Stolen Daughters

by Carolyn Arnold

  It was probably a good time to ask the question Amanda had burning inside of her. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “I was exhausted and wanted to go to bed.”

  “But you knew the house was vacant, and he wasn’t the real estate agent. Then there’s the two young women appearing to be drunk off their feet. None of this seemed hinky to you?” she asked him, putting it out there as casually as possible.

  “Honestly?” Justin sighed.

  “That would be refreshing.” Amanda gave him an encouraging smile.

  “I didn’t know what they were up to, and I didn’t want the police showing up and it being something innocent that I had misinterpreted, making me look like a fool. And if it was something, and they were up to no good and found out that I’d snitched… I just didn’t want to draw a target on my head.”

  A target? He’d probably read the article about Fox’s mutilation. Her mind skipped to Malone’s idea of a tip line. Would anyone call? She needed to stress the importance of speaking up. “We’ll only grow stronger as a community if we look out for each other, Mr. Cooper.”

  “I appreciate that, but—” he shook his head “—I didn’t want to get involved. As I said, I was tired and wanted to go to bed.”

  She mulled over what he’d told them so far and what else he might know that could help them, then landed on something. “Did you see what direction they came from?” If he had, they could backtrack the trio’s steps and maybe get somewhere useful.

  “Yeah. From that direction.” Justin pointed a finger and indicated the west.

  Stashing that fact away, she pulled out her business card and got to her feet. She extended it to Justin, who asked that she put it on his side table.

  “Germs,” he mumbled.

  “May I suggest something, Mr. Cooper?” Amanda started. “Continue to lock your windows and doors, and if anyone comes to your door that you don’t know, talk to them through the door. Don’t let them in, no matter what. Even if they say they’re a reporter or a cop, you call me.”

  Justin glanced at the card and then back to her. “Will do.”

  “Thank you.” Amanda didn’t want to frighten him, but she felt it necessary to warn him to be diligent. The killer they were after was unpredictable and looking for a reason to kill. Exhibit A: Shannon Fox. She didn’t want to add Justin Cooper to the list of victims.

  Thirty-Nine

  After leaving Justin Cooper’s place, Amanda called Malone. He answered on the third ring. “Was just starting to wonder if you were going to answer.”

  “What do you need?”

  Malone’s sharp and pointed response surprised her. “Everything all right?” He seemed his normal self when she’d left him.

  “Fine, but I’m really busy. You called me. What do you need?”

  “Ah, Trent and I just finished talking to the eyewitness.” She paused, expecting him to inquire how it went and whether they obtained any good leads, but he said nothing. She updated him anyhow, then added, “I need you to reach out to a sergeant from the uniformed officers division. Canvassing officers need to know that the witness saw a man and two young women coming from the west around midnight. They might want to extend their reach a few blocks in that direction. Even branch out onto some side streets.”

  “Sure. That all?”

  What the heck is his issue?

  “Detective?” he prompted.

  She wanted to ask again if he was all right, but she knew better. “Ah, yeah. If the officers could submit their interviews to me and Trent as fast as possible, including the ones conducted with the people in the crowd, that would be great.”

  “That all?”

  She considered asking how he’d made out with the real estate agent but thought he would have said if he had anything. “Yeah, that’s—” And he hung up on her. She held out her phone to verify that, yes, he had, in fact, ended the call.

  “What’s up?” Trent asked.

  “Good question. Malone’s acting strange.” At least toward her. His reputation around the department was that he was a little gruff, all business, and matter-of-fact, but he’d never shown that side to her before now.

  “He’s probably just coming to grips with the fact that Prince William County has a serial killer. Again.” Trent added the later bit, and it stamped home the sad reality. Their poor county seemed to be a ripe poaching ground for psychopaths. Then again, they were close to Washington. Politics. Politicians. She would have found her train of thought amusing if it weren’t for the fact two more people were dead, likely the young women Justin Cooper had seen.

  She gestured for Trent to join her, and they started down the sidewalk, heading west. She didn’t even know what she was looking for and hoped if there was something noteworthy to the case, she’d be able to pick it out. But sometimes the relevance didn’t crystallize until later, once other factors entered in.

  Her phone rang, and they stopped walking.

  She expected caller ID to show Malone, that he was calling to explain why he’d been rather rude, but it showed as Unknown. “Detective Amanda Steele,” she answered.

  “This is Dr. Jeffery from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.”

  A quick look around confirmed no one else was within earshot. “One second. I’m going to put you on speaker.” Amanda pulled her phone back and could hear Jeffery talking as if she hadn’t heard Amanda. She clicked the button for speaker and then cut into Jeffery’s speech. “Can you start again, please?”

  There was an audible sigh. “I heard back from the lab about the drug used on Ms. Fox. It was a lethal dosage of ketamine, or Special K as it’s called on the street.”

  “It’s one of the most commonly used date-rape drugs out there,” Amanda said. Her time on the job taught her that much. “Women wake up the next morning and may not remember anything, or if they do it’s blurry and scattered.” What she didn’t verbalize was the drug also had an intoxicating effect. Her earlier suspicion—that the girls Justin Cooper saw weren’t drunk but drugged—was gaining merit.

  “Well, as you know, Fox wasn’t raped, but I’d say the killer used the drug on her for two purposes. One, for sedation so that he could sever her tongue without resistance, and two, for the purpose of killing her.”

  Pleasant thoughts…

  “You should know, Detective, that the drug actually has a practical use as well. It’s used to treat depression and provide pain relief.”

  “But varying doses would have a different effect, correct?” Amanda asked, her mind on the way evil people manipulated the drug.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Amanda ended the call and turned to Trent. “The girls weren’t drunk, they were drugged. Probably with Special K. Also, if we run with the assumption that the man Justin Cooper saw was our killer, then he brought the girls to 816 Clear Mountain Circle.”

  “Okay, but Ted Dixon recognized Ashley Lynch, having seen her around the house on Bill Drive. Was she squatting there, or had the killer taken her there?”

  “Hard to say. Chris Ingram described a girl who could have been Ashley Lynch walking with a man on Bill Drive. Taking her to five thirty-two?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. What I do know is if Lynch was drugged with ketamine like Fox, then that remains a constant in his MO. He might normally use it for its intoxicating effects but chose to switch it up with Fox.”

  “When will we know if Lynch was drugged?”

  “Good question.” She pulled out her phone and called Rideout. She met with his voicemail and left a message.

  She resumed walking, soaking in how beautiful the day was. It was warm, but not blazing hot, and the sun was shining brightly with barely a cloud in sight. Yet no one was out walking, working in their yards, or sitting on their front steps or porches. The only people out of their homes seemed to be clustered across from the scene at 816.

  She noted many vehicles in driveways, some on the street. A white van, marked with a decal on the door, pulled awa
y. The Pansy Shoppe. They were out of Triangle, a small town about four minutes from Dumfries. She’d ordered her wedding flowers from them, and sometimes picked up arrangements for Kevin’s and Lindsey’s graves there.

  The observation portrayed such a contrast. Death, murder, and mayhem steps away. Yet people went on with their lives, even beautifying them with fresh bouquets.

  “Let’s turn back and see if there’s anything more the fire marshal can tell us. Maybe the anthropologist has arrived and—” Her phone rang, and she answered without consulting caller ID.

  “Mandy, you’re still coming for dinner, right? I know you’re a busy girl. Don’t know if you’re caught up with investigating those murders that have hit the paper, but your family wants to see you.” Her mother finally stopped to catch her breath.

  The family Sunday dinners started when her mother was released on bail. In her mom’s words, “I want to make the most of my time left as a free woman.” There was no way Amanda wanted to let her down—she’d already done that enough for a lifetime and then some—but she had a serial killer to stop. “Yeah, they’re my cases, Mom.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment, the dejection… One of the teeniest words in the English language, and her mother had managed to wield it as a knife. “You do need to eat. Can’t you just drop in for a quick bite? I promise I won’t tie you down.” Her mother’s voice was grim, but her turn of phrase was macabre considering she’d restrained the man she murdered. Her mother cleared her throat and said, “Poor choice of words. But I won’t be here forever, you know.”

  Amanda glanced at Trent, considered her mother’s words and balanced it with the workload and urgency of this case. Her mother was right about Amanda needing to eat, though argument could be made that she often went hours without food when on a case. Her mother also had a point that the family dinners would soon come to an end. “What time will dinner be on the table?”

  “Wonderful. That means you’re coming? Say six? You can make it then?”

  Amanda pulled back her phone and read the time. 2:20 PM. “I’ll do my best.” There was a brief silence, which Amanda filled. “I love you, Mom.”

  “Oh you’ve made me so happy. Love you, Mandy Monkey.”

  Amanda ended the call.

  “Mandy Monkey?” Trent said and started laughing.

  She glared at him. “What the—”

  “I, uh, overheard.” He was snickering, probably doing all he could not to have a good old belly laugh.

  No one was to call her Mandy Monkey outside of her family. She didn’t even like them calling her that, but she tolerated it because of who they were. Trent might be her professional partner, even a friend, but for him to use her nickname was crossing a line. “Don’t you ever call me that.”

  “I’m so… sorry.” He bit back more laughter, and tears beaded in his eyes.

  She shook her head. “Do what you must. Get it out of your system before we go back to the scene.”

  He instantly became silent, his spark gone like she’d put a hose on him. And thank goodness, because they needed to keep perspective if they were going to win this one.

  * * *

  There was a new vehicle at 816 when Amanda and Trent returned.

  “The anthropologist has arrived, as you probably figured out,” Mia announced.

  If the van hadn’t been a clue, Amanda could see three people working in the interior of the structure, which served as a stage for a sold-out macabre production, given the growing audience across the street. She turned to Trent and said, “Take pictures, please.”

  “Sure.”

  “I already took a lot at different points today,” Mia said, almost sounding offended.

  “I’m sure you did.” Amanda smiled pleasantly. Next subject… “Are we any further along in knowing what was used to cause the fire?”

  “Situations like this can take a while, but I’m considering bringing in some dogs trained to detect different accelerants.”

  “Excuse me—are you detectives?” A thirty-something man came toward them. He had been one of the three people working inside the rubble.

  “Detective Amanda Steele,” she said and gestured to her partner. “And Detective Trent Stenson.”

  “I am Leo. I work with Dr. Strickland. He is the anthropologist.” He paused to indicate a man who was hunched down. “He asked that I give you an update.” Leo talked like a programmed robot and seemed to have an aversion to contractions. “It will take some time to reconstruct the victims from what we have to work with. So far, he has found the remains of two distinct individuals. Both female, teenagers.”

  “Is there any way to tell if they were dead before the fire?” Amanda asked.

  The tiniest of smiles formed and disappeared. “It all depends on what the bones tell Dr. Strickland.”

  Amanda nodded, supposing she could appreciate that. “Thank you for the update.”

  Leo dipped his head and returned to his boss. Mia had walked off, leaving Amanda alone with Trent.

  “I think we should assume our killer strangled them before setting the fire.” She at least hoped for that mercy to being incapacitated and left to burn alive. “We need to find out what took place between the time they’d headed into the backyard and the fire.” She put her gaze on the burned structure, her mind compiling everything from the previous cases with what was before her. The killer had failed to destroy Lynch’s body, making finding her identity easier. Had he intended to make that impossible with these two girls? Was he trying to disguise the fact his victims were involved in sex trafficking—if they had been? Justin Cooper had described the girls as wearing tight and revealing clothing. That could fit. But why had their killer targeted them? It was beyond time to find out, but she didn’t know where to start. What she did know was she had to be on time for dinner with her family, and she had a few things she wanted to take care of first.

  Forty

  Amanda managed to cross some to-dos off her list before heading over to her parents’. She got Mia’s business card and confirmed with Malone that the real estate agent had a solid alibi. Malone was still acting curt, but she let it go. She was going to need as much emotional fortitude as she could gather just to be with her family. As nice as it was to be reunited with them, it still churned some unpleasant feelings—mostly of guilt for leaving their lives for the majority of the past six years.

  She also reached Aiden Adkins at home, and it turned out he managed 816 Clear Mountain Circle. The only third-party people who crossed over between that house and 532 Bill Drive were the real estate agent, who they already knew about, and the estimator, who was on vacation. So they were back to square one.

  Despite all that, Amanda managed to have a shower and to put on a change of clothes. She’d caked on makeup to hide the growing bags under her eyes and arrived on her parents’ front step at six on the mark.

  She rapped on the door and let herself in—and took a deep breath. Roast beef and onions… So much better than smoke, fire damage, and charred remains.

  Her mother sandwiched Amanda’s face with her hands and pulled her in for a hug. “Sweetheart, I’m so happy you made it!”

  “Just here for dinner, Mom.” Amanda backed out of the embrace.

  “I know, I know… Come on, take off your shoes and stay a while.”

  Amanda shucked her shoes next to a bunch of others that belonged to her siblings, their mates, and their children. She’d identified a few of their vehicles in the driveway and along the street. When she parked behind her brother Kyle’s pickup, she’d hesitated and considered just driving away. Ever since she’d been involved with arresting their mother, she was quite sure that Kyle blamed her. He hadn’t said so much in words, but he was cool toward her and they used to be so close.

  Voices were coming from the family room at the back of the house. It was past the kitchen and dining room.

  “How did you make out after I left?” Amanda asked her mom, referring to the lawyer visit she had run out
on a few days ago.

  Her mother waved a hand. “I don’t want to talk about that tonight, Mandy.” She turned and went toward the kitchen. Amanda followed.

  Her sisters Kristen and Emily were performing a type of choreographed dance as they worked around each other to take pans out of the oven, clear pots from the stove, and dish food into bowls.

  Smiles, hellos, and waves were passed around.

  Her twelve-year-old niece, Ava—Kristen’s daughter—and Demi, her brother’s daughter, were setting the table. They were good partners and had the rhythm down, but they should—this was a show on repeat every Sunday night. Nothing like a murder charge to bring a family together…

  Ava set down the utensils and hugged her aunt. She was just a couple of years younger than Demi, an age when it was acceptable to still show affection.

  “Hey, sweetie, how are you?” Amanda asked her.

  “Doin’ all right. Looking forward to summer break.”

  “That’s still a long way out, but stay strong.” Amanda smiled and latched eyes with Kyle. He was sitting in a comfy rocking chair that faced the dining room. She brightened her expression for him, but he looked away. That cut. And it had her taking a few seconds to compose herself.

  “Hey, Aunt Amanda.” It was Demi calling her name. She’d finished setting out the plates and was at Amanda’s side.

  “Hiya, sweetie.” She hugged her niece. Maybe Demi wasn’t too old, after all. And the grudge her brother held against her didn’t seem to have passed along to his daughter.

  Amanda took a deep breath and continued to the family room. It was full. Besides her brother, there was Kristen’s husband, Erik; Emily’s love interest of a few months, Rocco; Kyle’s wife, Michelle; her sister Megan; and her father.

  Missing was Megan’s husband, Ray—though that was no surprise. He wasn’t exactly into the whole “Sunday night dinner with the in-laws” thing and made no secret of it. Amanda sometimes wondered if Ray even liked them. His loss if not. Also missing was her baby sister, Sydney, and her boyfriend, Dylan; her nephew, Jake, who was her brother’s son; and Emily’s daughter, Katie. But teenagers could be excused.