Stolen Daughters

by Carolyn Arnold

  He’d read that when you were doing something purposeful to your soul, people and circumstances lined up for you and everything progressed smoothly. He was finally experiencing the truth of that.

  He cracked his knuckles and got to work on his keyboard. It was time to select his next victim.

  Twenty-Five

  Amanda had left Becky’s around one in the morning. So much for getting a good night’s sleep. Brandon’s warning kept repeating in her head, along with his conviction that they were very likely looking for a serial killer. There was no room for emotion. She needed to remain grounded and detached. At the same time, she couldn’t dismiss the way things were looking and the fact there had been at least one active serial killer in the area before. Trent’s bullet scars were a testament to that.

  She was at Central now in front of her computer, a black coffee within easy reach of her left hand. The clock on the wall told her it was just approaching eight o’clock, and she had been there for an hour already. It was Saturday morning, so there weren’t too many other people milling about, and the room felt peaceful. She’d texted Trent to meet her at the station when he got the message.

  Rideout still hadn’t come through with Doe’s picture, but she had received a message from Sullivan. The fire marshal had forwarded over some sketches and photos of inside 532 Bill Drive. He also confirmed that gasoline was the accelerant used to start the fire. Included in his packet were transcribed interviews with a few firefighters who had removed Jane Doe from the room and house. Spencer Blair was one of them.

  His statement was straightforward. He went upstairs, found the bedroom door open, and the victim lying on the mattress. She was on her back and appeared to be staring at the ceiling. He tried to rouse her, but there was no response. He made the call to remove her from the house and hand her over to a medic.

  Amanda brought up the photo of the room where Doe had been found. The head of the mattress was against the back wall. It and the drywall didn’t even look touched by the fire. There also didn’t appear to be any personal possessions in the area.

  Her cell phone rang, and she answered without consulting the caller ID.

  “Detective Steele?” It was a woman’s voice, and she was very guarded.

  Amanda held out her phone. P Jeffery. The ME. “It is. Paula Jeffery?”

  “I’m calling to let you know I’ve scheduled Fox’s autopsy for this afternoon at one o’clock.”

  “Thank—” She never got the full expression of gratitude out before Jeffery hung up. The woman wasn’t exactly Miss Congeniality.

  Amanda was getting ready to read more interviews when her phone rang again. H Rideout. She answered formally.

  “Detective, you’ll be happy to know that I’ve just emailed you Jane Doe’s picture.”

  She was happy but also felt it was about time. “Good news.”

  “I ran her dental impression through Missing Persons but no hits. I have forwarded a sampling of her DNA to Forensics to be analyzed and entered into the system. As you know it will take time for them to process that, though.”

  It could take months, but she didn’t want to dwell on the limitations of science, technology, and administrative backlogs. Results could come faster if a law enforcement agency was willing to foot the bill for a private lab, but that expense was rarely approved. Now, maybe if they proved there was an active serial killer and other lives were in immediate danger, they’d be able to get the go-ahead. Until then, she’d have to wait it out. There was nothing like the feeling of having your hands tied.

  “I heard back about the dragonfly pin,” Rideout continued. “It’s worth five thousand dollars. Apparently, it’s handcrafted, made of gold and mother-of-pearl. As Trent had thought.”

  “Whoever the true owner was had money.” Whether that was Doe or someone she had taken it from, Amanda would need to determine, and she had an idea just how to do that. “What about expediting the tox?”

  “I’ve put in the request to have it moved along. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  She ended the call. A pin worth five grand… Someone had to be missing it. When she’d tried searching Missing Persons with the pin as a parameter, she’d netted nothing. But there was another route they could try. Given the high value of the pin, maybe it had been reported stolen—and that would get them closer to an ID on Doe.

  She saw Rideout’s email filter in and clicked on the attachment just as Trent came toward her holding two cups from a shop in Woodbridge. Their coffee wasn’t as good as Hannah’s Diner, but up there.

  “Jabba for you.” He handed her a cup.

  On their first case together, he’d told her about his little sister, who as a kid had gotten java confused with Jabba the Hutt. And every now and then Trent dropped the expression.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. When did you get in?” Trent took a sip of his coffee.

  “Early.” She went on to fill him in about Fox’s autopsy, Rideout’s call, and her thinking that the dragonfly pin might have been reported as stolen.

  He perched against the edge of her desk. “I can check with Property Crimes.”

  “Sounds good.” She felt the need to come forward with what she’d learned last night too. “I’m not jumping to the conclusion we have a serial killer, but I spoke with an FBI profiler yesterday.”

  Trent stood. “You’re bringing in the FBI?”

  Amanda smirked. “Not exactly. But an agent happened to be at Becky’s when I went for a visit.”

  “Brandon Fisher.” A conclusion, not a question, and Amanda wasn’t sure what to make of Trent’s tone—excitement or distaste.

  “Good guess.”

  “Well, it’s not a secret that Becky’s seeing him. You talked to him about our investigations?”

  “I did, and he thinks it might be the work of a—”

  Natalie Ryan, a.k.a. Cougar, another homicide detective, walked past Amanda’s cubicle, and smiled in greeting. They smiled back.

  When Cougar was out of earshot, Amanda finished her statement. “Brandon thinks we should seriously consider a serial killer is at work here.”

  Trent had this expression on his face that was a mix of fear and excitement. “I told you.”

  “No, you don’t get to do that.”

  Her chastisement didn’t stop him from smirking his I-told-you-so smirk.

  “I’m still keeping an open mind,” she said, clinging stiffly to the idea.

  “Uh-huh. So what did he suggest?”

  She told him that Brandon thought their killer might have murdered before and that he also might have been affected by something similar earlier in his life. Possibly something involving a loved one.

  “Perfect. I can get behind that.”

  “We only have two bodies, but his analysis was persuasive. We should look at similar closed cases. He could have served time, gotten out. I might be able to start searching if you stop interrupting me,” she teased.

  “Surely you’re not complaining that I brought you a coffee.”

  “Would never dream of it.” She laughed. When they’d first been partnered, Trent had been an easygoing guy—so easygoing that it had rubbed her the wrong way. As she’d come to discover in the last three months, he could return sass just as easy as she could dish it out. “Don’t you have a phone call to make?”

  “Fine. I’ll reach out to my contact in Property Crimes and see what he says.” He went over to his cubicle.

  “You do that.” She was smiling as she turned her gaze to her monitor again. The expression faded at the sight of the windows she had up. One was Spencer’s interview, one was a picture of the room where Doe had been found, and the other was Doe’s computer-rendered photo.

  Amanda took in Doe’s round face, milky complexion, blond hair, and brown eyes. So young, and to have known so much evil. All the bruises to her body and the pummeling of her spirit—the girl hadn’t stood a
chance in this life. There was something far more heartbreaking seeing her this way than in the back of the medic’s vehicle or even on the slab at the morgue. Here she was, a combination of pixels, like she had never been real. The face looking back at Amanda was not only lifeless, but cold and sterile.

  She heard Trent on the phone and held out hope the call would get them somewhere in identifying her.

  “Uh-huh… Just repeat that one more time?” A few seconds later, Trent proceeded to rattle off an address that presumably his caller had given him. “Thanks.” He shot to his feet and ran around to her cubicle. “A dragonfly pin matching the description of the one with Jane Doe was reported stolen three years ago by Leila and Henry Foster out of Washington.”

  She pulled a background on the Fosters. “They have a daughter named Crystal…” She opened the Missing Persons database and keyed in Crystal Foster, and the report popped up immediately. There was a photo attached, and it could have been their Jane Doe. “Foster was reported missing three years ago. She was thirteen. That means if she’s our victim, she was only sixteen when she died.” Amanda mulled on that. “Just a child.” She scanned the personal effects section for any mention of the pin. She found gobbledygook that might have been meant to spell “dragonfly pin.” Likely a bad case of fat-finger syndrome.

  She looked at the photo again, impossible to tell for certain if it was their Jane Doe, but they should speak to the Fosters. She got to her feet. “Time for a road trip.”

  “Okay,” he dragged. “But you know who they are, right?”

  “You mean besides possibly being the parents of a murdered girl?”

  “They own Protect It, a publicly traded security firm. One of the largest in North America.”

  “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

  “No, but you might not be able to just go up to their door and get an audience.”

  “Do they put their pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  “Then, they’re human, and their daughter may be lying in the morgue. Trust me, they’ll want to speak with us.”

  Twenty-Six

  By the time Amanda and Trent had briefed Malone and made it to Washington, it was nearing eleven in the morning. They arrived at the Fosters’ house, which was regal and spoke of money. Hired help answered the door and saw Amanda and Trent to a parlor. High ceilings, large windows, and wainscoting accentuated the space, and the morning sun drenched the room with light and warmth.

  “Mrs. Foster will be with you shortly,” the woman said.

  “Thanks,” Amanda told her.

  The woman left, but neither Amanda nor Trent sat down on the high-end furniture that looked like it should be observed rather than used. Crystal wouldn’t have lacked for anything financially, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t neglected in other ways. Amanda couldn’t brush aside Doe’s childhood broken bones and that they could mean possible abuse. But was Jane Doe Crystal Foster?

  “Detectives?” A blond woman with blue eyes, dressed meticulously in a white silk crepe pantsuit, entered the room.

  Amanda bridged the gap. “I’m Detective Amanda Steele.”

  “Yes, and you?” The woman looked past her to Trent, who stepped forward, holding out a hand to accompany his introduction.

  The woman disregarded his proffered hand and crossed her arms loosely. “I am Leila Foster, though I’m sure you know that. Henry should be joining us shortly.” Leila lowered herself gracefully into a rose-patterned wingback chair. She sat with her legs tight together and clasped her hands in her lap. “Please. Sit.”

  Amanda and Trent did as she asked.

  “On the phone you said you may have news about Crystal.” Leila tilted out her chin.

  Trent had convinced Amanda to call ahead on their way there.

  “We believe—” Amanda was interrupted by a tuneful chime that started playing throughout the house.

  “Never mind that,” Leila said. “It’s just the doorbell, and Tonya will get it. Henry’s likely here now. Please continue.”

  It would seem the couple lived separately. “Let’s just wait a minute for him.” She smiled politely at Mrs. Foster and got the feeling she wasn’t used to being told what to do.

  The woman pursed her lips and stared blankly across the room.

  “Mr. Foster to see you,” Tonya announced at the entrance to the parlor.

  At her side was a forty-something man dressed in suit and tie—both of which probably cost more than Amanda’s car—with gray hair and brown eyes.

  “Hello,” he said to those in the room and settled his gaze on his wife.

  Her eyes were ablaze, and it was obvious that the couple was in a rough patch—may have been for a while.

  Henry sat down in a chair farthest from his wife. “When Leila called, she said you’d found Crystal?”

  Amanda hadn’t exactly said that. Instead she’d kept things very vague and simply said she wanted to speak with them about their daughter. “Too soon to know yet, but we have questions we’d like to ask.” She paused there to take in the Fosters’ reactions. Leila was stoic, but Henry’s eyes were watery.

  He cleared his throat. “What unit are you with?”

  “Homicide.”

  Leila gasped slightly and paled.

  Henry gulped. “Then you believe she was, uh, murdered?”

  “Let’s not jump ahead quite yet.” She smiled kindly at him. People like Henry always made her uncomfortable with how they wanted bad news delivered without delay, as if that would somehow make it easier to absorb. It was a “get it done and out of the way” mentality. But it was usually those people who had the hardest time processing loss. Amanda should know; she was one of those people. “I have a photo I’d like to show you. Now, please keep in mind that this girl was estimated to be sixteen. We understand that your daughter went missing three years ago, so if it is her, you may notice some differences.” Amanda pulled up the picture on her phone and did the rounds, holding the screen for each in turn. “Does that look like your daughter?”

  Henry was biting his bottom lip while Leila’s expression lacked emotion, like she’d barricaded herself behind a wall to avoid feeling anything.

  “It could be.” Henry looked at his wife, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Leila,” he prompted.

  She looked at him now, but like before, there was a fire that burned in her eyes when she met her husband’s gaze. “It could be her, but it’s hard to say for sure. Where did you get that?” She flicked a finger toward Amanda’s phone, indicating the picture. “It looks computer rendered.”

  Henry glanced over at Leila again, and his shoulders sagged. He turned to Amanda. “Is she dead?”

  There’d be no more putting it off. “The girl pictured is, yes, but we need to determine if she was, in fact, your daughter,” Amanda started. “There was a dragonfly pin found with her, and it had the engraving ‘to our dear Crystal’ on the back. You had reported it—”

  “I told you it would get our girl back,” Leila burst out and faced her husband.

  Henry clenched his jaw, and tapped the arm of his chair, but said nothing.

  Amanda thought she might have figured out what was going on here. “You reported the pin as stolen in the hopes that it would be found and, in turn, deliver your daughter to you?”

  “That’s right.” Leila picked at something on her pant leg.

  “The pin was a gift for her thirteenth birthday,” Henry volunteered. “That was four months before she disappeared. I can’t imagine her letting it out of her sight.” His eyes darkened as if he may be giving himself over to accepting that his daughter was dead. He added, “She loved dragonflies, always had a fascination with them since she was really little. That’s why Leila and I decided to get her the pin.”

  Amanda could tell that Henry hadn’t truly let his daughter go, and she could understand the difficulty in that all too well. Letting go was more than a matter of release; it mean
t acceptance, which was even harder. “Do you know why she ran away?”

  “She left us a note saying that she’d be better off on her own,” Leila stated.

  Amanda wasn’t seeing evil in the Fosters, but if the girl in the morgue was, indeed, their daughter, the numerous broken bones and fractures were hard to ignore entirely.

  “Did she say why?” Trent interjected.

  A few seconds of silence passed before Leila spoke.

  “You’re probably aware that my husband is the founder and CEO of Protect It.”

  “We are,” Trent replied.

  “Well, that kept him busy,” Leila added. “It also kept me occupied. The business grew fast, and we were left trying to catch up with everything that was happening. Crystal was three at the time we started the company. Before that, I was often at home. After, I just didn’t have the same amount of time. We employed a full-time nanny, and she basically replaced us—only she didn’t. Not really. Crystal started acting out and doing things to get our attention. We responded by buying her anything she wanted.”

  And by doing so, they had rewarded bad behavior and became guilty of neglect. All this by the two people who should have made Crystal the priority in their lives. And maybe the physical abuse hadn’t come from the parents, but rather the nanny. Before she could ask about the woman, Henry spoke.

  “Crystal got in with some kids at school who loved doing drugs and drinking. At twelve.” Henry stopped there and rubbed his jaw. “Who would have thought they’d start so young? I used to criticize the other kids’ parents, but after Crystal disappeared, I realized how hypocritical I had been. After all, as Leila said, it wasn’t like we were around for our girl. Crystal even got herself hauled in by the cops. I talked them out of laying any charges.”

  “Like you’re a hero.” Leila rolled her eyes.