“Okay,” Amanda said. “You’re doing great. About how old?”
“Say mid-to-late thirties.”
“Has this guy been here before or since?” she asked.
“I don’t know if I should say.”
That’s a yes… “If you see him again, call the police. You can even call me directly.” She pulled her business cards from a back pocket and handed him one. She was quaking with anger. People like Roy were why sex traffickers got away with their crimes.
He took it but didn’t put it any of his pockets, and Amanda imagined it would be crumpled up and tossed into a wastebasket the first chance he got.
She mulled over what had transpired here, and there was no reason why everything couldn’t have played out much the same way with Ashley Lynch. And Roy had just confirmed that the black-eyed man had been there before. She took out her phone, brought up the photo of Ashley and showed it to Roy. “Does she look familiar to you?”
He cupped his hand over hers to steady the phone and leaned in. “Ah, no.”
“You’re positive? Sometimes it can be a little tricky to recognize people when it’s a computer-rendered graphic.” She angled her head and studied his face as he took a long, hard look.
He let go of her hand and the phone. “Nope. Never seen her.”
“All right. You can lock up here and go back to the office. My partner and I will catch up with you in a minute.”
They all shuffled outside. Roy returned to the office, and Amanda and Trent huddled.
“He was here,” she said. “That means Crime Scene needs to be called in to sweep the rooms, see if they can find anything useful. Prints, etcetera. We also need approval to collect the video footage.”
“I get that.”
“We’ll need a verbal warrant, so that can get started ASAP. You ever get one of those before? I can give you the name of a friendly judge.”
“I can figure it out.”
“Good.” Amanda pulled out her phone and shot a contact over to Trent. “That’s Judge Armstrong’s info.”
He looked at his screen and nodded. “Got it.”
“Tell him that you’re my partner. He’ll approve it right away.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to call Malone, let him know there’s been another sighting of our suspect here, and have him get officers out to similar motels in the area. My bet is if our killer had his latest victims delivered to this place, he probably had Ashley Lynch dropped off somewhere similar and pulled the same stunt. Oh. They’ll need to get a photo array done first. Then the officers can show it as they do their rounds.”
Trent put his phone to his ear and stepped away to make his call, while she made hers.
Malone answered on the second ring, and she rushed ahead. “Pretty sure we’re getting close to this guy, boss, but there’s a few more t’s to cross. That’s where I need your help.”
“Already have been helpin’.” His tone was still cool, but not arctic like it had been recently. He went on. “By the way, I was about to call you. Officers visited the Pansy Shoppe, inquired about the white GMC Savana. They have one delivery van, but it’s a Ford.”
Not surprising, but it still left the reason for the use of the decal unresolved. “Did they ask about any deliveries in the area of the second fire?”
“Yes. And there were none.”
“Just confirms it. This guy is our prime suspect.”
“This guy?”
“The mystery man from the crowd photos,” she reminded him. She had filled him in already about the face without a name. Though it had been in the wee hours of Sunday morning before taking Crystal Foster home to Washington.
“Right.”
“Well, he was at all three crime scenes, and we just spoke to the clerk at the Sunny Motel. The man rented adjoining rooms and had two young girls delivered to one of them. Blond, young like Ashley Lynch, and fitting the descriptions given to us by our two eyewitnesses—Mills and Cooper.”
“Let me guess, no ID collected by the motel?”
“Nope. Paid cash too. Now, the girls were dropped off by a man the clerk said had black eyes. Crystal Foster told us a man who looked like that had grabbed Ashley Lynch by the arm in a vintage clothing store.”
“I remember you telling me about that. So this guy must be a handler.”
“I’d say so. We believe our killer drugged the girls, then gave the handler the slip and took the girls out the back door of the neighboring room, where he proceeded to walk with them to his van. He’d parked it across from Janet Mills’s house, which was a few blocks away. That’s where she saw the man with the girls. Good news is the motel has working security cameras. I’ve got Trent on a warrant for the footage. And, apparently, the clerk here at Sunny’s has the handler’s plate number.”
“Good breaks.”
“It’s a start.” She’d reserve her optimism for a little longer. “Sarge, we need to consider that our suspect ran with the same MO on the first vic. He probably had her dropped off at a motel and snuck off with her. We need to have officers show Ashley Lynch’s photo to every dump like the Sunny Motel in Prince William County to see if anyone saw her. We also need to get a photo array made up that includes our suspect and have the officers show that around. I’ll fire his picture over to you.”
“Sure, but hold up. There has to be a lot of motels that fit that description.”
“I don’t see what else we can do at this point.”
There was more silence on Malone’s end.
“Is there something I should know about?” She just got this tingling sensation. “Is the LT on your back about all this?”
Malone sighed heavily. “She’s not letting up. When I went to her about the tip line, well, she wasn’t too happy to hear there were two more victims.”
“Let me guess—and I’m to blame.”
“You and I know you’re not.”
“Huh, but she thinks I am. We’ll see what she has to say when I find this bastard and bring him in.”
“Keep positive like that. It works.”
For the trace of a moment, she felt whatever had been bothering Malone was gone, like he was on her side again. “Thanks.”
“Keep me posted.”
He beat her to hanging up, and that bittersweet feeling returned. There was something niggling at him besides Sherry Hill. Now, if only she could figure out what.
Forty-Nine
Amanda forwarded Malone the photo of their mystery man as Trent was putting his phone away.
“Judge Armstrong gave me the go-ahead,” he said. “We need to follow up with the proper paperwork and get it signed.”
“Standard procedure. But at least we can get started. You call Crime Scene?”
“Yeah.”
She filled Trent in on her call to Malone and nudged her head toward the motel office. “Let’s join Roy.”
They entered the lobby to find Roy behind the counter, his nose buried in the newspaper again.
He didn’t move the paper but spoke. “I’ve said too much already. I should have just kept my mouth shut. As I said before, it’s served me well.”
“We’ll get you protection if you’re truly concerned about your safety, but it’s very important that we get that license plate, as well as the make and model of the car that man drove.”
He took one hand off the newspaper to hand her a yellow sticky note. She reached for it, but he pulled it back. “You’re telling me the truth about getting me protection?”
“I will do all in my power to make it happen.” That was as close as she could come to making a promise. She’d have to run this by Malone, and then the decision would be his, but Roy had a legitimate reason to be afraid. After all, the sex-trafficking ring wouldn’t take too well to a rat and likely seek some form of retaliation.
Two cruisers pulled into the lot, and Roy got up. “I see the cavalry’s here.”
“It’s how it works.”
“Hmph.”
“It’s the license number. The car was a silver Nissan Sentra. I’d say a few years old.”
“Terrific. Thank you,” Trent said.
“Uh-huh. Let’s just hope I live to see another day.”
“You’re doing the right thing by helping,” she assured him. “Just a heads-up. We have a warrant to search rooms seven and eight.”
“Sure. Can I see it?” Roy held out an open hand, presumably for her phone.
“It’s a verbal one for now, but we could get Judge Armstrong on the line.”
Roy squinted. “Convenient,” he said sarcastically.
“Seriously. I can call him now if you’d like.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“We’re also going to need to speak to whoever cleaned the rooms.” She’d love for forensics to find something to tie them to their suspect, but she wasn’t sure what that might be. If he had used a syringe to administer the drugs to the girls like he had Shannon Fox, it’s not like he would have tossed it in the trash for the maid to find. And would he have used a needle with two girls present? He could have if he’d been discreet, but it was more likely that he’d add the drug to their drinks. Less chance of a struggle or altercation.
“Her name is Mariam,” Roy said. “She’s already gone for the day.”
“We’ll need her home address and a phone number.” Amanda pulled her notepad out to write them down. “Ready when you are,” she prompted when Roy hadn’t said anything for a while.
He sighed but handed over the information.
“Thank you.” She returned the book to her pocket. “And I’ll be in touch about the protection.”
“Uh-huh.”
It was obvious that Roy had seen through her, that she hadn’t exactly promised him anything, but she would do what was within her power.
Amanda and Trent went outside and approached the closest uniformed officer. It turned out to be Tucker from the Fox crime scene. He walked around the hood of his cruiser.
She flashed her badge in case he didn’t remember her. “Detective Steele.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I know who you are. How’s it goin’?”
“Don’t have a lot of time to chat, but it’s goin’. We need a plate run. I’m sure you can help us.”
“Ah, sure.” Tucker hoisted up his pants, a habit that so many young officers had at the beginning. Not just because they hadn’t literally grown into their uniforms yet, but because they were adjusting to the weight of the holster, gun, radio, baton, and Taser. It was like they didn’t trust their belt to hold up their pants. He walked to the driver’s door of his cruiser and sat inside, leaving the door open. “What’s the plate?”
Trent rattled it off, and Tucker keyed the digits into the onboard computer.
“It’s attached to a Kia. Sound right?”
“Nope.” She glanced back at the motel office. “We were told it was on a silver Nissan Sentra. Who is the plate registered to?”
A few key clicks, then, “A Dorothy McKee.”
“Stolen plate,” she muttered. She should have known better than to hope it would lead them to the sex-trafficking ring. “Get officers to pay her a visit, but my guess is someone took her plates. Also, we need a BOLO issued for a few-years-old silver Nissan Sentra. We might not have a valid plate, but we’ll use what we do have.”
“Right away.” Tucker handled his radio, ready to talk, but Amanda slipped her card into his hand and told him to keep her posted on everything that transpired at the motel. She also asked that he communicate with the CSIs when they arrived. She made special mention of the rear door of room eight. Maybe the investigators would get lucky and find prints that would prove useful.
She turned to Trent. “Let’s go talk to the maid.”
The two of them walked back to the department vehicle that they’d left out front of Janet Mills’s house.
“I think we’re getting close to catching this guy,” Trent said.
“Would be nice. This guy is taking girls from a sex-trafficking ring—that doesn’t seem like it’s even a question anymore.” After all, they had Ashley’s tattoo and the handler with the two girls. She added, “I’d say that our suspect knows the people he’s dealing with. He parked away from the motel and walked. He didn’t want the handler—or the motel clerk—seeing his van. He had the girls delivered to the Sunny Motel with the intention of taking them out the back door. That’s why he insisted on rooms seven and eight—adjoining rooms. Then he moved the girls from Woodbridge to a house in Dumfries. He was doing what he could to elude the handler.”
“But how did he get the girls to go with him? We could assume he drugged them—they were described as acting drunk—but still, those girls would have to know that if they left, and were ever found, there’d be hell to pay. I can’t imagine the people in these rings take very well to their—and I hate to put it this way—merchandise going missing.”
Trent’s words reminded her of what Patty had alluded to days ago. “We’ve got to find our mystery man before the people from the sex-trafficking ring. We just want to put him behind bars; they’d want to kill him.”
Fifty
The fact their murder suspect had a knowledge of how sex-trafficking rings worked made Amanda want to know how he’d gained his insights. From research on the internet or first-hand experience? She couldn’t shake what Brandon Fisher had said about the possibility that their killer had been personally affected at a young age. Had he been exposed to sex trafficking, or had someone he loved fallen prey to it? Any of these things could have given him understanding as to how they worked, but that still didn’t explain why he was targeting the girls. Rape hadn’t been on his agenda with Ashley Lynch or Shannon Fox. They’d never know with the two girls in the most recent fire, but she’d wager not.
Trent pulled into the lot for the apartment building where the maid from the Sunny Motel lived. It was in Woodbridge and only a few minutes from the motel. Her name was Mariam Ruiz, and she was in unit 328.
It was an unsecured building, and they saw themselves up to the third floor and knocked on her door.
“Just a second,” a woman called out from inside, followed by the sound of footsteps padding toward the door. “Who is it?”
“Prince William County Police, ma’am.” Amanda held up her badge to the peephole.
The deadbolt clunked, and the chain slid across. The door opened.
A woman in her thirties was standing there. Chestnut hair pulled back into a high, long ponytail. Brown eyes. Tan complexion. Large cross on a gold chain around her neck. She wore jeans and a white tank with a pink-plaid, long-sleeve shirt unbuttoned over it. She was beautiful until she frowned and crossed her arms.
“Are you Mariam Ruiz?” Amanda asked.
“Yeah, but you can call me Mitzi. Who are you?” Her gaze skipped over Amanda to Trent.
“I’m Detective Trent Stenson,” he said.
“And I’m Detective Amanda Steele. We need to ask you some questions about two rooms you would have cleaned yesterday morning at the Sunny Motel.” She added the last bit, just in case she had another cleaning job.
“You ’spect me to remember?”
“We’re hoping you can. We’re following a lead in an open murder investigation,” Amanda explained.
She didn’t say anything, just backed up to let them enter.
The apartment was compact and modestly furnished. It was clean and tidy.
“What do you want to know exactly?” Mitzi asked.
“Rooms seven and eight were rented out Saturday night to a man,” Amanda started.
“If you say so.”
“Yes, I say so.” Amanda gave her a tight smile. “Do you remember cleaning those rooms on Sunday morning?”
“Well, I would have cleaned them, yes.”
“Do you remember the state of the rooms?” She’d start the
re.
“Ah, sí, both beds were made. Found that unusual. Very unusual. I stripped and remade them anyway. You know, just in case people had done the nasty and pulled the sheets back.”
“Was there any evidence that the person who rented the rooms had sex in them?” Trent asked. “Maybe used condoms in the trash?”
Mitzi shook her head. “The garbage cans were empty.”
So what did the guy do? And how could nothing in the room have been touched? Surely even the girls would have come in and sat on the bed. There was a table and two chairs in each room, though. “Did anything in the room looked used?”
“Sí. Two glasses. Smelled like whiskey maybe?” Mitzi didn’t sound like she was confident in that conclusion. “They would have been washed and put back in the room.”
Amanda sighed. Just as she had feared. That made them of no use to the investigation, just like this interview was proving to be. “Thank you for talking with us, Ms. Ruiz.”
“You’re very welcome.”
They reached the hall, and no sooner had the door closed than Mitzi secured the lock and chain.
“Too much to hope we’d have gotten something from her,” Trent lamented as they headed back to the car.
“We had to talk to her.”
“What’s our next step? Revisiting the interviews and seeing if we can somehow turn up an ID on Tom Cruise?”
They got into the car, Trent driving.
“Unless you have a better idea.” But their killer wasn’t going to hand over his ID and address. Besides, he likely left before the interviews were started, as she’d thought earlier. “We can also dig more into closed cases that are similar to the ones we’re working.”
“We only reached a dead end with that before.”
“Well, if you have any suggestions, spit ’em out,” she snapped, and felt instant remorse. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired of banging my head against a brick wall.”
“Me too.”
Her stomach growled. “How about we grab something to eat before heading back to the station? It’s not quite five, but better to grab something while we can.”
Stolen Daughters Page 24
