Stolen Daughters Carolyn Arnold (primary phonics books TXT) 📖

the crowds. She thought, too, of the card taken from the memorial that she’d passed over to Forensics. She’d follow up with CSI Blair on Monday to see if she got anywhere with it.

“As for geography?”

“Expand it statewide in case this guy has moved around.” She remembered that Brandon suggested their killer was local, but he’d also added the caveat he was attempting to build a profile on the very little she’d provided him.

“Timewise?”

“I wouldn’t think we should look any further back than thirty years.” Chris Ingram estimated the man he saw as being in his thirties or early forties. If that man was the killer they were after, the parameter would make him ten, at the oldest, when he went to prison—which, obviously, wasn’t realistic. But Chris had said he didn’t get a good look, and the man could appear younger than his true age. Either way, the net was cast wide.

“I’m on it.” Trent started clicking away.

She brought up the CCRE and entered her parameters. As she watched the various results fill her screen, she swelled with pride. Law enforcement in Virginia had taken these people off the streets and held them accountable for their crimes—though that same justice system would see her mother spending time behind bars. That thought reminded Amanda that she hadn’t followed up with her mother. What had Hannah worked out, if anything? Amanda would just wait until the family dinner at her parents’ tomorrow night and ask then. Her mother usually tucked in early, and at nine o’clock, she’d be getting ready for bed. Then again, that could have changed.

Her mother’s personality obviously had. She’d gone from being a gentle spirit to one who exacted revenge. Her mother hadn’t even taken the easy route and used a bullet to kill her victim. She’d chosen a murder method that had inflicted suffering and taken hours.

Amanda pinched her eyes shut and felt the warmth of unshed tears welling in them. If only she had been around for her mother after the accident. Then maybe she would have healed from the loss of her granddaughter and son-in-law and come to grips with her emotions. Maybe Amanda would have done better too. But who could really know? The circular thinking got Amanda nowhere. She shook aside her personal life and put her focus back on work.

She read through file after file, dismissing each one in turn. The arms on the clock were turning, the hours passing quickly. Then, finally, she found one of interest.

Samuel Booth. Served fifteen years. Was released three and a half years ago.

She went to the details of his crime and felt the goosebumps rise on her arms. “Ah, Trent.”

“Yeah.” He’d responded but sounded like he was concentrating on something.

“I think I found someone.”

“Me too.”

“Okay, I’ll go first. Mine’s a guy named Samuel Booth.”

Trent glanced over at her. “Small world. I’m looking at him too. Served fifteen for killing a woman.”

“A woman he strangled and stabbed,” Amanda added.

“Yep. And did you get to this morsel yet? He lives only three blocks over from Bill Drive.”

She felt herself go cold. “We’ve got to have a talk with Mr. Booth.”

Thirty-Three

Amanda banged on Samuel Booth’s door. It was just after midnight when she and Trent had arrived. They’d pulled a background on Samuel and found out he had been twenty-three when he went to prison and was now forty-one. That fell within the age range Ingram had assigned the jogger. Samuel’s DMV photo showed a man who could pass for thirty-something. The hard time in prison didn’t seem to have aged him beyond his years. Maybe he was one of those people who thrived behind bars and three squares a day. Their home away from home.

A year after getting out, Samuel had married a woman named Alesha, who was a couple of years younger than him.

Amanda knocked again. “Samuel Booth, Prince William County PD!”

Footsteps headed toward the door, and the deadbolt was unlatched.

A man stood on the other side of the threshold, matching the DMV photo for Samuel Booth. He was dressed like it was the middle of the day, not the middle of the night, in jeans and a T-shirt.

She held up her badge and so did Trent. “Samuel Booth?”

“Who wants to know?”

“We’re Homicide Detectives Steele and Stenson. We’re going to need you to come with us.”

“Sam?” A woman called out from behind the man and joined everyone at the door. She was petite and had a nose that sat crooked on her face, like it was broken at one time, but it had never been set right. She was also dressed in casual clothes. “Who are you?”

“They’re the police, Alesha.” Samuel answered for them.

The woman gnarled up her face at Amanda and Trent. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. What do you want with him?”

Samuel looked calmly at his wife, put a hand on her arm. “I’ll just do as they ask and get this over with.” He made eye contact with Amanda. “Yes, I’m Samuel Booth.”

“What do you want with him?” Alesha squealed.

“We’d like to question your husband regarding the murders of Ashley Lynch and Shannon Fox.”

“Murders?” Samuel’s voice hitched. “I didn’t—”

“No.” Alesha stared at her husband. “Don’t you let them do this to you. They’re just targeting you because of your history.” She met Amanda’s gaze. “He didn’t kill anybody. He was with me.”

“You don’t know the time of the murders, ma’am, and I ask that you move away from him.” Amanda motioned with her hand for the woman to step aside.

“I can’t let you do this to him,” Alesha griped.

“We’re just bringing Samuel in to talk to him. That’s all.” Amanda tried to assure the woman as best she could.

Samuel looked at Alesha. “This will work out. I didn’t do anything. You know I didn’t do anything. Just trust me.”

“It’s not you I have a problem trusting! It’s them!” She thrust a finger to within a few inches of Amanda’s face.

“I’m going to have to ask that you step back, ma’am,” Amanda