Stolen Daughters Carolyn Arnold (primary phonics books TXT) 📖

this—yet again—but there needs to be more victims before we can get carried away thinking this is a serial killer at work. This isn’t some TV show, Amanda. This is real life.”

“Yeah, and in real life serial killers exist.”

“Still, I can’t do anything about the media yet. My hands are tied. We both know Hill’s on the warpath already. I need to consider your career, and my own.”

It only proved how wise she’d been to keep the note from him. It also probably wasn’t a good time to mention she’d booted the PWC News reporter from Fox’s crime scene and told Ronald in the Public Information Office to withhold information. “Hey, it was worth a try.” She got up and said, “Thanks for dinner.”

“Anytime.” Malone wasn’t looking at her; he was draining his bottle dry.

She wished she had something to quench her thirst—only she wasn’t thirsty; she was hungry. Not for food, but to put the killer she hunted behind bars.

Thirty-Two

Amanda had left the Malones’ about seven forty-five and was still shaking with frustration when she walked into Central fifteen minutes later. She thought for sure she could have helped Malone see logic in implementing a media ban. Her failure to convince him rested on her shoulders. More lives were at stake because of her.

She found Trent at his desk. He got up and rounded the partition with a piece of paper in his hand.

“How did you make out?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Oh. Well, we just keep working the case, doing what we can. Speaking of…” He handed her the sheet he’d carried over.

It was a color printout of Ashley Lynch as a thirteen-year-old girl. It was the one she’d seen briefly on the computer in the department car but much bigger. Amanda’s heart splintered. “What did you find on her?”

Trent lurched in her doorway and leaned against the cubicle wall. “She was reported missing by her parents, Hugh and Sabrina, as you already know. What you don’t know is the notes on the file say that Ashley had been quiet in the days leading up to her leaving. Spending a lot of time alone in her room, dressing in black.”

Amanda sat in her chair and swiveled to face Trent. “What else?”

“She was easily irritated and snippy. Her behavior changed, and things she used to enjoy, such as playing the piano, she put aside. She made her parents cancel the lessons.”

“A teenager wanting to be left alone, being moody, etcetera, that’s pretty normal. But when it’s abrupt and the crowd she hangs around with changes, along with her personality, that’s reason for concern.” Amanda’s mind was spinning. After she’d rescued those girls in January, she did a bit of research on the red flags of sex trafficking. She’d discovered the victims weren’t always snatched from the streets; some were coerced while living at home. The Fosters said that Crystal had changed and was getting into more trouble too. Had both girls gotten caught up in the DC ring?

“Did Ashley have new friends show up in her life?” she asked.

“Not that’s noted in the file. I do have more, though.”

“Go ahead.”

“The parents had their suspicions Ashley was lured out by someone on social media.”

If Amanda had any doubts as to when Ashley was caught in the web of sex trafficking, she was getting her answer. At the age of thirteen. The steak and potato Amanda had eaten earlier threatened a reappearance. “We’ll need to speak to her parents at some point.” She realized that was the truth, but there was a part of her that wanted to put that off as long as possible, given how things had turned out with the Fosters. “We should reach out to the investigating detective. Detective Robbins…?” She recalled Leila Foster mentioning his name and thought she had it right.

“Yeah, Chester Robbins with the Metropolitan Police in DC. Who names their kid Chester?”

“Number?” She grabbed her desk phone’s handset.

Trent ran around to his cubicle and called it out to her, and she pushed each digit as he said it. The call rang over to voicemail, and Amanda left a message for the detective to call her back regarding Ashley Lynch as soon as possible. She hung up and sat back in her chair, discouraged. She hated feeling like she was on the losing end. “If they think Ashley was groomed on social media, then they must have messages. Were they included in the report?”

Trent shook his head.

“We definitely need to speak with Detective Robbins.” More waiting. But they didn’t have time to sit around—not if their killer was going to act again. They had to piece some of the nightmare together. “Ashley had been a victim of sex trafficking. We know that from the tattoo on her chest. Brandon told me there are different types of serial killers. In relation to our guy, we discussed those motivated by a mission.” She paused and scanned Trent’s eyes. He seemed to be following her thus far. She continued. “Shannon Fox only became a victim because she interfered with the killer’s plans. He had to take her out, teach her a lesson.”

“Sounds like the meting out of punishment.”

She nodded. “I think so, and I say we put our focus on Ashley’s case. She probably more accurately represents who he plans to target.”

“All right, I get that.”

She went on. “Brandon suggested that maybe the killer was affected by a similar crime when he was younger. He pointed out that our killer may have struck before. Let’s look up cases similar to ours where the killer was caught and served time.”

“Time to go fishing in the CCRE?”

The Central Criminal Records Exchange was a searchable database that cataloged closed cases, including a record of sentencing for the state of Virginia.

“We should. You focus on female victims and arson, and I’ll look at female victims and strangulation.” Her mind was also full of other possible angles they could try, such as revisiting the canvassing officer interviews and the photos of