“Not going to argue.”
Her phone rang, and the caller ID told her it was Malone. She answered on speaker.
“Good news. We got a plate on the GMC Savana van, but it was reported stolen.”
She groaned. “Figures.”
“Wish I had more for you.”
“Makes two of us. Oh…” She went on to tell him about Roy Marble at the Sunny Motel requiring protection. “He took quite a risk talking to us,” she stressed.
“I’ll take care of him.”
“All I can ask. Thank you.”
Malone ended the call just as Trent pulled into the lot of a burger place.
He pointed to the drive-thru, and she nodded her approval, then said, “A double patty with cheese and extra onion, please. Also, a small soda.” She fished a twenty-dollar bill out of a pocket and handed it to Trent. “Get what you want. My treat.”
“Thanks.” He took the money and rolled up to the order window. He had the same thing, plus a small order of fries.
A few minutes later, they had their food.
“Why don’t you just park? We’ll eat in the lot,” she suggested.
Trent pulled into a free spot and let the car run.
She took a large bite and savored every bit of it before swallowing. Prior to having a partner, she’d often find herself in a parking lot eating her lunch or dinner and thinking. It was actually quite conducive to brainstorming.
Right now, her mind kept going to the signage on the white van. Why any at all, and why the Pansy Shoppe? Did their killer have a vendetta against the place or the owners, or had they been chosen completely at random?
If only she could get into the killer’s mind…
She tore off another mouthful and turned to Trent. “What do you think the significance is of him having the Pansy Shoppe decals on his van?”
Trent took a draw of his drink, through a paper straw, and lowered the cup.
Before he could respond, she tossed more questions at him. “Do you think there’s a connection between the killer and the flower shop? If so, what? Or is there something there he wants to draw our attention to?”
Trent’s brow tightened with concentration. “I think the Pansy Shoppe’s an avenue we should explore. Then again, the magnets could also be a diversion. Something to distract us.”
“I’m afraid of that. Let’s pull some backgrounds on the people from the florist’s, though.” She took a few more bites of her burger, polishing it off. “And to switch tracks a bit, something triggered him.” She glanced thoughtfully at Trent. “He said we’re on the same team.” She chewed on that, tossed it around, then an idea struck. “He was injured by sex trafficking somehow. But as a victim himself, or was a loved one?”
“Still doesn’t explain his hatred for the victims.”
“But what if it does? What if a loved one became a victim, but he blames them?”
Trent shifted in his seat, so he was more directly facing her.
She went on. “He was deeply hurt, and as much as the girls are victims, he wants to punish them for whatever had happened in his personal life.” She could hear her words coming back to her ears and could hardly believe she was theorizing all this. “And then there’s the cleansing aspect of fire.”
“Sure… but maybe it’s just to recreate something from his past or to destroy the bodies and the evidence.”
“Could be. And how long has he been killing? Are we aware of all his victims? What if the article about my rescuing those girls triggered him?” She was finding it hard to stop the flow of questions.
“You can’t blame yourself for this guy.”
She wished she could accept that. “Maybe that’s why he left me that note? Not just to say we’re on the same team, but also as acknowledgment, like a thank-you to me for setting him on this path.”
“Then he feels like killing is his calling and purpose in life. Why isn’t that comforting?” Trent stuck some fries into his mouth.
“Probably because if he loves what he’s doing, he’s not going to stop unless we make him. And we haven’t had much luck so far.”
Fifty-One
Trent was eating from a bag of chips and swigging back coffee when Amanda returned to her desk with her own refreshed mug. They hadn’t really hit pay dirt before by searching the CCRE, so they decided to go at things from another angle. Latching onto the possibility that their suspect was affected by sex trafficking, they took to the internet. It was at their fingertips and didn’t require getting the FBI involved. She and Trent had been searching for several hours and weren’t getting anywhere.
“There are more instances of crimes and murders related to sex trafficking than I would have guessed,” Trent said.
“Sad fact.”
“What if… and I hate to even say this… but what if our suspect’s story isn’t out there to find? At least not how we’re looking for it.”
“Oh, my God. I officially have a headache.” She massaged her temple.
Another few hours passed with no forward progress. She might be better off directing her attention to the Pansy Shoppe, if for nothing but a change of pace.
“Steele, Stenson.” It was Malone headed their way, and she was surprised to see him here so late. But they were dealing with an ugly case. He was just outside her cubicle. “I heard back from the uniformed division sergeant. Our suspect and Ashley Lynch were at the Ritter Motel in Dumfries. Same trick. Adjoining rooms. Paid in cash.”
“Dumfries… Woodbridge,” she mulled over out loud. “He really is doing all he can to evade the sex-trafficking people.”
“And went from ordering one girl to two,” Trent pointed out. “Just another way to cover his tracks. They wouldn’t think it was the same person ordering the girls, even if the type was the same.”
“Uh-huh,” Malone said. “Obviously, the room at Ritter’s is no good to us for processing, with that being five nights ago.”
“That’s all? Feels much longer ago than that.” She rubbed her head again. Time to call in help. She took an ibuprofen from her desk drawer and swallowed it with a swig of water.
“Got a call from the CSIs who processed rooms at the Sunny Motel,” Malone went on. “The only forensic trace they deemed to be evidence was a palm print they lifted from the back door of room eight. But, before you get excited, there was no hit in the system.”
“Hardly even worth mentioning,” she mumbled, feeling extremely discouraged with the lack of progress on this case.
Malone snapped his jaw shut. There was anger in his eyes. “I believe in open communication, Detective. Along those lines, you should know video was collected from the Sunny Motel, and stills of both our murder suspect and the handler are being run through facial recognition programs.”
Hopefully, they were of better quality than the photo Amanda had sent of their suspect in the crowd across from 532 Bill Drive. The good news was that since they had the Devil’s picture now, there was no need for Crystal Foster to sit down with a police sketch artist. She could just start getting on with her life. But hearing about the stills also made her think of something else. “Can we expect to get a copy of the photo array that includes our prime suspect?” There would be one out there, as the officers would have used it when asking around at motels.
“I’ll make sure it gets to you.”
“And it probably wouldn’t hurt to get copies of the stills from the video.”
“I told CSI Blair to send those along.”
Amanda would be checking her email as soon as Malone left.
Malone nudged his head toward their desks. “What are you doing now?”
“Searching older, similar cases. And having no luck so far. I was actually just about to take a break from that and look into the Pansy Shoppe,” she said. “We know the van wasn’t theirs, but why would our suspect put their logo on his van? Maybe he’s pointing us there for some reason.”
“Could be. All right, carry on, but don’t spend the night here.
Cut out no later than midnight. Neither of you are any good to me dead on your feet.”
Amanda glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:45 PM. After a couple of nights of little sleep, she’d happily go home and crawl into bed now. “You got it.”
“Just a word, Amanda, before I leave.” He motioned for her to follow him to his office.
He closed the door behind them. “You asked me if I’m all right lately. I’m not. And it’s not entirely to do with the LT.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk and dropped into his. “It’s come to my attention that you may have received correspondence from the killer early on in this case.”
Her heart thumped rapidly. This had to be about the note at the cemetery. She sat down. “I meant to tell you.”
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Amanda. I want you to talk to me. How can you expect me to help you if you don’t?”
“But…” She considered how to word what she had to say next. “I wasn’t needing your help. I didn’t even know what to make of it myself.”
“But you took it to CSI Blair to have it processed. You must have ‘made enough’ of it to do that.”
She felt her cheeks heat with the betrayal. She should have known that CSI Blair would say something to Malone. She thought back to his chilly demeanor, and it had started around the time of the second fire. Blair must have told him then, but Amanda asked anyway. “When did she tell you?”
“That doesn’t matter. You should have told me.” His tone was more hurt than anger, and it caused remorse to set in.
“Yeah, I should have. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t let things like that fall through the cracks again.”
“I just didn’t want you to take me off the case.”
He regarded her, his face all bunched up. “Don’t you know me at all?”
“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have? Hill’s breathing down your neck.”
“You let me handle her.” He was so tight-lipped he could have been a ventriloquist.
She’d apologize again if it didn’t make her feel like she was playing on repeat.
Malone got up with a heave. He reached the door and told her, “Night.”
“Night.”
She returned to her desk, her mind lingering on her conversation with Malone and his words, “You let me handle her.” He had always proven to her that he had her back, so why would she ever think that would change?
She sank into her chair and opened her email. There was one from CSI Blair with two attachments. The still of their suspect and one of the Devil. It was certainly understandable why he gave people the creeps.
She quickly sent the Devil’s photo and a note about the Sunny Motel, Second Treasures, and Ritter Motel in Dumfries over to Patty Glover.
Then she proceeded to key in a business search for the Pansy Shoppe and found the names of the business partners—a man and woman, different last name.
She pulled their backgrounds. Neither had a criminal record. Both were single, lived separately, and held mortgages. Nothing was glaringly wrong with them, but what about their employees—past and present? She’d need to wait until morning as the place would have long been closed for the day. They’d probably also want a court order to part with their employee names.
She got the paperwork together to subpoena that information and sent it over to the judge on call. By the time she came in tomorrow, she should have the approval she needed and be able to march right to the Pansy Shoppe.
She got up and stretched her arms overhead. The clock told her it was now half past ten. “Let’s call it, Trent.”
Fifty-Two
Amanda had arrived at Central the next day to find the approved subpoena for the Pansy Shoppe employees in her email inbox. There was a card on her desk as well. Probably for her birthday and signed by everyone in the station. She didn’t resent getting older; if anything she was thankful. But she left the envelope unopened and headed for the flower boutique.
She called Trent from their parking lot to let him know where she was, and he told her that he’d just pick up where he’d left off last night.
She got out of the car and went inside. A bell rang when she entered, and Bonnie Pratt, who Amanda recognized as one of the owners, greeted her with a pleasant smile.
“What can I get together for you?” Bonnie asked.
Amanda hated to wipe the grin off the woman’s face, but she was there on business. She held up her badge. “I’m not here for flowers today.”
“Oh. All right, then. What can I help you with? I’m guessing this has something to do with that guy putting our name on his van? But I told the officer who came by that wasn’t us.”
“It’s in regard to that case, yes,” Amanda admitted. “But I’m going to need a list of your current and former employees. I have a warrant.” She pulled it up on her phone and showed Bonnie.
Bonnie’s lips moved as she read, then she met Amanda’s gaze and walked to the counter. She went behind it and clicked on the computer. Shortly after, a printer was humming to life. She snatched a sheet off the tray and handed it to Amanda.
There were fifteen employees listed with addresses and phone numbers. “That’s all?”
“We’re a small shop, and we don’t have much turnover in staff.”
Amanda held up the piece of paper and said, “Thank you.”
“Uh-huh.”
Amanda left, hating how she’d entered Bonnie’s life as a gray cloud over her otherwise sunny morning, but she had no choice.
* * *
By the time Amanda was walking to her desk at Central, it was ten o’clock. Trent looked up, appearing haggard.
“You all right there?” she asked him.
“I think so, but I’m still not getting anywhere.”
“Keep looking. I’m going to dig into this.” She held up the page she’d retrieved from Bonnie. “It’s the employee list from the Pansy Shoppe.”
“All right.” Trent returned his gaze to his monitor.
She sat down and got to work, focusing on the male employees. The last one on her list was a former employee named Randy Hart. She pulled his background. No record, but his DMV photo had her blood running cold. “Trent, come here.”
“Ah, yeah.” He sounded like she woke him up.
“Get over here.”
He made quick work of it; he must have sensed the urgency in her voice.
“Look.” She pressed a finger to her screen.
“The Devil.”
“Yep.”
“Okay, but how does a sex-trafficking guy wind up working at a flower shop? And can you imagine this guy behind the counter, or at your door with a delivery? I’m guessing the Pansy Shoppe kept him working in the back.”
“Well, he was a former employee…” She looked at the list, which included hire and leave dates. “Looks like he left nine years ago.”
“Maybe before the black eyes and the sex trafficking.”
“Probably.” And she hoped so. She hated to think that the flower shop was caught up with the sex-trafficking ring somehow.
“I’m still stuck on why our killer pointed us to him in the first place. Does he hold Randy Hart responsible for whatever happened in the past? If so, why not just kill him?”
“He could be biding his— Oh. Maybe he’s just trying to protect his own ass? He could view Hart as a threat.” She met her partner’s gaze, feeling confident in this suggestion.
“We did discuss that the sex-trafficking people would be interested in exacting revenge for the stolen girls.”
“We’ve got to move.” She jumped to her feet and went down the hall, Trent behind her. She stopped at Malone’s office, rapped her knuckles on the door.
“Yeah?”
She entered with Trent and filled him in about Hart.
“Hold up.” Malone sat back in his chair and swiveled slowly. “Do we think he’s working with the killer?”
Amanda glanced at Trent, back at Malone. “We have no reason to
believe that, but our killer wanted us to find him. At least I believe so. Hart should be brought in and questioned as soon as possible. It might shed light on everything.”
“Not disagreeing with you there.”
“Good.” She spun to leave.
“Detective Steele,” Malone said.
She turned back around. “Yes?”
“You could go in there and really muck things up—” he held up a hand to stave off her defense “—not intentionally, of course, but this man could be the key to bringing more down in the sex-trafficking operation. I’d contact Sex Crimes. Let that department handle Hart.”
She felt like a balloon deflated of air. “But… Sarge—”
“No, I feel strongly about this, and I know you wouldn’t want to jeopardize justice being brought to those girls—and the countless others still out there.”
“Never.”
“Okay, then. Call Sex Crimes. Pass this along.”
“Wait,” she blurted out.
Malone angled his head. “I’m listening.”
“Let us at least stake out this guy, track his movements. It’s the best thing we have going right now. And, yes, I see your point about Sex Crimes. Trent and I won’t move in. We’ll just see where he goes, keep a distance. But here’s what I’m thinking: he’s in charge of watching the girls. If our guy orders another one or two, we’ll be in the vicinity to follow him. Hart might lead us to our killer and where the girls are being held.”
Malone stared at her, thinking it through. “Huh. You’ll stay back, observe only? Call in Sex Crimes if—and when—it comes to that?”
“I promise, and I’ll call Detective Glover when I leave this room, just to give her a heads-up.” She’d already sent Randy’s picture, but now they had his name.
“All right, then. Do it.”
Amanda and Trent didn’t waste time leaving his office and heading to the lot.
“If there’s something personal there, between our killer and this Hart guy, why not just kill him then? He obviously knows where to find him.” Trent looked her in the eye and the validity of his question caused her mind to go blank.
Stolen Daughters Page 25
