She walked slowly with her arms held out straight in front of her, careful not to run into a wall.
It was pitch dark—nighttime. During the day, light seeped in through cracks and crevices. There were no windows in the room. Just a mattress, a couple of cases of bottled water, and a small plastic portable potty for her to relieve herself.
Today would be day nine, maybe ten—she was no longer certain. Until a few days ago, a tray of food had been left near the door, but it stopped coming after she was awakened by a man in the middle of the night.
She hadn’t been able to see him clearly, but he was sitting or kneeling on the floor, his face inches from hers, his hand sweeping the hair from her forehead. She’d hoped he was there to save her. She’d cried and begged for help, but he just kept talking, telling her she was special and that he’d been watching her for months. All hope drained from her when she realized he was her captor. He said they were destined to be together and she was his girlfriend. Anger set in and she lowered her head and bit his hand, ground her teeth, and wouldn
’t let go. She’d made him bleed—felt the blood on her lips, tasted it.
His cry sounded like a wounded animal.
She hadn’t seen him since. And now she wondered if he’d ever come back. Her stomach growled. Her tongue felt dry, her lips parched.
The tips of her fingers finally brushed against the door. She felt around for the doorknob. Locked. She got down on her knees and crawled around on all fours, hoping he’d left something to eat while she was sleeping. But there was nothing.
A horrible thought sprang to life. What if he was dead—killed in a car accident on his way to the store or work or whatever? She never should have bitten him. She should have stayed calm and asked him questions. Sitting now, her back against the wall, her legs pulled up close to her chest, she tried to think of how she might escape. If only she had a weapon, a stick, anything at all, she could bash him over the head when, or if, he opened the door.
Things like this didn’t happen in real life, she thought. Child abductions and serial killers only happened in the movies. And yet here she was, shivering and scared, wondering if she was going to die.
She thought of her mom and her sister and hoped they were looking for her. The last time she’d seen her mother was early morning before she left for school. They had fought, like they often did. It was finally summer and school would be out soon. All her friends were going to the water park to celebrate early. Ali had been excited until Mom told her about the promotion she’d received at the bank where she worked, which meant Ali would have to watch her little sister, Gracie, every day.
Guilt crept through her. The last text she’d received before she was taken was from Gracie: Will you be home soon? Mom left for work and I think someone is in our backyard. At the time Ali had been annoyed. Ever since Dad left them and ran off with his secretary, Gracie had become extra needy, always hovering as if she were afraid Ali and Mom would disappear if she looked away for too long.
