Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (e ink ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“You’re very welcome.”

They reached the hall, and no sooner had the door closed than Mitzi secured the lock and chain.

“Too much to hope we’d have gotten something from her,” Trent lamented as they headed back to the car.

“We had to talk to her.”

“What’s our next step? Revisiting the interviews and seeing if we can somehow turn up an ID on Tom Cruise?”

They got into the car, Trent driving.

“Unless you have a better idea.” But their killer wasn’t going to hand over his ID and address. Besides, he likely left before the interviews were started, as she’d thought earlier. “We can also dig more into closed cases that are similar to the ones we’re working.”

“We only reached a dead end with that before.”

“Well, if you have any suggestions, spit ’em out,” she snapped, and felt instant remorse. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired of banging my head against a brick wall.”

“Me too.”

Her stomach growled. “How about we grab something to eat before heading back to the station? It’s not quite five, but better to grab something while we can.”

“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