If She Ran (Martina Monroe Book 2)

by H K Christie

  3

  Martina

  Detective Hirsch flipped the light switch and illuminated the storage room. There were banker boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. I glanced around the room, and my heart weighed heavy. Too many unsolved cases. Missing persons. Murders. Property thefts. Too many people getting away with crimes, and too many family members wondering what happened to their loved ones.

  I stepped into the room and saw there was a small table in the back corner with an old office chair. Hirsch told me there would be a space for me to work. I hoped that wasn't it. Sitting in a dark room all day, flipping through case files didn't seem like a great way to spend my time. I looked back over at Hirsch. "Don't tell me that's my workstation."

  He cracked a smile. "No, we have a cubicle for you. That table is typically used for staging or sorting files—but you can do that at your cubicle if you prefer."

  "Great." I looked forward to studying the files and picking the first case to investigate. The only problem was, I wasn't sure what type of case I wanted to work on. "I'll read through a box or two of cases and create a sorting system based on priority and pick a few top contenders."

  Stacks of files were one thing, but what was the top priority? Missing persons are tough to investigate, but solving them could mean reuniting loved ones. Unsolved murders were brutal for the surviving family members grieving without the responsible parties being held accountable. Some would spend their entire lives, trying to get justice and find the killer. I didn't blame them. I knew who murdered my husband, and there was some satisfaction in knowing the perpetrator was six feet under. Jared's colleagues had made sure of that. Jared had been on duty, working a security job, when the man took a shot at the celebrity he was protecting. Jared saved the starlet, but it cost him his life. His team took out the shooter. It didn't save Jared, and it wouldn't bring him back, but at least I knew his killer wasn't walking free or hurting anyone else.

  "Before I start, do you have any files set aside for me to consider?"

  "Nope, I haven't had a chance, and I just got a call for a potential homicide, so I have to head out. We don't have a shortage of those here in CoCo County."

  "They've been keeping you pretty busy?"

  "Yes, they have. So, I will leave the cold case selection to you. Let me know if there's anything you need. I'll probably be gone a few hours. Just call me if you need anything or talk to Glenda at the front desk or Sarge."

  "Thanks, I appreciate it. Good luck out there."

  Hirsch smirked. "Thanks."

  Hirsch exited, and I scanned the room. Where to start? The box closest to the worktable was probably as good as any. I pulled down the banker's box and took off the lid. Seated in the chair, I grabbed the first file off the top. I flipped open the folder and read the report. Fairly skimpy as far as details, but plenty of photos of the home with items knocked over and an emptied jewelry box because of a burglary. Nobody had been hurt, thank goodness. I placed it in the far corner of the table, starting the low-priority pile.

  I took the next folder and scanned the report for the missing person Layla Carmichael, age eighteen, reported missing by her best friend. I continued to read the file and studied the girl's photo. She had straight blond hair that fell to her waistline and large blue eyes like a Disney princess. She was thin, bordering on sickly-looking.

  As I continued to read, something stirred inside of me. Her parents thought she was runaway, her best friend hadn't, and the best friend was the one who had reported her missing, yet Layla's last known address was the same as her parents. That didn't add up in my book. The detective did no follow-up with the best friend after speaking to her parents, and there were hardly any other notes except the last line: Most likely a runaway. In my experience, if a teenage girl goes missing and the best friend thinks something is off, something is most likely wrong. Layla had been missing four years. I set her file on the far left, starting up the high-priority pile.

  I continued sorting through the files until I had three major stacks: high, medium, and low. I'd only reviewed the contents of three boxes of cold cases, yet the piles that sat in front of me were as daunting as the rest of the storage room.

  I sat back and stared at the stacks, contemplating my priority system. Missing persons and sexual and violent assaults were high priority, murders medium priority, and everything else low priority. There was only one of me, and how I saw it, the missing persons could still be alive and if we could save them, that would be most important. Assault victims lived every day with their trauma, knowing their attacker was still out there and could come back at any moment. Family members of murder victims lived with that trauma, too, as did those who had their homes broken into. They were all top priority in my book, but when forced to choose which to investigate, I had to have a system. Plus, if we could solve a few and get more positive press, maybe the sheriff's department would increase the budget to hire more private investigators, consultants, or police officers to help solve cold cases.

  Now it was time to decide what would come first. I pulled the Layla Carmichael file from the high-priority stack and reread the contents. Four years ago, in August, the mother thought she had run off to Los Angeles to become an actress. The best friend, Jennifer, said Layla would never run off without telling her. Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn't. My best friend kept an enormous secret from me when I was that age, and it got her killed, but I, like Jennifer, had also insisted my best friend wouldn't have left without telling me. I leaned back and thought about Layla's case, the date, her photo, and the circumstances. I grabbed the top half of the high-priority stack and started flipping furiously through the pages of the reports. My adrenaline spiked as I created a new, smaller pile. When I finished, I stared at it like it was alive.

  A knock on the door caused me to glance to my left. "You're back already?"

  "Back already? I've been out for four hours. Looks like you made some progress there. What have you chosen as the first case?" Hirsch asked.

  Four hours? Without a word, I handed him Layla Carmichael's file and watched his expression. He nodded as if in agreement it would be a great one to start with. I beamed up at him and he tilted his head. "What? It seems like a good first case."

  "Oh, yeah, look at this file too." I handed him another folder. As he read it, I tapped my foot on the ground. He peered down at me. "Two months apart?"

  "Oh, there's more." I handed him another file and sat back and watched as Hirsch likely was connecting the same dots I had just minutes ago. I stood up from my chair, leaned up against the stack of boxes, and folded my arms. "What do you think?"

  "Are there more?"

  "I've only gotten through three boxes. Maybe." Studying the multiple stacks, I said, "It could take weeks, if not months, to get through all the boxes to see if there are any more. Maybe we start with the three missing persons and see if we can investigate it in one case. They have completely different backgrounds, but the girls are very similar-looking and disappeared within three months of each other and within a thirty-mile radius. All but one family assumed the girls had run off to be an actress in Los Angeles." I tapped the folder in his hand. "Raquel was from a well-to-do family, and they didn't think that she would leave without telling them since she had plans to attend UCLA in the fall and was being supported financially by her family."

  "Combining them makes sense to me."

  "Good. I want to interview the family and friends right away. What if they're still alive?" Mom, Zoey, and Rocco certainly had rubbed off on me. Statistically, the young women wouldn't be found alive, but not everyone turns out to be a statistic. Was I now a budding optimist? "I think we need to keep looking for more cases, too, when not interviewing and tracking down clues. What do you think?" I asked.

  "Have you eaten yet?"

  "No, I'm starved."

  "Want to go for a bite to eat and talk about the case?"

  If my hunch was right, and we could solve the cases, we'd also be able to make an argument
for additional funding for the cold case division at the CoCo County Sheriff's Department and maybe even bring some of the missing home.

  4

  Detective Hirsch

  I sipped my caramel latte and watched as Martina went into extreme detail, describing her approach for the investigation into the cold cases. It sounded a lot more intriguing than my current investigation, which was taking up most of my time. Another dead gang member, likely a turf or business dispute. I needed something a little more challenging. Something that would make a difference. Unfortunately, for every gang member killed, it seemed like another one popped up in their place. Not that the deceased didn't have families who deserved closure, but chances were they knew exactly who killed their family member, but with those types of cases, nobody wanted to talk to the police.

  I hadn't seen Martina since her break, but clearly, she had recuperated from her injuries and was filled with energy. I was doing well, too, but I wasn't as amped as she was. After all the press and the accolades, I took a week off for a little relaxation. My buddy even convinced me to go on a date with a woman that worked in the records department. What a disaster. She was nice, but I was rusty in the dating department and appeared to have lost the ability to have a normal conversation. My date had talked about wanting to get married and having children. I nodded politely, but in reality, I just wanted to talk about investigations and get back to work. Maybe I was destined to be alone, and maybe that was okay. I wondered how Martina did the job being a single mother. She had her nanny and now her mother. Even so, I wasn't even able to maintain a marriage to an adult woman while on the job. I suspected Martina was a secret superhero that could do it all—with bruised ribs and a concussion.

  When I’d finally signed the divorce papers, it was like a gut punch, but I knew it was for the best. The best for me and for my ex-wife. I should probably hold off on the dating scene for a while and focus on buying a new house. The transition apartment was depressing. Not that I was home much, but when I was, it would be nice to have a yard and maybe a dog or cat. Or, more of a match to my lifestyle, a fish.

  "What do you think?" Martina asked.

  I set down my coffee cup. "I completely agree with you. The three you have are a good start. If there are more, we can't investigate them all at the same time anyhow. Who knows, maybe if you find out what has happened to these three, you'll find others if there are any."

  "I'm going to start with the family and friends of Layla Carmichael. She was the last to go missing."

  "All right, my current case has me pretty busy. I think you can handle it. You're the lead, if there is any question." I chuckled and then explained the case. Then I said, "But I'm here as a resource, as are all the support staff at the station. We've got a couple of research guys that are pretty good and fast. If anyone pushes back, go to Sarge. He's pretty excited to get more positive press for the sheriff's department. While I'm not as into the press and awards, I do like solving mysteries and maybe even bringing some of these women home."

  "Wouldn't that be something?"

  "Layla Carmichael. What's her story, at least from the file?"

  "She was eighteen years old when she went missing. She graduated from Grapton Hill High School, lived with her mother and a couple of younger siblings. Her mom said she was delusional and thought she was going to be a famous actress. That's why she thinks that she ran away to LA to pursue her dreams. Best friend, Jennifer, said otherwise."

  "Does it say if she was a good student or had any boyfriends?"

  "The file is pretty thin and mentions nothing about that."

  "Anything in the file that could be a lead?"

  "Not from what I can see. This one is going to take some good old-fashioned pounding the pavement to get any answers."

  "When do you plan to talk to the family?"

  "Tomorrow. If the mother still has the same employer, I'll call and ask her schedule. Then put in a call to her right before I head over just to make sure she's home. I don't want to give her too much notice, in case she has something to hide."

  "Smart." I glanced across the café, and my eyes locked with hers - the woman I’d gone on the blind date with. I gave a head nod and smile. I hadn't called her. She hadn't called me either. We both knew it wasn't a love connection.

  "What is it?" Martina asked.

  "What?"

  "You seem distracted—startled even?"

  I shook my head. "Oh. A friend of mine set me up on a blind date—it wasn't great and I just spotted her."

  Martina's eyes widened. "A date? So soon after your divorce?"

  "Yeah, I know. I should've said no. I think it'll be the last for a while. I'm not sure if I'm cut out for the dating scene at this point in my life."

  "Maybe you just need more time—a cooling-off period."

  I don't recall Martina being so optimistic and cheerful. Maybe that was what she was like when she wasn't physically injured. Pain does typically make one grumpy. "Maybe. How about you? Do you ever date?"

  She snorted. "Oh, no." She shook her head. "I don't think that's in the cards."

  "Why not? I have the sneaking suspicion you're capable of just about anything."

  "That's very kind of you to say. Between Zoey and the job, I feel like I'm in a good place for the first time in a long while. I'm excited to be working cold cases and don't want to mess up my equilibrium. Not only that, but you aren't supposed to start new relationships in the first year of AA. But who knows, maybe one day. Stranger things have happened," she said with a slight grin.

  "Indeed."

  5

  Martina

  I pulled up to the address of Layla Carmichael's family home in Grapton Hill. The lawn was dead, and the blue house could use a fresh coat of paint. My guess from the outside was that it had two or three bedrooms and smaller shared living spaces. Judging by the dated VW bug in the driveway and the house's lack of curb appeal, I would also guess the Carmichaels were not a wealthy family.

  I parked and walked down the driveway. When I reached the front porch I knocked three times. I heard pattering of footsteps and then someone hushing another. When the person reached the front door, they called out. "Who is it?"

  "My name is Martina Monroe, and I'm an investigator with the sheriff's department."

  The door creaked open and before me stood a woman, average build, dark hair, brown eyes, not unattractive, but she looked like she could use a good night's sleep. I glanced at the two boys, about ten and twelve years old, behind her. Well, that would explain the tired eyes.

  "Are you Daisy Carmichael?"

  "Yes, that's right. You're the one who called."

  "That's right. Like I said, my name is Martina Monroe, and I'm a private investigator who has been hired by the CoCo County Sheriff's Department to reopen your daughter's case. Is it still a good time to talk?"

  "C'mon in. The boys are Damien and Daniel, Layla's little brothers."

  I gave a friendly smile and waved at the two curious boys. I stepped inside the house. As expected, with two rambunctious boys and no other parent in sight, it was messy with toys and clothes spread around the home. I continued into the room where Daisy Carmichael led me. "Please have a seat."

  I pulled back a wooden chair and sat at the dining table. She sat across from me. "Why did you decide to open her case? I thought she was a runaway? The detective said as much, and I assumed so too." Daisy Carmichael hesitated.

  "Have you heard from your daughter in the last four years?"

  She shook her head back and forth. "No. I thought she had run away, but now I'm not so sure."

  "Why is that?"

  "Her and I didn't always get along, but she loved those boys. I would've thought she would've called by now to talk to her brothers, you know?"

  "How old are they?"

  "Damien, the older one, he just turned thirteen, and Daniel is ten. Those boys were so sad when she left. Daniel cried for weeks, saying he just wanted to talk to his La La. He couldn't qu
ite pronounce Layla when he was little, but even when he could, he still called her La La." Daisy's face went long.

  Maybe Daisy realized she'd made a mistake and that her daughter hadn't run away. "What can you tell me about the last time you saw Layla?"

  "She was getting ready to go somewhere. I don't know where. She barely spoke to me by then. Mothers and teenage daughters, you know? She didn't have a car, so she told me she was taking the bus."

  "Anything specific you'd fight about?"

  "Mostly about her dreams of being a famous actress. I told her it was a pipe dream, and that she was being foolish. I told her she needed to go to college and get a job. She didn't agree."

  "That's why you think she left without telling you? You didn't agree with her career aspirations?"

  "Do you have children?"

  "A daughter, she's eight."

  "Well, what would you do if your daughter wanted to forgo college and spend all her time pursuing acting? Not that Layla wasn't a pretty and talented girl, but making it in that industry was a long shot. I told her she needed a back-up plan. She wouldn't listen."

  I never thought about what Zoey would do when she grew up or what her teenage years were going to be like. I was too busy trying to figure out her eight-year-old self. But it was a good question. The life of an aspiring actress wasn't exactly an easy road. I still thought I would support her, though. Although I would probably encourage her to go to college as a backup too. I thought Daisy was on point with that advice. I preferred not to worry about it. Zoey was eight and loved glitter and bugs and reptiles. I had enough to worry about. "I can't imagine. Is there anything that made you think maybe she hadn't run off to Los Angeles?"

  "Not at first. I initially thought she was blowing off steam. It wasn't the first time she left for a few days with no call home. It's why I hadn't filed a missing person's report. It was a month before I thought maybe something was wrong. She'd never gone that long without coming home or calling her brothers. They were devastated when she never called."