The Girl and the Unlucky 13 (Emma Griffin™ FBI Mystery) A.J. Rivers (historical books to read TXT) 📖

couple of days, I wanted to see if you might remember more about what happened,” I start.

“I still don’t know,” she says, starting to shift around in her seat.

“Do we really have to do this?” John asks. “She just got home.”

“I know,” I acknowledge. “But it’s important not to let too much time pass. The longer we wait, the harder it’s going to be to get any resolution for this.”

“There’s been resolution,” he says. “Ashley’s home. She’s here. She’s safe.”

“She might not be,” I say. “I’m not trying to scare you or to make this any more difficult than it already is, but I believe in being honest. For all we know, this man who held her captive might still be looking for her. For all we know, this man might still have other young girls kidnapped. We need as much information as we possibly can to bring this man to justice.”

“Justice,” John scoffs. “You think there’s such a thing as justice for what happened to her? My daughter was stolen when she was barely thirteen years old and held captive for five years while someone put her through God knows what. What’s the justice for that? What makes that okay?”

“Nothing,” I say without hesitation. “There is nothing that can make what happened okay. There’s nothing that will make it go away, or take away the effect it’s had on your daughter or your family. That isn’t the point of the criminal justice system. It doesn’t make it okay. That’s not what justice is about.

“Justice is an ideal, intended to give people what they deserve. And using that definition strictly, I don’t believe there can be justice for Ashley’s case, either. There is no such thing as fair treatment for someone who could do what he did to your daughter. There is nothing equitable that could be done to him, and what might be considered fair isn’t an option.

“That’s what sets us apart. It’s what maintains our humanity and ensures that our fight for Ashley’s safety isn’t tainted. This man deserves treatment we can’t possibly dole out, because if we did, we would not only be no better than him, we would be worse. We would be choosing to mete out that kind of treatment after already declaring it barbaric and inappropriate. There’s a tremendous difference between retribution and vengeance.”

Forty

“I’m right here,” Ashley suddenly says.

John looks at her as if he’s startled to hear her speak.

“Of course, you are,” he says.

“Then you need to speak to her, not about her,” Dean says.

I realize I’ve fallen right into the trap that I usually do everything I can to avoid. Rather than including her in the conversation, I’ve just talked around her. Pulling back from the conflict with her father, I look right at Ashley.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”

“It needs to be done,” she says.

“Tell me again about what you remember from that day,” I say.

“I already told you I don’t really remember much at all. My memory is gone,” she says.

“I know you have a hard time with some of it, but you were able to tell me part of it. Tell me that part again. Just tell me again, as if I haven’t heard it before. More details might come up that you don’t even realize you remember yet,” I say.

Ashley nods and sits back. “It had been raining for a few days and the weather had finally gotten better, so I decided to hang out with my friends. Allison and Vivian, the ones who came to the hospital to see me. We went to the national park to camp. Mom made me bring my sweatshirt even though I didn’t want to, but I ended up wearing it.”

She hesitates and Xavier eases toward the edge of his seat, leaning toward her.

“Close your eyes,” he says. “You’re not talking to anybody right now. You’re not telling a story. You’re there. Experience your senses. What do they remember?”

“The ground is hard and cold. I can’t sleep. I walk around trying to find something.”

“Find what?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“Where’s everybody else?” I ask.

“Vivian and Allison?”

“Everyone you were with that night.”

“I was with them,” she says.

I nod. “Where are they? When you can’t sleep?”

“They stayed.”

“Then what?”

“That’s all I can remember,” she says. “I don’t know what happened between that and when I woke up at the house on Wolf’s bed.”

“What time was it?” I ask. “Use your senses again. Is there sunlight coming through the window? Do you hear birds?”

“The window was boarded up,” she says, distancing herself from it rather than staying in the sensory moment where I’m trying to keep her. “I couldn’t see outside. But my muscles hurt, as though I’d been there a while.”

“Your muscles hurt. Can you remember feeling anything else?” I ask.

I’m tiptoeing around all the details I already know, waiting for something to fall into place. But Ashley shakes her head.

“No. It just felt as if I had been tied up there for a while.”

“Okay,” I nod. “That’s good. You did a great job.”

I stand up from the couch just as Misty is coming back into the living room with my coffee.

“Oh,” she says. “Are you leaving?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “There’s something we have to look into. I appreciate the coffee.” I reach for the mug and down a few sips. “It’s delicious. I’ll be back soon. Ashley, if you remember anything else, anything at all, even if you don’t feel that it makes sense, call me. Remember, you aren’t the one in trouble here. Anything you remember, anything you have to tell me, it’s not going to make anyone mad at you or cause any problems for you.”

She nods, but doesn’t change emotion. Misty walks us to the door and waits on the porch while we go to the car. No sooner have I gotten behind the wheel and pulled my sunglasses on when Ava leans forward from her seat in the back.

“Why didn’t