Aftermath Page 23

  The older woman’s gaze left Davis and lit back on Amanda, regal and sure. “Said he was a cop.”

  Jonas.

  As if her legs weren’t her own, Amanda stepped down from the porch. Ducked the same tree branch as she rounded the house and climbed the rotting steps to the back door, careful to avoid a section of soggy boards two feet from it. Up close, a few scrapes marred the surface of the paneling keeping people out.

  No way Jonas had found something and not alerted anyone. He wasn’t that secretive.

  She repeated the motion she’d begun in the front and jammed the bar between the surfaces. Near the bits of splintered particle board.

  “Maybe we should wait.” Davis sidestepped the same risky looking area. Her weight still shifted both of them on the wooden stoop. “You know. Call in Robinson’s geek squad.” She brought her hands together and blew them apart, complete with a ka-boom sound effect.

  Amanda hesitated. Hated that she even had to. “Should I worry about being murdered, too? Because I deal with that a lot.”

  Davis crossed her arms and shrugged.

  Sandra’s profile appeared in her peripheral vision, the same disproving stance riding her frame. Arms across her chest, as if she were awaiting the perfect opportunity to pounce.

  “Did this cop have a name, Sandra?”

  The older woman lifted her nose toward the sky as if Amanda were the one wasting her time. “Agent Williams. Same guy that’s been all over the news with...”

  Beth. Among others. She returned to her work. Didn’t have time for second guessing. Four well-placed yanks had the board ripped from the home. Davis set it aside. Termites had found a nice snack between the surfaces, much of the center of the front door gone.

  Amanda peered through the misshapen opening, mid door. A blast of putrid air rushed into her sinuses, worse than month old garbage left out in the sun. It pushed her stomach upward. And had her stepping back so fast she sunk into the opening in the landing.

  Something sharp scraped across her shin. A burst of white light filled her vision, for a second, as pain shot up her leg. And then her shoe found soggy ground beneath the structure.

  A string of horrifyingly awful curse words zipped through her mind on blaring repeat.

  “Whoa.” Davis jumped back as the wood beneath her feet slanted toward Amanda. Moved across the porch and hit solid ground before offering a hand.

  Amanda shook her head. Took a breath and wiggled her toes. Didn’t feel any pain. “I’m good. Just give me a minute.” Or twenty.

  Careful not to brush her leg on anything, she pulled herself into a crouched position to the left of where she’d fallen. Didn’t bother glancing downward.

  Eye level with the opening in the door, she peered inside. The wafting smell of ammonia and rotting flesh hit her again.

  “Amanda.”

  “What?”

  Hardwood floors, with a heavy layer of dust, covered what looked like a mudroom floor. It led to the discolored, green linoleum flooring, in a kitchen sans furniture or appliances. Checkered wallpaper hung from some of the surfaces, the countertops covered in the same coating as the floor.

  “Your leg.” The structure beneath her shifted as Davis neared.

  “It’s fine.”

  Two bloated feet peaked out between the edge of the mudroom and the beginning of the kitchen.

  No. No. No.

  She grabbed her phone and stood. Winced as pain shot to her knee. Dialed Robinson’s number and opened the door with the edge of her shirt. The metal hinges groaned with the movement. “Don’t move. Either of you.”

  “What can I do for you?” As if he had the president standing in front of him, Robinson’s voice was terse.

  “I’ve got a body.”

  Davis’ face went from passive to shocked, in the time it took to blink. She tried for a peak over Amanda’s shoulder. Then her footsteps dashed in the opposite direction, the sound of retching coming from the overgrown bushes, to the left of the porch.

  Muffled tones came through the phone and then the creak of an office chair. “Denise?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Beyond the porch, Sandra still had her arms folded across her chest. She rolled her eyes as Davis straightened and rubbed a hand across her mouth. “Looks like your partner has a weak stomach.”

  Davis opened her mouth.

  Amanda covered the receiver. “Don’t worry about it. Davis? You good?”

  The other woman heaved, again, but stuck her thumb in the air.

  “Who’s there with you?” His voice came to her as if he were in a tunnel. Probably the stairs. The man hated elevators, too.

  “Davis and Sandra. Davis is tossing her cookies in a bush.”

  Amanda glanced at her leg. The hem of her dark dress pant leg was torn and bunched up. A rusted two-inch deck screw jutted out from her calf, at a thirty degree angle.

  Holy mother of...

  “Sandra? As in—”

  “It’s a long story.” She forced herself to look away from the metal trapped in her leg. The trickle of blood oozing toward her ankle. Tried not to concentrate on it.

  Her heart sped up, anyway. And her stomach swirled. “Just...got a glimpse of the body. Plan to get my supplies and get a start. I-I wanted to call you first.”

  Silence stretch through the line. “This at the Bellvine address?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Sudden burning pain hummed along her nerve endings, a flash fire in full-blown mode.

  “And she just happened along? Not buying it.” He paused. A door slammed through the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get the crew together. Think you can hold the wicked witch off for fifteen to twenty minutes?”

  “Robbie.” Amanda threw her head back and glanced up at the remaining section of patio roof. “When you get here, I’m gonna need a favor.”

  “Oh?” There was a hesitant smile in his voice, she might have enjoyed at another time. “This is a nice change.”

  She wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder. And then bent toward her injured right leg. Wrapped the hem of her pants away from her skin with shaky hands. Another fine dribble of blood headed downward. The screw broke the skin of her calf and was lodged halfway in. She met the porch with her rear end.

  Davis was at her side in a millisecond. Sandra wasn’t far behind.

  “A.J.?” Robinson’s voice echoed along with the buzzing in her head.

  “I may need you to drive me to the hospital.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IF AMANDA DIDN’T go to Raleigh—didn’t get answers straight from the source—who would suffer? Would another girl go missing? Or turn up dead?

  Going seemed the lesser of two evils. And it wasn’t a big deal.

  Plenty of people visited Death Row. Amanda wouldn’t be the first to have misgivings. Wouldn’t be the last. And if she repeated the words often enough, she might find some solace and be able to fight the urge to find a way around the whole ordeal.

  Where would that leave Camelia Jurik? And Paige? Kimberly, Tara or the dozens of names she’d had staring at her for the last five days.

  Nowhere. Afraid. Alone. Dead.

  Paige is all I have left, Detective Nettles.

  “You don’t have to go.” Robinson’s steady voice zapped through the remnants of a tearful, early-morning phone call that had ripped her from a short and deep sleep.

  Back to a harsh reality where little girls went missing and their mothers went crazy with worry. And there was nothing Amanda could do but work the same angles.

  Hope for new evidence. Repeat the same empty promises.

  Camelia Jurik’s voice held all the usual trappings. The last dregs of humanity as she begged Amanda to find her daughter. Almost as if she expected to be let down. Expected Amanda to give up, like everyone else. To set it aside until something horrific happened.

  It latched onto something inside her. It wouldn’t let go, the picture of a scared, young kid its guiding light.

&nbs
p; And the two they’d been unable to save, a horror she couldn’t forget. The body they’d discovered yesterday was a bloated mess of tissue, bodily fluids and sallow, waxy skin. She’d been naked, arms across the chest. Blisters dotted her fingers and toes, but she didn’t have the needle piercing her heart or the precise etching across her sternum.

  Almost as if their unsub had been interrupted.

  By Jonas? Or Sandra, who ran the same path every day, at similar times?

  Either way it was another fifteen-year-old girl they’d identified—one not on their original list of three. Tara Labbe had been missing three months and three days.

  “You’re injured. The doctor said you should rest your leg.” Robinson strode alongside her, down the halls of Hershel Junior High.

  “It was superficial. Looked way worse than it was. Nothing ibuprofen won’t fix.” Eventually. She’d get over the pain each step caused. The slight limp she was trying to hide—and failing at, apparently.

  What didn’t he get about the urgency of their situation?

  “Yeah. I was there, remember?” He let out a grunt.

  After he’d arrived on scene, yesterday, he’d questioned Sandra. Sent her on her way before the older woman knew what was happening. Took one look at the metal coming from Amanda’s leg and picked her up as if she weighed nothing. Asked her if she wanted a quick walk-through of the scene. And then ordered his crew to categorize and collect everything.

  Stayed in a decent mood through an emergency room visit and a pharmacy pit stop. Another late night spent pouring over evidence.

  That guy wasn’t present, today, with the likeliness of an appearance slim. Which was too bad. She liked the Charming FBI agent, mixed in with a perfect amount of The Jerk to keep her guessing.

  “I say let sleeping dogs lie.” The words came out with annoyed gruffness.

  Class was in session, leaving nothing but the tap of their shoes on the tile flooring. They’d spent a good hour in Principal Kern’s office. First obtaining visitors passes, then explaining why Ariana wouldn’t be finishing out the year traditionally—at least as much as they could.

  Amanda scanned the red lockers for the one that was Ariana’s. “Do you?”

  “You’re not even taking me seriously, are you?” He stopped near the end of one row and knocked on the metal surface. Then rolled the combination. Jerked open the door.

  A mass of books stared back at them. Notebooks were stacked on the top shelf. Pictures decorated the door. Shots of Ariana and various friends. “We all know I can’t resist a good mystery, right? We’ll head out in the morning, as planned. Get any details we can. Head back. By that time, everything should be settled in your new digs.”

  He snapped up a notebook and flipped through the pages in terse bursts. “This isn’t a shopping trip.”

  Amanda clasped her hands together over one shoulder. Tried hard to bat her eyelashes super-fast. “You mean we’re not playing pick the most dangerous criminal? I love that game.”

  Not even a smile cracked through his demeanor.

  Somehow, he’d woken up on the wrong side of the air mattress, even though he’d had both sides to choose from and she’d been cramped on her small couch. Fighting all the ways Naive Youngster could complete the most glorious sabotage.

  Neither of them were saints. And slipping beside this handsome FBI agent, with room to stretch, spelled danger, in the most basic form. Especially at three in the morning.

  The hazard signals were still blaring.

  All the while Naive Youngster blabbed about the merits of centering Robinson’s attention. On her. Getting him to talk.

  Which wasn’t usually a problem.

  “I’m not letting you shoulder all the work. You want me, you get what comes with it. And I’m done hiding out. There a problem with that?”

  “Nope.” His jaw clenched. Added to the clipped and surly attitude he’d been carrying, like a pillowcase full of forbidden Halloween candy. “That doesn’t mean you should jump into something detrimental.”

  Detrimental? She huffed. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think there’s any worthiness to the request.” She’d gladly check a visit to Beth off her to-do list. Had forced herself to think of the impending moment in sterile terms. So she wouldn’t have to tango with the inky fear tangling her insides.

  Answers for a handful of young girls.

  If Beth didn’t have them, they could move on. End of story. And there’d be no grounds for the dark and heavy emotion to gain a choke-hold. If she had information...well, Amanda could deal with that, too.

  Robinson didn’t move. Just gripped the top edge of the compartment and locked eyes with her. As if she hadn’t perfected that I-know-everything stare, herself.

  “I’m not an idiot. I understand this has the potential to go south quickly. I also can’t pass up the opportunity to figure out if the information is coming from luck or something else. Call it a challenge.”

  Irritation darkened his features and rolled off him in waves. “That’s the problem. Everything’s a game to her. And you’re not playing. There’s no winner.”

  They could agree on that.

  “According to Dexter, she’s had no contact, be it letters, emails, visitors or phone calls, with anyone other than her lawyer. She’s sent exactly four letters that have gone unanswered. Had very limited Internet access.”

  A scoff bubbled forward. “All she’d need is five to ten minutes, some encryption and anyone without computer knowledge won’t have any idea what they’re looking at. Message sent, received and carried out.”

  His eyes turned to slits. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “The Internet can be dangerous. All that information is somewhere, waiting to fall into the hands of predators. One wrong move and someone has your personal information. Next thing you know, you’re fighting stolen identity with little to prove you are you and he or she is not. And that’s the tip of what Internet predators are capable of.

  “They slip into your son or daughter’s game, play a couple rounds and get a user name. Now, they can message your child. Maybe convince a sweet nine-year-old they should meet up at an ice cream shop. Or worse, a teenager just dying to have her first boyfriend. Then there are things like Darknet, encrypted browsers and websites that aren’t searchable, but require an exact address to locate them.”

  “Sounds like a hotbed for crime.”

  It was newer. “Pretty much.”

  “That’s why Ariana is not allowed online.” He pulled out another notebook and scanned the contents. “She didn’t speak to me for a good twenty-four hours.”

  Amanda remembered the incident well. Never seen his sweet niece so mad. Or the two of them at such odds. It seemed par for the course since she’d turned thirteen. And Robinson wasn’t willing to give an inch, in the name of safety.

  “I don’t think this guy is getting to them that way. None of these girls had any online profiles. Known or unknown to the parents.”

  He was quiet a minute. Then he quirked an eyebrow at her and caught her in his gaze. “Yes, I know I’m overprotective. News flash. I don’t feel guilty about it.”

  She would have smiled. If she thought it might get him to realize he could do just as much harm being in that camp versus camp lacksidasical. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You don’t have to.” He went back to his search. “I know what you’re thinking. No.” He gave a solid shake of his head. “Just no.”

  “She’s a smart kid. If you explained the dangers and allowed supervised—”

  “Are we talking about the same little girl—”

  “Teenager.”

  As if debating if he should join her ranks or not, he flexed his jaw, but didn’t look up. “Fine. Are we talking about the same teenager who ignored my safety briefings about walking through alleys?” He tossed the notebook aside. Grabbed another. “Because I’m pretty sure I explained that wasn’t a real safe area. And I didn’t want her near it.”<
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  “Are you listening to yourself? A briefing? She’s a teenager. Not a rookie straight out of Hogan’s Alley. Had she not gone through there...” Jonas would be dead. No questions.

  He sent her a scowl, then glanced at the notebook in his hand. “Tell me what I’m looking for, here.”

  Conversation over. Message received loud and clear. She blew out a breath. What did she know anyway? “Some form of harassment.” Hopefully, they wouldn’t find any. And Ariana was simply dealing with normal teenage issues.

  Something dark passed over his features. He scanned the still empty hallway. “You can’t be serious. She’s thirteen. Aren’t thirteen-year-olds supposed to have slumber parties, giggle about nonsense and eat junk food? Girl stuff. Harassment should be nonexistent. And more so at school.”

  At another time, she might have laughed. He’d thrown himself into the guardian role a long time ago. It wasn’t likely to disappear because Lilly appeared to be on the mend. “Put away the befuddled and disgusted parent inside you for a second. Whatever made her skip class might not even be directly related to being here.”

  “I’ve asked her.” Annoyance came out on his syllables. As if he’d been staring down a perp he’d caught red-handed, with enough evidence to put him away for a thousand lifetimes, and the guy still wouldn’t confess. “She refuses to talk to me.”

  “If you used that voice, I can see why. Maybe you should have debriefed her, Robbie. Might have been more successful.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t even know why I try to talk to you.”

  “The feeling is, often, mutual.” And frustrating in the best kind of way.

  She pulled one of the pictures from the door and stared at it. A group shot held a dozen girls and guys or more, all making ridiculous faces.

  “Y’all have passes to be inside my school?” Sam Richardson came to stand beside them, hands in the pockets of his gray slacks, a blue polo tucked neatly into them.

  Robinson straightened and faced him. “They demote you to hall monitor, Richardson?”

  As if he were in on some colossal joke, a smile lit Sam’s face. “For your information, I’m on the board. I’m a teacher. Everything that happens within these walls and on the premises is my business.”