Aftermath (24 page)

Right. She blew out a breath. Then held up Paige Jurik’s photo. Stared at the face that looked so much like hers. The kid was thirteen. Been missing six months. And didn’t fit any of their current criteria. “You ever find evidence and know exactly what it is, without a doubt, before you run it through the lab?”

“Sure. It’s bound to happen. What have you got?”

What was this kid like? Did she have any of her mother’s sociopathic tendencies? Or those of a faceless father? Had nurture taken over when nature could not?

She threaded a hand through her hair. She could be jumping to conclusions based on a rough morning.

That was it. She was wrong. And this kid was another face she couldn’t stand to see on a flier. “Information on Paige Jurik.”

“The owner of the infamous purple diary.” The crunch of an apple came over the line. “She didn’t move, did she? She’s missing. Been gone a while, right?”

“Six months, to the day, as of yesterday.”

The click of computer keys surfaced in the background. “How old?”

“Thirteen. As of yesterday.”

Another crunch. “If Jonas was following a lead there, he had a good reason. Totally unconventional, but purposeful. Terrible team player.” He paused. “She’s way outside of the parameters we discuss this morning.”

It meant they might need to restructure their search. Or she’d need to go against Dentzen’s wishes and figure out what cases Jonas might have been working on.

“If you’re gearing up for bad news, remember I take apologies in the form of coffee or a date. A combination would be preferable.”

A laugh escaped her mouth. “If you wanted coffee in the first place, you could have said so. You didn’t need to waste time with a call and idle chit-chat.”

“Far from a waste.” The squeak of his office chair floated over the waves. “So, lay it on me.”

Silence reigned a beat. “It’s not substantiated, but I’m ninety percent positive Paige is Beth’s biological child.”

A choking sound, followed by vigorous coughing, filled the line.

As if he were in the room and she might pat his back, Amanda sat forward. “You gonna make it? Or do I need to send someone in for the Heimlich?”

He cleared his throat. She envisioned him putting a fist to his mouth as he cleared pieces of apple from his windpipe. Maybe the other hand removed the chunks from his computer screen. Might teach him to chomp in her ear.

“Warn a guy next time.” He choked out. “I’ve got fruit in my lungs, now. Probably gonna die of pneumonia.”

She rolled her eyes. “Unlikely.”

“Not according to your mom. It only takes two teaspoons of fluid.” Another cough. “Give me the details.”

The shrill sound of a woman’s voice reached her, from the direction of the front lobby. A calm, male one answered in words she couldn’t make out. Amanda stood, rounded her desk. Peaked out from her workspace in time to watch a clipboard whiz over Brink’s head. It crashed into the security door that separated their work area from the reception.

He had his back to it, one hand resting on the counter, where a white-faced kid, right out of the academy, sat. James or Jake. Something like that.
Jared
. His eyes were huge and bouncing between the two.

The woman in front of them was thin and tall. A brown jogging suit hung from her frame. Dark hair was thrown in a messy ponytail. Amanda stepped closer. Noted the woman had one black and one brown running shoe on her feet. Not a speck of makeup lined her face. And a giant black leather purse hung from one shoulder.

She looked clean, but feral. As if combining the worst nightmare, and deranged imagination, wouldn’t demonstrate what she’d been through. She heaved in gulps of breath. The pen in her hand followed much the same path as the clipboard.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down.” Brink stepped closer, taser ready.

The woman shook her head. Her gaze flicked to the device in his hand. “I want to talk to someone about my daughter. I filed the reports. I did everything they asked. And
nothing
has happened.”

“What’s going on, A.J.?” Robinson’s voice held a hint of worry.

“An upset lady wanting to discuss her child.”

The woman reached into her purse. Brink’s arm twitched near his revolver. Not good. Amanda hadn’t spotted a gun in the mess of this woman’s clothes. Didn’t mean she didn’t have one in her giant bag. Didn’t mean she did.

“Let me call you back.” She ditched her phone. Heard it skitter across her desk and drop to the tile.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Journal Entry #116

Age: 14

WHEN I WAS younger, I wanted to be a veterinarian. I wasn’t allowed to have pets, but an elderly neighbor, Mrs. Theodore, had two tabby cats and an old poodle I could play with anytime I wanted. And she even let me pet sit from time to time, when she left town to see her children, who lived in another state.

One time, while Mrs. Theodore was away, the younger of the two cats, Willow, gave birth to a litter of eleven kittens. The poor thing hid herself in the back of an open cabinet and already had six kittens by the time I found her. She was panting up a storm and growled at me, at first.

Even at ten, I knew better than to touch her, or her babies, but wanted to make more space, so I moved the pots and pans surrounding the distraught mother. I found some old rags and tried to place them as close as possible to soak up some of the mess. And provide a more comfortable place to lay.

I stayed with her until the last pink-nosed kitten was born and they were all eating happily. All but one. It lay beneath one of its siblings, unmoving.

I remember an immense weight settling in my chest, like the rapid descent of a failing hot-air balloon. And knowing, as I carefully picked up the half-warm, half-cold body, the poor little guy hadn’t made it.

Never had a chance. And even my makeshift rounds of animal CPR wouldn’t revive him.

The same was true for Mr. and Mrs. Carter.

The moment I managed to jimmy the lock on their front door and stepped inside, I knew. A metallic odor filled the air. An unnatural stillness surrounded me. It elevated my heart. Stole the breath from my lungs.

There, on the living room floor, lay my best friend’s parents. Cold. Dead. Covered in their own blood and bodily fluids.

___

AMANDA PUSHED PAST a few detectives frozen in place. As if they’d had no formal training, they stood, unmoving. She punched in the code for the door as the woman standing within the precinct lobby began tugging at something in her purse.

“Hands where I can see them.” Brink had his gun raised, his voice a barking command. He’d abandoned his taser the minute the unknown woman had moved.

All they needed was an unnecessary death. This woman’s or one of their own. And more bad publicity.

The woman looked up, hand still inside the bag. A startled expression covered her face. Panic hurtled across her features. Bloodshot eyes zipped from her to Brink and back. Her dark gaze didn’t seem entirely focused on either of them. And she hadn’t dropped the item, still in her clutches, hidden by fabric and seams.

The pulse at her neck beat a harsh rhythm against her flesh.

Brink shot Amanda a glare as she pulled up beside him. She didn’t bother telling him to lower his gun. “Ma’am.” She stuck her hand in the other woman’s direction.

Was aware the reward might be lead to the chest. Or something as simple as a stick of gum. “I’m Detective Amanda Nettles. And, in case, he didn’t introduce himself, this is Detective Archer Brink.” She pasted what she hoped was a sure smile on her face. Lowered her voice. “He’s fantastic in our Cyber Crimes division. A little rusty with people.”

The other woman eyed them, again, as she dropped whatever she’d been about to pull from her bag. Slipped her palm against Amanda’s.

Firm grip. Appropriate clasp before the hold ended.

One glance backward told Amanda that Brink had holstered his weapon. A scowl covered his face. Too bad. He could add this to his list of things he hated about her. No loss there.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

She gripped the strap of her purse in both hands, near her shoulder. Her thumb tracked across the fabric in a repetitive motion, her nail grating against the edges. Down. Up. Repeat. “Camelia.”

No last name. Wasn’t the first time someone had come in and been a little secretive. “Do you drink coffee or tea, Camelia?”

“This isn’t a restaurant, Nettles.” Brink folded his arms across his chest. Annoyance flashed in his eyes as if he had something more important to tend to. “Camelia, here, almost took my head off with a clipboard. Sorta comes close to an assault of a police officer.” His voice held a silent stand-with-me-or-get-out.

Camelia pressed her lips together. Her fingers turned white on her purse. She didn’t offer explanations or apologies. Just stood in place as if she were used to the harassment the detective dished out. And then her dark eyes were on Amanda. Waiting.

She didn’t intend to hash out who had done what, in preschool fashion. Not in front of every eye the precinct had. “So, coffee or tea? Detective Brink is buying, because behind all that binary code, lodged in his brain, he’s a decent guy.” She shot the last in his direction.

Could only hope he’d withhold a hot-headed outburst.

His jaw worked overtime and his eyes glittered. Fire burst in the depths, in a watch-yourself slow burn. Technically, he had seniority over her. Could have told her where to stick her suggestions.

“Yeah.” He drew out the word as his gaze flicked to something behind Amanda. “Let me run over to Java Joe’s.” He looked around the station. “This one’s on me, guys.”

A few chuckles filled the space around them, tight.

“Make mine a venti mocha, quad shot. No whip cream.” Davis approached the front desk, arms crossed, and stood next to new-guy-Jared.

Brink shot a glare, like a well-aimed dart, over his shoulder, at Amanda’s partner.

Beyond the desk, Captain Dentzen leaned against the wall outside his office. Gave a nod when Amanda met his gaze. Then disappeared behind his door once again.

Huh.

“Black coffee would be nice.” Camelia’s voice came out in a near-whisper, befitting a shy teen. An unsteady hand ran over that messy ponytail. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Brink mumbled something under his breath as he passed and exited out the front door. There’d likely be hell to pay later.

Amanda took her time picking up the pen and clipboard, near the door. A missing person’s form filled her view. “Why don’t you follow me to my office and we can talk.” She handed the items to Davis. “We can fill these out later.”

“We already did that—my husband and I. And I was trying to tell the other gentleman that, but...”

Brink hadn’t stopped to listen. A nasty habit he’d picked up over the years and failed to control very well, even though other detectives had pointed it out in discreet ways. Those same guys that insisted on following him blindly in any campaign he wished to wage.

Never made any sense.

If Amanda had been in the other woman’s shoes, she might have thrown some stationary items, too. Not that she was condoning any acts of violence, or near-violence, in this case.

She ushered the other woman through the door, ahead of herself. Guided her toward the mess qualifying as an office. Checked the urge to physically search the woman for weapons. Doing so would only dampen the small amount of trust she’d built. Hopefully, her gut wouldn’t lead her astray. If this woman had wanted to shoot any of them, she’d have done it by now.

Right?

Amanda pointed toward the chair facing the main seat. “There isn’t any reason I’d need
my
gun, is there, Camelia?”

Camelia blinked, her eyes seeming to take in the entire space. And then she settled in as if she’d been walking for days without rest. “I don’t have any weapons. I-I’m just here to discuss my daughter’s case.”

Amanda scooped up the files of confidential information and stashed them in one of her drawers and then followed suit. Picked up her phone from where it had landed on the floor. One text message from Robinson filled the screen

Headed your way.

She might have taken a moment to smile at the sentiment lodged in those three words. Enjoyed the you’re-always-in-over-your-head-so-I’ll-come-kick-backsides-with-you, if the woman in front of her didn’t have overcoming grief stamped, in permanent marker, on her face.

Amanda tucked the phone in her top drawer, right next to two packs of her favorite Winterfresh gum and pens. Then she folded her hands on top of the desk. “How long has your daughter been…?”

The other woman shifted in her seat. “Missing.”

“Depending on where you live or where your daughter was last seen, this precinct may or may not handle it, Camelia.” Being that she’d never laid eyes on this woman before, this was probably her first visit to the Third Precinct. And the paperwork she’d filled out had been at another station.