“Several months ago.”
That surprised her. Amanda had expected it would have been longer ago than that given the boarded windows. It would seem something kept it from going on the market. She scribbled in her notepad, Why not for sale?
“Hey, whatcha writing there?” Ted jabbed a finger toward the page, and Amanda held it toward her chest to take it out of his view.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” She offered him a small smile.
“Okay,” he said, not that he sounded convinced.
“You ever see anyone hanging around the place after that couple moved out?” Trent interjected.
Ted looked at him. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Amanda asked, skeptical. “It’s a yes or no type of question, Mr. Dixon.”
Ted glanced over a shoulder, then back at her, and stiffened. “No. I never saw anyone.”
She didn’t have to spend any time studying him to tell he was lying. He just wasn’t about to talk to the police, and she couldn’t force him to—yet. She handed him her card. “Call me if your memory returns.” She turned and left.
Trent matched her stride. “I think he saw something.”
“Makes two of us.” She faced him. “People were squatting at five thirty-two. We know that because of the mattresses, but who are they and where are they now?”
“And did they kill Jane Doe?”
Amanda considered this and shook her head. “You know what? Probably not. Why burn down their shelter?” She glanced at a cruiser posted in front of 532. The place would have surveillance on it for a while, and if anyone suspicious came around, they’d be brought in and questioned. She had faith in that. Just as she trusted canvassing officers to talk to all the neighbors. “I’m thinking we head back to the station, pull the property records, and see if we can get our hands on that nine-one-one recording. Then we’ll come back and talk to the person who placed the call.”
“Works for me.”
“I’ve got my car here, so I’ll meet you back there, but I may be a little delayed. I’m dying for a coffee and something to eat. Want me to grab you anything?”
Trent gave her his order and went on his way, leaving her with her thoughts, which were focused on Jane Doe. Someone out there was probably missing their daughter, but she’d been stolen from them, her life wiped out before it really began. Amanda would do everything in her power to make the person responsible for that pay.
Four
It was going on two in the afternoon when Amanda stopped at Hannah’s Diner on the way out of Dumfries. She and Trent had spent more time on site than she would have guessed. No wonder her stomach was growling. While Hannah’s had tasty food, Amanda mostly gravitated there for the coffee, which was the best, bar none, that Amanda had ever tasted.
The place was owned by May Byrd and named after her daughter, Hannah—the same Hannah who was Amanda’s mother’s defense attorney.
Amanda went inside and found May standing behind the counter. She was in her sixties but still worked as a server. Today, empathy flooded her facial features. “Hey, sweetheart. How ya holdin’ up?”
Amanda knew how to read May. The question was in reference to the situation with Amanda’s mother. “We’ll get through this.” She spoke with far more confidence than she felt. After all, her mother was guilty despite her plea, and Amanda feared some judge would want to make an example out of her.
May put a hand on Amanda’s forearm. “I have no doubt ya will. You Steeles are strong, but you’ve had to deal with an awful lot in your lives.”
“I’m not going to argue with that.”
“Hannah doesn’t tell me any details on account of attorney-client privilege, but I get the impression there’s reason to hold out some hope.” May leaned across the counter, peered into Amanda’s eyes. “Am I right?”
“Too soon to say, but Hannah’s working to build a solid defense to get a lighter sentence.” It was another topic that sent Amanda into a moral debate. The man who had driven drunk and killed her family got a measly five years in prison. Hannah was striving to get Amanda’s mother’s sentence down to fifteen years with parole in seven and a half. Thinking of her mother in prison for all that time was unbearable. To the victim’s sole surviving relative, it wouldn’t feel like enough. It was strange how perspective changed everything.
“Well, if my Hannah can sort something out, she will. I’m rooting for your mother, Mandy.” She straightened out and asked, “So what can I get ya?”
Amanda was relieved that the chitchat had ended. Talking about her mother’s crime just made it more real. She ordered two large black coffees, a ham and cheese on wholewheat for herself, and a chicken-salad sandwich on white bread for Trent.
As May prepared everything, Amanda lost herself in her thoughts. She used to hold out so much hope for the future, but life had taught her not to be so foolish.
A few minutes later, May was putting the wrapped sandwiches into a brown bag and shoving the coffee cups into a take-out tray.
“Thanks,” Amanda said and headed for the door.
A man was on his way in and backtracked to hold the door for her.
“Thanks,” she told him.
He didn’t say anything, and she continued to her car and got behind the wheel.
Once there, she unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite, letting her thoughts drift again. So often she’d just tell people she was doing fine. She’d put on a brave and confident front like she truly believed everything with her mother would work out okay. Of course, she’d face prison; it was just a question of how long.
Hannah planned to use Amanda’s dad’s character in her mother’s defense. Amanda wasn’t entirely sure if that would work. While she had faith in her father, she also knew that he wasn’t perfect and above reproach. Many years ago, rumors had circulated that called his integrity into question, but they likely had their origins in the murmurings of ungrateful underlings who wanted to smudge his name. But she couldn’t just dismiss everything that was whispered about him either. While she preferred to believe the best of her father, she also didn’t view him through rose-colored glasses.
She finished her sandwich and drove to Central deep in thought.
Five
Central was one of Prince William County PD’s three stations, and one of two located in Woodbridge. The Homicide Unit was housed at Central, along with some other specialized departments and administration.
Once inside, Amanda headed to the warren of cubicles where Homicide was located. She and Trent had their own office spaces next to each other. The dividers were high enough to afford some privacy and dampen sound, but low enough to talk over.
Homicide was currently down one detective. She glanced over at where Detective Bishop, a.k.a. Cud, used to sit and wondered who would take his place and what they’d be like. She typically played well with others—unless they were partnered with her. Trent had been the only one to stick for this long, and there were still days she was amazed at how he’d wormed his way in. But he’d shown loyalty on several occasions—even when the circumstances wouldn’t have made it easy.
She found Trent at his desk and handed him his coffee and sandwich.
“Thanks,” he said, his gaze taking in her cup, but otherwise empty hands. “You’re not eating?”
“I couldn’t wait. Have you pulled the property records on five thirty-two Bill Drive yet?” she asked, switching tracks from the mindless banter.
“Just about to.”
“Okay, good. I have a feeling a bank owns it, but just find out. If so, then get us someone to talk to.”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to follow up with the sergeant and see if he has an update on the status of the nine-one-one recording.” She set off down the hall toward Malone’s office. His door was shut, but she could see him through the window in the door. He waved her in.
She entered but didn’t bother to close the door or make herself comfortable. She wasn’t plan
ning to be there for long.
“Why don’t you sit.” The way he presented the offer made it more a command. There was no doubt when he added, “Close the door first.”
She did, then dropped into the chair across from his desk. “What’s up?”
He pointed to the coffee in her hand. “Where’s mine?”
“Next time.”
“All right. You came to me, so you start.”
“Just following up on the nine-one-one recording.” She sipped her coffee.
“It should be in your inbox soon.” He leaned forward, clasped his hands on the desk, and let out a loud sigh.
“What’s going on?” Given his body language, she wasn’t sure she wanted to press him.
He let out another sigh and shuffled some papers around on his desk. She held out a hand to stop him.
“Whatever it is, I can handle it.” She appreciated that he seemed to be trying to protect her from something, but she’d been through hell in this life and survived. “Sergeant?” Maybe using his title would jar him to speak.
“The lieutenant is moving to have you demoted.”
Amanda came close to jumping out of the chair. “What? Why?” She was aware the woman hated her, but as far as she knew she hadn’t given her any fresh reason to go after her. In fact, the last time she had an audience with the woman, Hill had thanked her for her work.
“She’s been keeping a close eye on your performance…”
“Then she’ll notice my close rate has been a hundred percent.”
He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “She’s more concerned with—or should I say interested in—the fact your mother has been charged with murder.”
“What does that have to do with me, and the job I’m doing?” It felt like little electric currents were running through her body.
“She believes that you could easily lose focus.”
She and Trent had worked two homicides since her mother was arrested, and the killers were now awaiting their day in court. “Regardless of what my close rate shows? Unbelievable.” Amanda gritted her teeth.
He held up a hand. “I know your close rate is incredible.”
She flailed her hands as if to say, Yep.
“If it was based on that alone—”
“It should be,” she burst out. Her heart was racing, and she was burning up. How dare this woman hold her mother’s actions against her? But Amanda instantly felt hypocritical. After all, she blamed herself. She asked herself the what-ifs, including what if she’d never pulled away from her family in their time of grief? Would her mother still have done what she had? “I know you’re on my side, but that woman—” She clamped her mouth shut, too angry to continue.
“She pisses the hell out of me too, but for now we’re stuck with her.”
“For now?” That was enough to make her sit straighter and give her some hope for the future.
“Didn’t mean to get you excited, and I probably shouldn’t say anything.”
“Please do.”
“Rumor’s going around that she may be transferring to—”
“She’s leaving the PWCPD? There is a God.”
“Amanda Steele,” he reprimanded, sounding more like a father or an uncle than her sergeant.
She should have known better than to bring God into any of this. Malone was far more religious than she could ever claim to be, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize. Her faith in a greater being had been shaken when her husband and daughter died. Also wiped out that day had been her unborn baby and her ability to have children in the future—collateral damage only she knew about.
Malone’s cheeks were flushed. “She’s not leaving the PWCPD. She just might not be in our face as much.”
Why doesn’t that make me feel better? “Where’s she transferring?” Dread balled up and kneaded in her gut.
“She’s looking to take over for Chief Paxton.” He clasped his hands again.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Ernie Paxton had become chief after her father had left the department. Paxton was four years older than her father, and she had never expected he’d stay at the post forever, but a little longer would have been nice. “She doesn’t deserve to be police chief. Please tell me there’s no chance in hell.” For some reason he never objected to mention of the fiery abyss; just don’t speak about God in vain.
“I wish I could. She has supporters on the county’s board of supervisors.”
Officially known as the Prince William County Board of Supervisors—the ones with the power to appoint the police chief.
“Surely someone else wants to be considered.” She groaned.
“Not that I know of.” He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah. But you don’t even need to worry about her promotion so much as the fact she’s determined to get you demoted before she leaves her role as LT.”
She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. “She’s really threatened by me that much?”
“Seems so.”
She knew Sherry Hill and Nathan Steele had never gotten along—neither had respect for the other one. But now that rivalry threatened Amanda’s career. “I’ll get my lawyer involved if she comes after me, Scott. I will.” She rarely pulled out Malone’s first name, but it tumbled from her lips now.
“I am going to do all in my power to get her to back off, but you need to leave her alone, keep your nose clean, your head down.”
“I’ll tell you what I should do. Go after police chief myself.” An obvious stretch at this point, given that she was still working to get her mind straight.
“One day. Just trust me, Amanda.” His use of her first name was reassuring and comforting.
“I do, and I appreciate the heads-up on her plans. Thank you.” She stood, and her phone chimed notice of a new email. She opened it, saw the attachment, and read the subject: 911 Recording—532 Bill Drive, House Fire. She held up her phone. “Got the recording.”
“Good. Keep me posted on the case.”
“Will do.”
Amanda headed back to her desk, no longer interested in what was left of her coffee, and tossed it into the first garbage can she passed. All she was in the mood for was to strangle the life out of the lieutenant. Who the hell did that woman think she was, and did she really expect that Amanda would go down without a fight? Her mind catapulted her to a future in which she knocked Hill from the position of police chief. Just imagining that day brought a smile to Amanda’s face. Maybe Hill’s promotion was exactly the motivation that Amanda needed to pursue the appointment for herself.
Six
It had taken a while for his heart to calm down. Detective Amanda Steele had been right there. He’d held the door for her! He’d seen her briefly at the scene of the fire, but he had left before anyone had a chance to question him.
He knew about her accomplishments in cleaning up the county. She would understand him. She worked with a badge, he on his own terms. But still. Kindred spirits.
He tapped his foot under the table. Jittery from the two coffees he’d downed in the last half hour or because of the murder? He was terrified by how quickly the fire had been put out and wondered if the body had been sufficiently destroyed. He’d seen it hauled out of the house but hadn’t gotten a good look. He tried to set his doubts aside and bask in what he’d done.
He lifted his cup, now topped up with a third refill, and his hand shook the entire way to his mouth.
“Can I get ya something to eat, love?”
Coffee sloshed over the rim and onto the table. He set his mug down with a thud and looked into the eyes of the older woman. She was far too generous in dishing out sentiments such as sweetheart, dearie, and love to everyone who came into the place. She also kept coming around and checking on him, and it was driving him crazy.
“I’m good.” He glanced away from her. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, and she was standing there like her legs were anchored t
o the floor. He raised his cup again, his hand shaking.
“Maybe I should cut you off.” She smiled at him, but it chafed.
He took a sip and hissed, “I’m fine.”
She narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger toward the table, drawing his eyes down to the pool of coffee. “You sure don’t look like you are.”
“Just leave me alone.” He looked away from her now, placing his gaze across the diner, his focus on nothing. He needed her to go away, or he couldn’t be to blame for what he might do. The rage was building inside of him to a boil.
“You got a problem with me, you leave. This is my diner.” She crossed her arms, and the motion hoisted her bosom.
He made eye contact and attempted to soften his expression. “No problem, ma’am.” He wanted to flash a smile, but his lips wouldn’t move. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to be calling the cops.” Her eyes narrowed as she seemed to study him, trying to place him, but she wouldn’t recognize him after all this time. He hadn’t been into this place for many years.
Someone came in the door, and she padded off to see to them.
Finally, some peace and quiet!
He grabbed his phone off the table—thankfully, it was outside the spill zone—and brought up the internet app to see if any news of the fire had hit the worldwide web.
And… Nothing?
Not one word about the fire. Not even on the wagging tongues of the townspeople entering the diner. It was like the fire had never happened.
Again, he was invisible. He and the girl, but he didn’t feel sorry for her. She didn’t deserve the attention like he did.
She had lived her life oblivious to others and their feelings. A selfish heart who deserved no better than to be punished. Yet, in the final moments, he had shown mercy. Why, he still wasn’t sure. A testament to his character, The Merciful?
She had begged for life, release, redemption—all three? He had delivered them all.
He pinched his eyes shut and felt the warmth of a tear on his cheek. He swiped it away and looked at his wet fingertips. After all these years, he finally felt complete and on track, making a difference, no longer flitting about meaninglessly.
Stolen Daughters Page 3
