“Yeah, I don’t know.”
“Suppose whatever the reason, it would serve to get us off the killer’s back and onto Hart’s.”
Amanda could agree that was the simplified version, but she had a feeling there was something more there between their killer and Hart. Just what was it?
She called Patty while Trent signed out a car, and they got on the road. When Patty answered, Amanda said, “I sent you a picture of a man with black eyes, the suspected handler.” Though it was fact—not suspicion—in Amanda’s head. “I’ve got a name now.”
“You work fast,” Patty said, a smile lighting her voice.
“Things came together, but I need to let you know that my partner and I will be tracking this guy’s moves for the next while and seeing what he does.”
“Okay, just observe, if you can help it. I’d rather see where he can lead us.”
“That’s the plan, I assure you. I want us to have the best shot at bringing down the ring, not just a single player.”
“Good luck on this guy leading you to your killer too.”
“Thanks.” Amanda pocketed her phone and hated how the words “good luck” seemed to hover overhead like thunderclouds.
Fifty-Three
It was inching close to noon when Amanda had Trent park a few houses down from Randy Hart’s duplex. The department car was unmarked, but bad guys had a way of spotting cops.
“Hard to say if he’s home,” Trent said. “No sign of his Nissan.”
No sign of any vehicle… And the curtains were closed tight like it was the middle of the night. “We’ll sit here for a bit and see if he shows up.”
“Good thing I have a bladder like a camel.”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right at first, then looked over at him, and he was laughing, and she started up. “You’re certifiably crazy.”
“In good company, then. Oooh.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Hey, normal’s boring,” he said.
“What is normal anyway?” She smiled at him and then sought to get comfortable. She reclined the chair a bit and clasped her hands in her lap. “Just shutting my eyes for a few seconds. You got this?” She looked at him with one eye open, one shut, and smirked. “I’m just kidding.” Just then her phone rang, and it showed Alibi. Even though it was Logan, she answered formally because he liked it. “Detective Steele.”
“Well, hello there.” It was a man’s voice, but it wasn’t Logan’s.
Dread pricked at her skin. “Who is this?”
“I’m pretty sure you know who it is. I really thought we were on the same team, Detective, but I’ve been wrong before.”
She sat up and pointed at her phone, her eyes wide. Her heart was racing so fast she couldn’t see right. “Where are you?”
He cackled. “You don’t really think I’d tell you that, do you?”
“What do you want?”
“Now, see, that’s a better question. I thought I’d give you a call just in case you didn’t get my card today. Happy Birthday, Detective.”
She detected a smile travel the line, and shivers ran down her spine. How does he know it’s my birthday? But he mentioned a card. Was it the one currently sitting on her desk that she’d thought was from her coworkers? How had he walked right into Central without anyone stopping him?
“I bet you’re trying to figure me out or trace the call. I just want you to back off. You let me do what I do, and you look the other way.”
“You know I can’t do that. I… We found Randy Hart.”
“Bravo. He’s the real criminal, not me. But in case you don’t believe me, I have an insurance plan.”
There was scuffling on the other end of the line.
“Amanda?” It was Logan.
“Are you—”
“Now, now.” It was the killer again. “As I told you, all I want is for you to back off and your boyfriend doesn’t need to get hurt.”
She looked around fervently. Can he see me now? Where is that son of a bitch?
“You kill innocent girls,” she said, hoping for a part of him that remained human and compassionate.
“They are not innocent. No one is innocent. Back off or your boyfriend dies, and I’m sure you don’t want to lose another man in your life.”
The line went dead.
She felt numb, cold, angry as hell, and terrified. She clutched her stomach and rocked.
Trent put a hand on her shoulder. “What did he say?”
“He… He has Logan.” Tears welled in her eyes, but it was like they were frozen there. She was catapulted into the past to a time when the heartbreak was all-encompassing. Logan was new to her life, yes, but she had feelings for him, and their relationship held promise of becoming something great. She couldn’t survive another loss. “We have to save him.”
Trent didn’t move, didn’t say anything.
“Hurry. Get us back to the station.” She called Malone and told him about the situation. As she was running through it with him, she felt like she was telling a story outside of herself, like she had no connection or involvement.
Trent flipped the lights and gunned it to the station. She was pretty sure the car hadn’t come to a full standstill when she jumped out at Central.
She went right for her desk and the card. Malone was already waiting. Trent was behind her, and he nudged her gently aside.
“Gloves,” he said, and pulled a pair from his pants pocket and handed them to her.
She put them on and opened the envelope. She pulled out a birthday card. A piece of paper had been taped inside with a typed message, same font that was used on the note left at Lindsey’s grave. She took a steadying breath and read it. “‘You think I’m the bad guy here, but I’m really not. So STOP trying to stop me, or I’ll have no choice but to kill him.’”
She choked back a sob. Malone reached out to console her, but she withdrew and shook her head. “No, I’m not… not giving in. We’re going to save him.” She stood tall, squared her shoulders, and met Trent’s gaze, feeling fierce determination.
He took the card and envelope from her, also in gloved hands, and peered inside the envelope.
“Is there something else in—” Amanda’s words froze on her tongue when she had her answer.
Trent had removed something. He held it for her to see. A colored print of Logan. He was tied up and gagged, his back against a wood-planked wall. Next to him was a gas can, and a flame on the tip of a lighter was in the bottom right-hand corner.
She gasped.
Trent put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s just trying to bully you. Remember, you got this card before you talked to Logan. He’s still alive. We have time to save—”
“We’re going to, Trent.” She was screaming in her head. She couldn’t lose Logan now, not when her life was just starting to resemble something close to a new normal. But the guilt pierced through her just at the thought. This wasn’t about her. Logan’s life was the one at risk.
“Is there anything I can do?” Malone asked.
“Yeah. Find out how he got in here,” Amanda said. “How did no one notice?”
“I’m on it.” Malone took one step, and Trent spoke.
“We’ll need officers watching Hart’s place in case he shows up.”
Malone made a finger gun, fired, and walked toward the front desk.
She paced, mumbling, and then it hit! She faced her partner. “He’s trying to tell us he’s not the bad guy. The clue to finding him needs to be in that. Somewhere. Damn it!”
Fifty-Four
Detective Steele said they had Randy Hart. Did that mean he’d been arrested? He’d taken a risk by pointing the police Randy’s way, but it served a few purposes. His primary intention was to occupy the police’s attention with a little detour, but it also protected his ass from the sex-trafficking ring. Surely they’d be too busy trying to avoid the police themselves to come after him—The Merciful. He also held Randy accountable for the co
urse of his life, though in a different way than his parents had. In part, due to Randy, he’d become even more invisible to his parents than ever before.
All Mom and Dad could talk about was their little “Tina”—especially after her death. She was their star child, the one born with a tiara on her head, while he had a crown of thorns. He really hoped Christina had suffered excruciating pain before she succumbed to that fire. He hoped she’d smelled her flesh burning as it cracked, curled, and blackened, like a roasting pig on a spit.
Just as he had received a taste of that horror at a young age—because of her. He laid a hand over his abdomen, thinking of the scar tissue there. He could feel the heat of the fire on his face, on his arms, on his torso. He recalled the fire crawling up his pajamas, eating at the fabric and his flesh like a starved, deranged lunatic.
A firefighter had saved him. He’d rolled him on the ground, but the damage had been done. Third-degree burns. All that at the age of thirteen.
Christina had come into his room in the loft and lifted his kerosene lantern over her head. The flame was flickering. “Tell me later how it felt.” She cackled and smashed it to the floor. He couldn’t get out of bed fast enough.
His suffering didn’t matter to their parents. His father wouldn’t even look at him afterwards, and his mother blamed him for the fire. Christina got away with everything. They idolized her, their sweet Tina. They just couldn’t see that she was the very embodiment of evil.
His sister, the devil. Himself, the angel of mercy. The Merciful.
He looked over at the blond man, ankles and wrists tied, his mouth re-gagged after the phone call. Pathetic.
“We’ll see just how much you actually mean to her,” he said and left the man alone in the dark room, feeling the burden of the man’s fate was in the detective’s hands, not his.
He returned to the living area of his loft. He knew that the sex-trafficking ring had to be noticing their girls disappearing. Even with Hart presumably out of commission, someone else from the ring would probably come looking for him. It might be time to leave the area. But he had to know what Detective Steele had meant by “We have Hart.”
He’d order another girl—just one more before moving on. He’d see if Randy showed up or another handler. He found himself wishing for Hart. Maybe he’d been too merciful, essentially gifting Randy to the police. Yes, if he got the chance, he’d take him out himself. He could handle that now.
He went to the internet and logged on to the dark web. He selected a girl from the list named Amber. Her real name had probably been something more American red, white, and blue. Something like Susie or Jane. Simple, naive, boring. She may even have been born into a home with doting parents she didn’t appreciate. Could have had a brother or sister who always came in second to her as well.
He clenched his hands at his sides, his gaze in the direction of his screen, but his focus was somewhere distant, his mind in the past. His vindictive sister was why he could kill without remorse. He saw her reflected in the eyes of the girls he strangled. Tonight, he wouldn’t waste one second feeling merciful toward anyone.
Fifty-Five
The call to Amanda’s phone had been untraceable. The front desk was managed by a mix of officers and civilians, but it had been one of the latter who told Malone that a man had dropped off the card with her. She was the one who had put it on Amanda’s desk. Still, a brazen move that the killer had showed his face in a police station.
Amanda kept repeating the words in the card like a chant. “Not the bad guy.” Finally, an epiphany struck. “Our killer doesn’t think he’s a bad person, hasn’t from the start. He sent me that note—the one at Lindsey’s grave—saying we’re on the same team. I lock up bad guys. He sees himself as being to that level with what he’s doing. He sees himself… as what?” She locked her gaze with Trent’s and snapped her fingers. “He sees himself as a victim. He suffered because of sex trafficking, and he pointed us to Randy Hart. I don’t think it was an act of self-preservation. There’s more to Hart. His background gave us nothing… google his name.”
Trent stepped in front of her to use her computer, brought up an internet browser, and entered Randy Hart. There were several hits.
“Narrow it down,” Amanda said. “Add the words ‘suspect’ and ‘sex trafficking.’”
Trent proceeded to do that, and she watched as articles popped up.
Arson Killed Young Woman.
Young Woman from House Fire Identified.
Arson Suspect Questioned & Released.
Prince William County—A Stalking Ground for Human Traffickers?
Trent said, “These results link to articles dating back seven years.”
“Pick the second one.” She jabbed a finger toward the screen, and Trent clicked on the link. He read, “‘The remains of a young woman were pulled from a house fire three weeks ago today.’”
“The article title alludes to the fact she was identified. Her name?”
Trent drew a finger down the screen. “Christina Ross of Haymarket, eighteen.”
Haymarket was a forty-five-minute drive northeast of Dumfries, with a population under two thousand, and still part of Prince William County.
Trent resumed looking at the article. “From what I can tell, Christina disappeared from a horse show when she was eleven.” He looked over his shoulder at her.
“She’d been kidnapped and held for seven years before her death.” Amanda clutched her stomach.
“And here’s her picture at age eleven.” Trent flicked a finger toward the screen.
“Even considering the age difference the resemblance to Ashley Lynch is still uncanny.”
“That’s one word for it. So what’s the killer doing? Targeting her lookalikes for some reason?”
She hitched her shoulders and nudged her head toward the monitor. “Does this article say anything about Randy Hart?” Sometimes Google produced results that didn’t include all the search words.
“Ah, let me see.” Trent scrolled down. “Actually, it’s not looking like it. Let me try another one.” He duplicated that page in a new internet tab and returned to the search results. He opened the “Suspect Questioned” piece.
Right there in the second paragraph was Randy Hart’s name. She read to herself and picked up that Hart had been questioned about his involvement in sex trafficking and the death of the young girl—Christina Ross. Suspicion was dropped when his alibi was confirmed. The house that had been set on fire was believed to have been a holding house—otherwise known as a weigh station—for trafficking victims. The property was registered to a numbered company that law enforcement had no luck in tracking down. Then another interesting tidbit … “It was an anonymous phone call that tipped off police about Hart,” she said, tingles running down her arms. “We need to find out who made that call.”
“Thought it says anonymous…”
“Yeah, nothing’s anonymous. But first, let’s find Christina’s family.”
He searched Obit Christina Ross. “She was laid to rest at Eagle Cemetery.”
“That’s where—” Amanda cleared her throat. “That’s where Kevin and Lindsey are buried. Continue,” she encouraged.
“Looks like she left behind her parents and a brother.”
“Bring up their backgrounds.”
“Just a minute…” Trent clicked away on the keyboard, then scribbled on a blank page of a notepad she had on her desk.
She was tapping her foot. All she could think about was Logan. She had to save him. There was no other option. “Trent?” she prompted.
“I’ve got their names. Just bringing up the individual backgrounds.” One filled in on the screen. “Christina’s father… it looks like he died five years ago.”
“What about the mother?”
Trent brought up her report. “Also deceased, just before Christmas last year.”
“Tell me about the brother.”
“Name’s Daniel Ross.” He typed on the keyboard. “H
e’s still alive. Twenty-eight. Currently lives in Dumfries. He would have only been fourteen when his sister was taken.”
“Young enough to be greatly impacted. Let’s take a look at his photo.”
Trent clicked on it, then sat back. “Look familiar?”
“The mystery man’s ID solved.”
“Yep. Meet Daniel Ross, our killer. He could have read the articles on Randy Hart and felt there was an injustice. That could be why he pointed us to Hart.”
“Not sure about that. It’s like he’s killed his sister repeatedly through the girls he targets. If he’s directing our attention to Hart, is he also trying to avenge her death? Brandon said our killer could have murdered before. Maybe he didn’t like his parents either. I want to know how they died and if their deaths were suspicious.”
Trent reached for the phone. She held out a hand to stop him.
“Tell me more about Daniel Ross. Where does he work?”
Trent went to the employment section of the report. “He’s an estimator with Star Properties.”
“Where did Woodbridge Bank’s estimator work?”
Trent did a quick search. “Same place. Ross must have found out about the vacant properties through work.”
“We need unis over at Star Properties, but start with bringing in SWAT. I want this done right, so this man goes away for life!”
One of the Strategic Weapons and Tactical Unit’s responsibilities was to clear and secure a scene when apprehending suspects considered extremely dangerous or when there was a hostage situation.
“You got it,” Trent said, lifting his phone’s handset.
She left him to make the necessary calls and went down the hall to Malone’s office. She found him on the phone. He waved for her to enter, and she did, closing the door behind her. She dropped into the chair across from his desk and waited.
Malone placed the telephone handset in its cradle.
Stolen Daughters Page 26
