Pretty Little Girls Page 9

  At the first room, she was focused and ready, half-expecting to find Emma. But she might not be alone.

  She opened the door. Nothing. She was disappointed to find a storage area with HVAC units, spiraling, silver ductwork, and pipes.

  There were two more rooms to investigate.

  The second door was slightly ajar. Connelly pushed it open and looked around. “Clear, but—there’s something here.” Victoria moved past him to see what was inside. A mattress covered by a sheet lay on the floor against one wall. The boy’s tip was good after all. She crouched to study it. Long hairs. Smears of blood. This should be a goldmine for evidence.

  “One more room.” Connelly was already heading toward the door in a half crouch, his muscles tensed and ready.

  Hoping to find Emma, but prepared to encounter whoever was responsible for bringing her there, Victoria’s heart was pounding as she drew closer to the final room.

  The door was closed tight. Victoria met Connelly’s gaze, she mouthed, “One, two, three,” and they burst through prepared to shoot.

  “There’s no one,” Connelly said, lowering his gun.

  Victoria lowered her weapon and coughed as she was hit with a faint but foul smell reminiscent of a dank alley with human waste. Inside, three empty cots were haphazardly arranged. Underneath one of them was a paperback book. A row of paper grocery bags and gallon containers of water were lined up against one wall. In the far corner, a tall painter’s bucket had a roll of toilet paper next to it.

  Victoria’s muscles tensed with her mounting anger.

  Connelly’s eyes roamed the room. “Someone was living here.”

  “And not by choice, or they would have used one of the bathroom facilities.” Victoria picked up the book. Fifty Shades of Gray. She peered inside the grocery bags. “All trash. I see fast food containers, granola bar wrappers, apple cores.”

  “I see something.” Connelly knelt to get closer to an object under the cot. He removed a tissue from his pocket and picked it up. “A pencil. Might have prints.”

  Victoria came closer. “That’s not a pencil. It’s eyeliner.” She walked around the room, being careful not to touch anything. “If this is what I think it is, a pimp will move from city to city every few days with three or four girls. We might have just missed them.”

  “Looks that way,” Connelly said, his brow furrowed as he walked the room. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to call for a warrant. And I’ve got an evidence kit in my car.”

  “Okay. But we need to get forensics in here, have them bag and tag everything.”

  Connelly left and Victoria examined every inch of the room with a professional eye, moving in grid patterns. A tiny, whitish object caught her attention. She moved closer and crouched down.

  A single tooth.

  And next to it, a tiny scrap of torn black paper. She turned it over with her pen.

  Help.

  The silence was broken by the heavy door creaking and scraping across the concrete at the top of the stairs. Footsteps echoed from the other side of the basement, growing closer.

  That was quick. “I found some things,” Victoria called. “Can you give me a bag?”

  No one answered. Guess he didn’t hear me. She raised her voice. “Got the kit?”

  The footsteps stopped, then started again, retreating, lighter and faster.

  “Connelly?” Victoria stood up, tense and aware, and moved quickly to the door. Her skin tingled with the possibility of danger.

  A tall, muscular man hurried up the stairs.

  “FBI! Stop!” Adrenaline surging, Victoria pulled her gun and raced across the basement after him.

  Moving at a surprising speed for his size, he hurled himself up the stairs.

  “Stop!” Victoria shouted again.

  At the top, he disappeared through the heavy metal door.

  She bounded up the stairs, taking them three at a time, and sprinted across the lobby. Grabbing the main door, she pushed forward, expecting to hurl herself through the opening. The door didn’t budge. Cursing, she tried again with more force. It’s locked from the outside! She spun around, searching for a nearby exit. As fast as she could, she flipped the lock on a side door and burst out. Move! Move! Move! She pumped her arms hard toward the front of the building. The screech of a car peeling away cut through the prevailing quietness of the isolated area. By the time she rounded the corner of the building, a dark sedan was out of the corporate park and speeding down the cross road.

  “Damn!” Heart pounding, she looked around. There was no one else. Where’s Connelly?

  Her chest still rising and falling with rapid breaths, she jogged to the front door, the one that wouldn’t open. A heavy padlock with a keypad, the kind used by realtors for showings, secured the entrance. The man must have left it open upon entering the building and locked it after his exit.

  She placed her hands on her legs and leaned forward, gasping. Who was that? Why was he here? Trying to sort out what had just happened and catch her breath, she went back inside. Connelly appeared in the lobby with a box of equipment in his arms.

  “Did you see that guy?” she asked, her face still warm from her adrenaline rush.

  “Someone was here?”

  “White male, twenties, buzz cut, six feet three or taller, extremely muscular and fast. He had a big head start and locked the door on me.”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “If you didn’t see him at your car, then he definitely came through the front door. Which means he had the combo for the lock. I had to race to a side door. That’s how I lost him. By then, he was too far away for us to call in a useful description of the car.” She glanced at the box in Connelly’s hands. “Give me the kit. I’m going to print the door.”

  “You don’t want to wait for the techs to do it?” Connelly asked as he handed her a plastic case.

  “I’ll do it.” She wiped perspiration off her forehead as she headed back outside. At the front door, she concentrated on spreading the printing dust, conscious of Connelly watching her while he made phone calls.

  Finished with his calls, Connelly came back and stood looking over her shoulder.

  “I see some loops and arches,” she said. “They might do.” She slid the partial print evidence into a bag and put it in the case.

  “I’ll take that.” The detective tucked the kit back into the box.

  They headed back down to the basement. The rush from the chase had dissipated and Victoria’s body was calm again. “Who else knew we were coming here?”

  “The parents. They put me on speaker because Adams was with them. They want him to be in the loop on everything.”

  “Why did you tell them?”

  “They thought we weren’t doing enough to find their daughter,” Connelly said. “I wanted to let them know what we were doing. Magda probably heard, too. But, I’m not sure what you’re getting at, because there’s no way that would have given anyone much time to get out of here.”

  Victoria frowned. “It was enough.” Although dozens of officers and employees in the police headquarters could also have heard about the tip and known someone might check it out.

  She looked around again. “Did you call for a full-forensics sweep?”

  “Yeah. They’re on their way.”

  “Okay. Hey, did you see the list I sent you earlier?”

  He stopped in the doorway. “The to-do-list? Yes. It’s great. It will help us make sure nothing falls through the cracks. Speaking of to-do’s, while I wait for forensics, would you go to the Mannings’ house for me?”

  “What for?” Victoria continued to study the room.

  “Pick up Emma’s hairbrush and toothbrush so we can compare hair fibers and DNA.”

  She wanted to stay and assist forensics, but being a good “team player” here was important. Connelly was finally asking her for specific help. “Sure,” she said, putting aside her own agenda.

  “I want to let them know she wasn’t here. They�
�ll be going nuts waiting for news. I can’t imagine being in their shoes. It will help if they see you, hear it from you. You do a good job dealing with them.”

  “Okay. I’ll go.”

  “I’ll stay on site until the tech team arrives. Then I’ve got a department meeting I’m supposed to attend. The whole city is going bonkers—thousands of good Samaritans calling in to report suspicious vans, suspicious bags, suspicious people, thinking everything might be a bomb. Even calling in on the tip line we set up for Emma. We’ve got to check them all out in case, God forbid, one of them really is right. I’ll call you later?”

  “Yes. Call me as soon as the tech team finds anything.”

  From the doorway, she glanced around the room one last time, eyes settling on the putrid bucket. She scowled. “Whoever was living here, it wasn’t by choice. We need to find them.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Shut the door,” Tripp said to Adams.

  Adams placed a hand against the door frame of Tripp’s study. A flat-screen television adorned one wall, golf trophies and books lined the other. The man of the house took the only chair in the room.

  “I only have a few minutes.” Adams shifted his weight from one hip to the other. “There’s something I have to—someone needs my help.”

  “That text you just got? You have a more important client?”

  “It wasn’t from another client.”

  Tripp bent over behind his desk and opened a drawer as he spoke. “Well, you’re here now. This won’t take long.”

  The PI stepped inside and closed the door.

  “What I’m about to show you is for your eyes only.” From a legal-sized folder, Tripp extracted a white business envelope. “Read the note.”

  The PI removed a single piece of white printer paper from the envelope. He unfolded it and read.

  Tripp rested his arms on the desk and stared at the private detective.

  Adams’ expression gave nothing away as he placed the paper down on the desk. The two typed lines stared back at him.

  I made it without your help. Now I want you to know what helpless feels like.

  “Do you know who it’s from?”

  Tripp shook his head.

  “When did you receive it?”

  “About a month ago. It came in the mail.”

  “Why didn’t you show it to the detectives?”

  “Because of what they might find. I don’t want it to be public record.”

  “It doesn’t necessarily—”

  “Look, I might know who it came from. One of two women from years ago. One was a lot older, one a lot younger. I don’t discriminate on age. But I don’t want Patricia to know. She can’t know. I will categorically deny I ever met these women if it comes to that, but I don’t want her to even hear about them.”

  “Okay. That’s a different matter.” The PI rubbed his chin. “And technically, you’re my client. But, if I find out who wrote this letter and that it has anything to do with your daughter’s disappearance—”

  “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

  “So, what is it, exactly, you want from me?” Adams asked.

  “I’ll give you some more names. They’re not on the list I gave the detective. One of the women . . . we had a summer fling. Turns out she thought it was more significant than I did because we had a few casual dinners, you know—before the main event. She tried to stay in touch. Told me she was pregnant.”

  Adams crossed his arms.

  “I know . . . I know . . .” His leather chair creaked as Tripp leaned way back, folding his hands in his lap. “Should have used protection. Guess I don’t like to, never did. Anyway, I ignored her. I was sure she was either lying to me in the first place or got an abortion. So, I don’t know why she would have a problem with me today, but who knows.”

  “Was that the last you heard from her? What about the others?”

  “There might have been additional attempts to communicate with me. I don’t remember exactly. It took me a while to even remember their names. Hell…if I didn’t have such a good memory…” Tripp selected a piece of stationary from another drawer, wrote on it, and pushed it toward Adams. “Find out if any of these women wrote that letter. And if it has anything to do with my daughter’s disappearance. And be discreet.”

  Adams dipped his head. “That’s my job.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Not far from the entrance to the Mannings’ neighborhood, Victoria saw Adams’ white Audi leave through the gate. Acting on an impulse, she made a split-second decision to follow him. The forensics team wouldn’t need the hairbrush and toothbrush until they returned to the lab. The Mannings would have to wait a bit longer to hear Emma had not been found. Following Adams was more important. She wanted to know what he might be doing for the Mannings on the side. She had a hunch there was something else in play, something the family was doing their best to keep under wraps.

  Adams’ first stop was a shopping center. The parking lot was full, with cars circling for spots and following shoppers to their vehicles. The only open space was for a UPS store, with a sign that said ten minutes only on it. Adams pulled in.

  Cheater.

  Victoria drove past, her head turned away. She idled behind another vehicle waiting to claim a spot and watched Adams in her rearview mirror. He got out of his Audi carrying a square cardboard box.

  Guess I owe him an apology.

  She barely had time to get turned around before he was heading back to his car and pulling out.

  At the main road, a string of traffic prevented her from keeping up with him. She finally caught a break and was lucky to spot him making a right turn ahead.

  After a few miles, Adams turned into an apartment complex.

  Victoria drove past and parked in front of the next building, glad her dark blue rental was unobtrusive in make and color. Shielded between a van and a truck, she busied herself with arranging pretend objects on the passenger seat while she kept a careful eye on him.

  Adams got out of his car. A teenage boy wearing a hoodie and athletic shorts, and carrying a drawstring bag, walked forward to meet him. The boy must have been waiting in front of the building and knew Adams was coming.

  Adams used his hand to turn the boy’s head to the side. After a few seconds, the boy jerked his head away. The PI stared up at one of the apartment buildings. They exchanged words. She couldn’t see what Adams was saying, because his back was to her. He held up his hands and then placed them on his hips. The young man looked away, but stayed where he was, hands stuffed into the front pocket of his hoodie.

  Then the teen handed something to Adams. Something small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Adams took it, slid it into his pocket, and placed his hand on the young man’s sleeve. They stayed like that for a few seconds, some sort of silent agreement occurring.

  A few more words and then Adams beckoned toward his car. The young man followed, glancing over his shoulder at the building as he walked to the passenger side.

  What was that about?

  Victoria followed them to the drive-through of a Panera Bread. She parked in a spot for to-go orders. She would have loved to run inside and order a salad, but she wasn’t about to lose them now. She had to know what this was about and where they were going. Instead, she pulled a bag of licorice from her purse, grabbed four slices, and chomped into all of them at once.

  Adams handed a credit card to the woman working the window. A minute later, he accepted two bags and pulled away.

  Their next stop was a hotel. Adams parked his Audi and they walked inside. The teen carried both the Panera bags and was still wearing his draw string bag on his back. Adams carried nothing.

  Victoria curled her fingers tightly around the steering wheel. Not good . . . not good . . .not good. Maybe the young man just looks young but isn’t. Maybe it’s a boyfriend. No . . . he’s young. Definitely a minor. Doesn’t even look old enough to drive.

  Victoria played devil’s advoc
ate with herself, trying to find a non-sinister explanation for what she was seeing. But the discrepancy between their ages, their dress, and their mannerisms made that difficult. Everything that came to mind made her blood boil. She sat stewing in her anger. Adams walked out alone only a minute or two after he’d gone inside. So perhaps Adams wasn’t the customer. Didn’t matter. An adult dropping a teen at a hotel was a red flag of a teen being pimped.

  Her phone pinged with a new message. Connelly asked how the Mannings reacted to the news about not finding Emma.

  Victoria didn’t respond. She wanted to tell someone about Adams, but at this point, she didn’t know who she could trust.

  Adams got in his car and drove off. Victoria debated following, but the Mannings were waiting for news of their daughter. She selected their address from her phone and started the directions, which required her to head in the opposite direction from Adams.

  What was going on with the PI? Did he leave the teen there for a customer? Did what I just saw have anything to do with Emma Manning’s disappearance?

  She called Sam and left a message. After spelling Adams’s full name, she added, “Get me anything you can on him.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The temperature had dropped with the setting sun and a chilly wind blew strands of her hair as she rang the Mannings’ doorbell. Following Adams had taken a little over an hour, but after what she’d seen, she was glad she’d made the detour. Her empty stomach tightened, a reminder she’d missed dinner. Connelly’s mention of coconut cake from yesterday popped into her mind and disappeared just as quickly. Licorice followed by cake wasn’t exactly a dinner of champions. She could do better. But now, she had to tell Emma’s family that they hadn’t found any conclusive evidence in the empty building. Not yet, anyway.

  She wished she could tell the family they were close to finding Emma, but it wouldn’t have been true. Closer maybe, but not much.