The River Girls

by Melinda Woodhall

  The words lingered in Nessa’s mind as she sat at her desk five hours later still waiting for Leo Steele to arrive so that they could fill out an official form and discuss the game plan for trying to find Jessica.

  Mr. Steele must be very busy and very important, Nessa thought with an elaborate roll of her pale blue eyes. No need to worry about poor little me waiting here til all hours.

  She was tempted to give up and go home, but the despair she’d heard in Beth Carmichael’s voice kept her in her chair. Another girl was missing. The last time Nessa had taken a report on a missing girl, the girl hadn’t been found for more than three years, and Nessa had been the one that had to tell the girl’s family that their daughter’s remains had been found in the river.

  “Nessa, someone’s here to file a missing person’s report.” Dave Eddings, the uniformed officer manning the station’s front desk, had stuck his head into the detective’s office without her noticing. “I’ll put ‘em in room three.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Nessa was surprised to see an attractive woman with long, honey blonde hair sitting at the table when she entered the interrogation room. There was something familiar about the woman. She wore a white, tailored blouse and held a Macy’s shopping bag on her lap. A golden retriever sat at attention next to her.

  “I’m sorry, are you here to file a missing person’s report?” Nessa asked the woman, thinking she must have mixed-up the room number. She buttoned her suit jacket and smoothed back her unruly hair, conscious that she must look a bit scruffy after the long day.

  “Yes, well, I’m Eden Winthrop, and I need to report an…incident. I guess it does technically involve a missing person.”

  Eden placed a business card on the table that identified her as the founder and president of Mercy Harbor Foundation.

  Nessa had heard of the organization; it had a solid reputation as far as she could remember. She tried not to stare at the dog. Was it a service dog? Would it be rude to ask? She decided to act like the dog wasn’t there for the time being. She kept her eyes locked on Eden Winthrop’s face.

  “Okay, well, I’m Detective Vanessa Ainsley, but everyone around here just calls me Nessa.”

  She found that people seemed to share information more openly when they were on a first name basis. She also hated the way most people mangled her last name. Nessa jotted down a few initial notes on her pad, looking up at Eden with an encouraging nod.

  “I was hoping to speak to Detective Barker. He helped me years ago with another case.” Eden swallowed hard, and Nessa tried to curb her impatience.

  “Unfortunately, Detective Barker is on leave. He’s a bit under the weather.” Nessa poised her pen over her pad again. “But I’m his partner, and I’ll be more than happy to help you.”

  Eden cleared her throat and began twisting her hands in her lap. Finally, she said, “Earlier tonight a teenage girl showed up at one of our residential shelters unannounced. She looked like she’d been beaten. She was scared and wanted a place to stay. She told me she was in fear for her life, and that a friend of hers is missing. I left her in one of the rooms to rest while I called the foundation’s director. When I got back she had just … disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? You mean she just up and left?” Nessa asked, writing down more notes.

  “Yes, she ran out the back door without her shoes on. She left them behind. I’ve brought them with me.”

  Eden opened the shopping bag and pulled out a pair of small black tennis shoes with neon pink laces. She set the shoes on the scarred wooden table between them.

  “She ran down to the river barefoot and disappeared into the shadows. It was dark, so I’m not sure, but I think she took the rowboat we had tied to the dock. I mean the boat is missing…and so is she.”

  Nessa tensed at the mention of the river; she mentally recoiled from the image it conjured. Bones, bleached white from the sun, strewn among torn, faded fabric and tangled in soft rush at the edge of the water. Some days she wondered if the image had been burned into her retinas. It seemed to always be there just waiting for her to close her eyes.

  “Who’s the girl?” Nessa asked, trying to ignore the irrational dread that had started in her belly. “How old is she?”

  “Well, I don’t know her real name. She said her name is Star, but I don’t think that’s true. I think maybe she stayed in the shelter before, but I’m not certain. And she says she’s eighteen, but she’s probably no more than sixteen, maybe younger.”

  Eden absently scratched the big dog’s back, as if assuring herself he was still there.

  “I run a foundation for women who have been abused. We provide safe housing; help them get on their feet. They’re often hiding from violent partners.”

  Nessa nodded again, noticing the tremble in Eden’s hand as she pushed back her long, blonde hair and took a deep breath.

  She’s wound tighter than a clock, Nessa realized with some sympathy. She knew from personal experience that some people never got used to confronting violence or its aftermath.

  “Anonymity is extremely important to these women.” Eden paused as if trying to come to a decision.

  “I may have information on this girl…on Star…in the foundation’s database, but I’d have to do some research. And what I find out would need to be kept strictly confidential.”

  “Well, we do have our fair share of crazies here in Willow Bay, so I understand what you’re saying,” Nessa replied, “but it’ll be real hard to find someone if we don’t have a clue who they are.”

  “You have to find her.” Eden’s glistening green eyes bore through Nessa. “She’s in danger and I…well I know she needs help.”

  Nessa could see that Eden was becoming increasingly distressed. Her hands fluttered in her lap like frightened birds when they weren’t stroking the dog’s head.

  She turned to the golden retriever. “And who are you then, big guy?”

  The dog stared at Nessa with curious eyes. She liked the way he tilted his head, as if waiting to hear what else she had to say.

  “This is Duke,” Eden said, her voice softening on his name. “He’s my emotional support dog.”

  “Is that like a service dog?” Nessa asked, not daring to ask the more interesting questions that sprang to mind. She wondered about Eden Winthrop’s past.

  What had happened to her? And why did she need emotional support?

  Eden looked at Duke and smiled for the first time. “No, he’s not specially trained to perform tasks like a service dog, but he is a certified ESA, which stands for Emotional Support Animal. That just means he helps me cope with anxiety. I’d be lost without him.”

  A sudden, loud rap on the door was followed by the appearance of a man with disheveled blonde hair and a five o’clock shadow worthy of a GQ cover.

  “I’m Detective Simon Jankowski with the WBPD, Special Investigations Unit,” he said with a curt nod to Eden, before turning to Nessa. “You said you had a report about a missing teenage girl?”

  “Hold your horses, Jankowski, slow down.” Nessa held up her hands in mock surrender. “This isn’t the missing person report I told you about earlier. This is Eden Winthrop, and she’s here to report that a different girl may have gone missing.”

  “You mean there’s been more than one girl reported missing in Willow Bay tonight?” Eden asked in dismay. “It may just be a coincidence, but Star did mention a friend of hers had disappeared a few days ago. Someone she called Jess.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Nessa wondered if the night would ever end. She rubbed her stiff shoulders and stretched her back as Jankowski fired questions at Eden Winthrop over the wooden table. The poor woman’s chest was practically heaving in and out as she tried to explain again what she knew about the teenager called Star and her friend Jess.

  “Did she give you a description of her friend? Did she tell you her last name?” Jankowski had asked the questions before, but he liked to throw out repeat questions during interviews to see if
he could elicit a different answer.

  Sometimes the tactic actually worked, but Nessa thought that tonight was not going to be one of those times. Eden had already provided all the information she knew. Further questioning could only be considered harassment.

  Officer Eddington opened the door again and stuck his head in.

  “Leo Steele is here wanting to see you, Nessa. He says it’s about a missing girl.”

  “That’s fine, Dave, tell him I’ll be with him shortly.” She felt a small flash of satisfaction that now Leo Steele was the one waiting for her. No need to be nasty, Nessa, she scolded herself as she turned to Eden.

  “Thanks for your statement, Ms. Winthrop. We appreciate you coming in and telling us about Star.”

  She put her pen down and stood up to indicate the interview was over. Jankowski also rose and began moving toward the door.

  “But what are you going to do about Star…and Jess?” Eden stammered, her brows furrowed in frustration.

  “We’ll do what we can, Ms. Winthrop.” Jankowski jumped in before Nessa could respond. “And, hopefully, if these girls want to be found, we’ll find them. But if they make bad choices and associate with addicts and violent criminals, I’m not sure how much we can do.”

  Eden’s face blanched at the words. "I see good kids involved in violent situations all the time. One day they’re living at home, and the next they are hiding in a domestic abuse shelter. After a crisis, life can tend to spiral out of control, especially for teenagers. They can end up making bad choices. Doesn't mean they're bad kids. They still deserve to be protected, Detective."

  Nessa glared at Jankowski before placing a hand on Eden’s stiff shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can, I promise you that. Just let us know if you think of anything else, and we’ll be sure to update you as progress is made.”

  Eden stayed seated at the table, her fists clenched in front of her. She looked up at Nessa, eyes blazing.

  “That’s what the police said when my sister’s husband became abusive. They promised to do what they could. Well it wasn’t enough; he still managed to kill her.”

  Nessa stared at Eden in surprise, struggling to hold back the words that threatened to tumble out.

  I thought I recognized you; Mercy Lancaster was your sister.

  Everyone in the department knew about the violent murder of Mercy Lancaster, but Nessa had forgotten that Mercy’s family name had been Winthrop. The connections slowly clicked into place inside Nessa’s tired brain. Eden Winthrop was Mercy’s older sister. The one that had found her sister’s body.

  No wonder Eden had asked for Barker. He’d worked the case, hadn’t he? That had been before Nessa. Before they’d been partners. She made a mental note to ask him about the case next time she checked in on him.

  Jankowski froze with his hand on the doorknob, his belligerent expression falling from his face like a discarded Halloween mask, revealing a look that Nessa thought might be regret. At least she hoped it was.

  Nessa noticed that Duke had moved closer to Eden and was nuzzling her hand. His eyes silently watched his owner, then flicked to Nessa. She looked away, feeling inexplicably guilty and useless. Just as she had when they’d found Tiffany Clarke’s body.

  Her stomach clenched, and she thought for one horrifying minute that she might actually throw up the dregs of the coffee she’d been drinking all night.

  Eden sighed and stood up, and Nessa could see that she had curves in all the right places; curves she had tried unsuccessfully to hide underneath plain, tailored clothes.

  Eden folded the now-empty Macy’s bag and tucked it under her arm. Moving across the room with a ballerina’s grace, she slipped past Jankowski’s bulky frame and pushed open the door. Nessa noted that Eden was taller than she had appeared sitting down. Leather pumps added a few inches to her height, making her almost as tall as Jankowski.

  “Come on, Duke,” Eden said as she gave Nessa one last long look. “Let’s go home.”

  Eden pushed the door closed behind her with a firm click, the cheap wood coming within inches of Jankowski’s stony face.

  Nessa folded her arms over her chest and said, “Before I get Mr. Steele and take his statement, I wanted to ask you something.”

  Jankowski cocked his eyebrow. “Sure, just hurry it up.”

  “Just wondering why you had to act like such a pig-headed ass to that poor woman. What’s your problem tonight, Jankowski?” She cocked her head and kept her arms folded, wishing she were as tall as Eden so that she didn’t have to look up to glare at him.

  “I don’t have time to waste on pleasantries,” Jankowski responded, his eyes hard. “As I told you earlier, we’ve got a shitstorm brewing in Vice, and the chief is all over us to figure out what’s going on before the press gets wind of it.”

  “Well, can you spend a few precious seconds and fill me in?” Nessa asked with a sugary sarcasm she usually refrained from at work. “You said this case of yours might have something to do with my missing person’s reports?”

  “Chief Kramer has created a special task force, operating on a strictly need-to-know basis only, even inside the department,” Jankowski said, choosing to ignore her obvious irritation.

  “I can only say that I’d like to sit in on the interviews related to the missing teenagers to see if there’s a possible connection to our case.”

  “Goodness, you guys in Vice are very busy and important these days.”

  Nessa couldn’t resist making the smartass comment even though she knew it was childish. Jankowski would be firmly on her naughty list going forward unless he had a major attitude adjustment. But as she opened the door to exit the room, she had a thought.

  “You say your case may have a connection with these missing girls; Tiffany Clarke was a missing girl until she turned up dead in the river. Does your case have any connection to the open Tiffany Clarke investigation?”

  Jankowski looked taken aback. “What? No, Ortiz and Ingram are still working that investigation as far as I know. And I’m sure you can put two and two together and realize our task force is tracking the type of illegal activity that Tiffany Clarke was not involved in. From what I heard she was a wholesome kid. No sign of troubles at home. Not a runaway junkie or a pro.”

  Nessa regarded the burly police detective with concern.

  “So, you think these missing girls may be involved in some type of drug or prostitution ring? Maybe victims of sex trafficking?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nessa,” Jankowski replied, but he wouldn’t make eye contact.

  “You need to take Leo Steele’s statement, and I need to collect information for the task force. That’s as far as it goes for now. We have our hands full without looking for the psycho who killed Tiffany. Nothing to do with our case.”

  Nessa nodded and grew quiet. She was still angry that the Tiffany Clarke case had been turned over to Detectives Ingram and Ortiz after Barker’s heart attack. It wasn’t fair. But whatever was happening, she didn’t like to work in a vacuum. Especially not in a small community like Willow Bay.

  If there was a killer on the loose, and sex traffickers in the area, she wanted to be updated on both to make sure her missing girls weren’t related to any other line of investigation. That just made sense.

  “I’m wondering if someone in Vice knows anything about Star. Sounds like she’s an addict, so maybe someone’s encountered her while working undercover. What about your buddy, Reinhardt? You think he might know who her dealer could be?”

  Jankowski’s face reddened with what looked to Nessa like annoyance, but when he replied, his voice was calm.

  “It’s a stretch, but I’ll see what Reinhardt knows. Now, can we get on with the next statement, please?”

  “No need to have a conniption,” Nessa muttered as she walked down the hall.

  She’d get another coffee before calling Leo Steele back to the interview room. He’d taken his sweet time getting over to the station, so he obviously wasn’t in to
o big of a hurry.

  Chapter Eight

  Leo Steele’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he tried to feed a crumpled dollar bill into the only vending machine in the police station’s lobby. He hadn’t eaten since lunchtime when Pat Monahan had insisted that he take a break to eat the cheese and cucumber sandwich she’d brought back from Bay Subs and Grub. His empty stomach was now waging an all-out war. A bag of Sun Chips and a bottle of water would have to suffice for the time being.

  “Hello?” Leo collected the bag of chips from the vending machine tray as he swiped his phone to answer the call. He already knew what the automated voice on the other end would say.

  “This is a collect call from an inmate at the Willow Bay Women’s Detention Center. All calls are recorded. To accept the call, please press 1. To decline the call, please press 2.”

  Leo accepted the call, settling his tall, lean frame into one of the hard-plastic chairs that lined the small waiting area. He stretched out his long legs, loosened his red power tie, and unbuttoned the top button of his white dress shirt. He heard a click, and then Beth Carmichael’s worried voice.

  “Leo, it’s Beth. What did the police say? Are they looking for Jessica?”

  “I’m waiting to talk to the police now, Beth. I got delayed, but I should be talking to them any minute.” Leo tried to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. He’d been preparing the defense for a high-profile case all week and had been working twelve-hour days. The stress and lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him.

  “Please do whatever you can, Leo,” Beth implored, her voice thin and strained. “I know something has happened to Jessica; I can feel it.”

  “I’ll make sure the police understand the urgency, and that it’s crucial that they find Jessica right away. I won’t let them shrug this off, believe me.” Leo ran an impatient hand through his dark, unruly hair as he imagined the response he was likely to get from the police.

  He’d had both personal and professional experience with police incompetence and indifference. That’s why he’d initially asked to speak to Pete Barker, the only detective in Willow Bay that he trusted. The only one who had always treated Leo’s father like a human being after he’d been arrested.