by Mary Burton
Ayden’s expression was grim and he looked as if he’d aged twenty years in the last two hours.
Jacob quickly updated the two. ‘We need to talk to the Sorensons before the media gets to them.’
‘Agreed. Someone is leaking information,’ Ayden said. ‘I want hourly updates on this.’
‘Sure.’
Jacob and Zack ducked around the back of the building and got into Jacob’s car, which was parked away from the media cameras. Jacob fired up the engine and they drove out of the development onto the main thoroughfare.
Zack telephoned the contact number for the Sorensons, identified himself to Mr Sorenson, and the two agreed to a meeting. He closed his phone. ‘The guy sounds like a wreck.’
‘Wouldn’t you be?’
‘Yeah.’
Somberness settled between the detectives as they drove to the address supplied by the missing persons’ officer. Neither relished the conversation they were about to have.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at a neatly kept colonial brick house in a middle-class neighborhood. They parked in the paved driveway and walked up to the front. Jacob rang the bell and the door snapped open almost instantly. The two people standing there were tall, long limbed, and fair, like their daughter. Their hair had long ago turned gray, and he found himself trying to figure out which one Amanda favored. He decided she must be a blend of the two.
‘Mr and Mrs Sorenson, I’m Detective Jacob Warwick. This is my partner, Zack Kier.’
Mr Sorenson’s gray eyes paled with worry. He held out his hand and shook Jacob’s and Zack’s hands. ‘This isn’t good, is it?’
Jacob didn’t want to have this conversation on the front porch. ‘Can we come inside?’
Mrs Sorenson’s eyes filled with unshed tears as if she knew the worst. ‘Please, come in,’ she said.
They stepped out of the cold and into the warm foyer carpeted with an Oriental runner. They followed the couple into a pristine living room that looked as if it didn’t get used often.
They all sat. Mr Sorenson was the first to speak. ‘What is this about?’
Mrs Sorenson looked at her husband and squeezed his hand.
Jacob leaned forward clasping his hands in front of him until his joints ached. ‘Mr and Mrs Sorenson. We believe we found your daughter this morning. She was carrying her driver’s license and her face matched the photo.’ He drew in a breath, dreading this part. ‘She was dead. We believe murdered.’
Mrs Sorenson dropped her head and started to weep. ‘I knew something was wrong when she didn’t show up to work. I knew it. I went by her apartment on Saturday but she wasn’t there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Zack said softly.
‘How did she die?’ Mr Sorenson asked. Anger mingled with sadness in his eyes.
‘We can’t say just yet,’ Jacob said.
Mrs Sorenson’s red-rimmed eyes pierced him. ‘Why not? She was our child.’
The wall behind them was covered with pictures of their children. The pictures scanned decades and included shots of them at their graduations, during holidays, and with their sports teams. It was easy to pick Amanda out of the mix.
‘The investigation is complicated. We think whoever killed your daughter may have been involved in other crimes,’ Jacob said.
‘Two other women have been murdered in the last couple of weeks,’ Mr Sorenson said. ‘Are you referring to those women?’
Jacob purposefully avoided the question. ‘Tell me about Amanda. Boyfriends, her job, friends.’
Mrs Sorenson wiped a tear from her face. ‘Amanda had a boyfriend last year but she broke up with him. He was a good guy and we didn’t blame him for the breakup. She never stayed with anyone too long. She liked her independence. She was an artist. A painter. She was quite good and was making a name for herself.’
‘What about friends?’ Jacob asked.
‘She had some girlfriends, but again no one close.’
‘She kept to herself,’ Jacob said. He’d heard that statement when the other victims had been described.
‘Basically,’ her mother said. ‘She loved her art and her work. That’s what she put her energy into.’
‘Has she always been a loner?’ Zack asked.
Her mother closed her eyes and dabbed the corners. She pulled in a breath and looked at Jacob. ‘Amanda was always moody. She would spend hours alone in her room listening to music and working on her art. I always assumed that that was who she was. So I left her alone so she could paint. That generally calmed her.’
Three women. Each lived alone. Each couldn’t sustain a relationship.
‘What kind of things did she paint?’ Jacob asked.
‘Flowers. Clouds. A white house with a wide front porch and a picket fence. Little girls playing.’
‘Those images don’t fit your description of a moody woman,’ Jacob observed.
‘Her pictures always had a sadness about them.’ Mrs Sorenson swallowed. ‘I assumed those images had to do with her life before she came to live with us.’
Jacob raised his gaze. ‘Before?’
‘Before we adopted her,’ Mr Sorenson said. ‘We adopted Amanda when she was ten.’
Jacob eased forward in his seat. ‘Do you know anything about her birth family?’
Mrs Sorenson shook her head. ‘No. It was a closed adoption. At one point we tried to find out. She was having trouble sleeping and we thought if we understood her past better we could help her. But the agency director told us the records were sealed. She wouldn’t tell us anything.’
‘Isn’t it common to know something about an adopted child’s past?’ Zack asked.
Mrs Sorenson smiled. ‘I suppose. Amanda was the only child we ever adopted. Our other five children are ours.’ Her cheeks colored. ‘I mean they are our birth children.’
‘Has her name always been Amanda?’
‘That was her name when she came to us. And she never told us differently.’ Mrs Sorenson frowned. ‘But I suspect it was some kind of code name used by the placing agency.’
‘Code name?’
‘They used to do that. Create new names for the birth mother and the adopted child. Sometimes they made new birthdays. It was a way to protect identities.’
Jacob drummed his fingers on his leg. ‘Did she ever talk about her birth family?’
Mrs Sorenson shook her head. ‘Never. I tried to get her to open up about it but she never would. I’ve been told that’s not so uncommon for a child who’s been placed at a later age. I think the transition from Amanda’s old home to ours was abrupt and traumatic.’
‘Abrupt?’
‘We weren’t given details.’ She frowned. ‘At the time I didn’t question the social worker. I thought if we could love her enough we could overcome whatever she’d been through. But it was never that easy.’
Mr Sorenson frowned. ‘She was always testing us. Seeing how far she could go.’
Mrs Sorenson smiled, her eyes watery and red. ‘I think she needed to prove to herself that no matter what we wouldn’t give up on her.’
‘She was placed in your home by the state?’ Jacob asked.
‘A private agency. Virginia Adoption Services.’
Jacob nodded. ‘Where did she go to school?’
‘She attended Virginia Commonwealth University. She earned a degree in painting. Later she earned a master’s in art history. She was a talented painter.’
‘Did she sell her work?’
Mrs Sorenson offered a faltering smile. ‘She’d just sold a couple of pieces a few months ago. She was so excited. Until then she’d worked as a clerk in a rental car company to pay the bills. We often had to help her with rent.’ Tears welled in her eyes and she started to cry again.
Mr Sorenson wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. ‘Can these questions wait? My wife is too torn up about this.’
Mrs Sorenson raised her head. ‘I can keep talking. I must keep talking. I owe that to Amanda. I feel like I failed her in so many w
ays.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Jacob asked.
‘I wanted to bond with her so badly. I tried everything, but nothing worked. I hate to say it, but there were times when I resented her. I gave her everything and it was never enough.’
‘Have you ever heard the name Rachel?’ Jacob asked.
‘No,’ Mr Sorenson said.
‘What about Judith or Ruth?’
His wife looked up. ‘I heard her say Judith in her dreams when she first came to us. When I asked her who she was, she wouldn’t tell.’
Jacob looked at Zack. This was the first tangible connection between the victims. ‘If you think of anything that might link Amanda to the name Judith, Ruth, or Rachel would you let us know?’
‘Of course,’ Mr Sorenson said. ‘We’ll give you anything you need.’
The couple rose and escorted the detectives out of their house. Neither of the detectives spoke until Jacob had fired up the engine and pulled into traffic.
‘What the hell does the killer see in these women that we don’t?’ Zack asked.
Jacob drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘We know Vicky was in foster care. Amanda was adopted. Maybe Jackie was adopted as well.’
‘No one said Jackie was.’
‘No one said she wasn’t. And it’s a question we never thought to ask.’
‘You really think this is the connection?’
‘I don’t know. But it’s all we’ve got right now.’
It was past lunchtime when Cole exited his house through the back door and crossed the alley to Kendall’s yard. He was certain that Kendall’s house was empty. The contractor had come and gone for the day. The roommate was gone. And Kendall had left hours ago.
Now was as good a time as any to have a look around her place.
Quickly, he slipped through her garage into the backyard and hurried to her back door. He’d been watching her for the last couple of days and knew she kept a key hidden behind a loose brick by the back door. It was a stupid habit, one that could cause her a lot of trouble. But for now he was glad because it made getting in easier. He opened the back door, moved inside, and closed the door behind him. He pocketed the key. ‘Hey, Kendall, it’s me, Cole. Are you home? I need to borrow an egg.’ Lame. But he didn’t care.
All he cared about was that no one answered him. And no one did.
He moved down the back hallway, listening as his footsteps echoed in the house. He stopped in the kitchen. The new cabinets had been installed. They looked nice.
He hurried up the center staircase and headed to the room at the back of the house she used as an office. He’d watched her from his house. Generally, when she came home from work it was tea and quiet time in her office.
The space was neat and orderly. The furniture style looked French, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. She’d taken time to ensure that every piece went together. Light blues, pale yellows, and whites made the space look feminine but not fussy. A man could sit on the generously stuffed couch and read while she sat at her desk.
She cared about her home. In fact, from what he’d learned, she’d taken extra care to make this house very special. A showpiece for sure, but it was also very livable and welcoming.
So unlike his place, which was furnished with a couple of lawn chairs, a TV set on crates, and a sleeping bag on a blow-up floor mattress. The furnishings were as transient as he was.
Cole couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt at home. For the last couple of years, he’d either been living in cheap motels or out of his car. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have family – to know a welcoming gaze, hear laughter, or enjoy the company of those he trusted.
He ignored the tightness in his chest and moved into Kendall’s office.
He didn’t turn on the lights, knowing the light could draw unwanted attention even during the day. He moved behind her desk, then sat down. The papers on the desktop were neatly stacked. Pencils, pens, and paper clips were all in their proper places. The in-box had a few papers but nothing dating back for more than a week. Kendall Shaw lived a very orderly, controlled life.
He opened the front desk drawer. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for. But he’d know when he saw it. Then he opened the side drawers. All the drawers, like the desktop, were neat and orderly. Nothing jumped out at him.
Cole shoved out a breath. ‘There has to be something here.’
He sat in silence. A clock ticked. A cloud passed, robbing the room of some of its light. He tapped his fingers on the desk. Pushing back from the desk, he glanced to his right. That’s when he saw her handwritten notes about Carnie Winchester, an adoption search consultant.
His heart pounded faster as he leaned under and retrieved the letter and read it. Kendall was searching for her birth family.
Just then he heard the back door open and close. Footsteps sounded in the kitchen.
‘Shit.’ He replaced the paper and rose slowly, careful not to make a sound, and moved across the room. He stood behind the door and listened.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Whoever was home was coming upstairs. He curled his hands into fists. He couldn’t be found. Not now.
He wedged his body back against the wall. Holding his breath, he listened as the steps paused in front of the office doorway.
‘Kendall?’
It was Nicole. The roommate.
She peeked her head into the office. ‘Kendall, are you home?’
Cole didn’t want to hurt a pregnant woman. But he couldn’t be found here. If she came into the room …
Go away. I don’t want to hurt you.
Nicole hesitated in the doorway and then withdrew. She moved into her room and closed the door. He waited until he heard the sound of water running before he moved out of the room and quickly down the stairs. Quietly, he opened and closed the back door and then replaced the key behind the brick. He sprinted across the backyard, through the garage, and across the alley until he was safely back in his house.
He closed the door. His heart pounded in his chest. He sensed he was so close to the answers he needed. Carnie Winchester. She was searching for Kendall’s family. Time to pay her a visit and see what she knew.
Jacob, Zack, and a forensics team arrived at Amanda Sorenson’s town house an hour after the detectives had talked to her parents. They had obtained a search warrant even though the Sorensons had given their consent to search.
The apartment was very ordinary. Not much furniture in the living or dining rooms. Instead, there were a couple of easels with canvases on them. The paintings were just what Amanda’s mother had described: little girls playing. There were five girls in one painting, three in the other. Each painting had a happy theme, and yet the images possessed darkness under the light.
They left Jacob feeling sad, disconnected.
The detectives searched the house but found nothing out of the ordinary. They spent the next six hours talking to neighbors trying to find out everything they could about Amanda Sorenson. They learned little. She kept to herself. Very artsy. Played her music too loud sometimes. Nice. No special visitors. No known boyfriend.
Jacob stood in the living room staring at the painting of the three girls. Amanda had blurred their features. Had she done it for effect? Or was there another reason why the girls didn’t have clear features?
Jacob glanced at the second painting, which depicted five faceless young girls. They sat under a tree. The sun shone brightly over their heads.
Three dead. Did the killer have two victims to go?
‘What is the key to this case?’ Jacob muttered as he stared at the painting. He turned to Zack, who was going through a pile of bills. ‘I want to know who bought her paintings a few months ago. Let’s turn this place upside down if we have to.’
Chapter Nineteen
Monday, January 21, 9:02 A.M.
Dana Miller was very pleased with herself. She’d just closed a five million-dollar real estate deal and the 6 percent commission equat
ed to a three hundred thousand-dollar fee. ‘Not bad for a morning’s work.’
She turned from her desk and stared out the large picture window. Her office was at the top of a skyscraper in the city of Richmond and overlooked the James River. Everyone in the company envied her. They wanted her office. Her salary. Her life.
And yet she felt bored. Empty. Sad. This last year, large deals had become nothing more than a game. And lately, she didn’t even care much who won or lost.
She wanted more than what she had. She needed more.
Dana turned back to her desk and from a sleek chrome drawer she pulled out a gun. It was a thirty-eight. Small, compact, easily hidden, left no cartridges behind, and very deadly if push came to shove.
She’d not gotten as far as she had in life by playing by the rules and this latest quest of hers was no different.
She’d tried to play by the rules with Nicole. But the woman had refused the offer she’d made for the baby. In fact, Nicole had stopped taking her calls. And time was running out.
Dana opened the gun’s chamber and inspected the six bullets. She had one last offer for Nicole. It was an offer that wouldn’t be rejected.
Nicole’s belly weighed heavily as she scooted off the OB’s exam table. The paper gown gaped open in the back, leaving her skin chilled. She’d peed not fifteen minutes ago but already her bladder felt full. This baby can’t be born fast enough.
She quietly dressed in her stretch pants and oversized shirt. She glanced in the mirror and adjusted the stray strands of her hair and moistened her lips. Her face looked bloated and round. And somewhere along the line she’d lost her cheekbones.
A soft knock at the door had her turning from the mirror. ‘I’m dressed.’
Her doctor entered. Dr Young was in her midforties but had an athletic body honed by a strict workout regimen. She had brown hair, pulled back at the nape of her neck, and she wore no makeup. ‘Well, you and the baby are doing very, very well. Your blood pressure is a bit high, though.’
‘I guess I’m a little stressed.’
The doctor nodded. They’d talked about Nicole’s adoption plan. ‘Are you talking to the baby? Holding your stomach?’
