“I-I’ve found three so far,” Todd announces.
I check over his shoulder, looking at the face recognition software still running on his screen.
“These girls are reported missing?” I clarify.
“Yes, all three have a report on file. One is from a year ago, one’s only a few months, and the third is five years old.”
Five years she’s been missing.
Dolly puts the glass down on the counter. “Can the FBI track them down? I mean, isn’t there a way to hack into my father’s financial records and cross reference things to find out who took these girls?”
“It’s possible. Yeah,” Todd says, but I hear the underlying current of doubt. Getting her hopes up isn’t fair.
“It could take them years to go through all the data. Especially if your dad was smart enough to keep his personal finances out of this. Shell companies, overseas accounts…it takes time to uncover those,” I tell her. “Once you find out who these girls are, I want you to search the dark web. Find the latest uploads with them involved.”
“I—what? I can’t do that from here. I need to get into my computer at the lab. Cathy’s—” He pauses a moment. “Her computer doesn’t have the login credentials I need.”
“Then do the best you can with what you have, ’cause you’re never seeing the inside of your fucking lab again.” I shove his head and join Dolly near the sink.
Todd’s fingers start clicking the keys again.
“Can he help us? Maybe George Romero can give us better information. He seems to be a top player in all this,” Dolly says.
A droplet of blood has dried on her chin. I wet my finger with my tongue and wipe it from her face. She’s changed out of her clothes into some of Cathy’s yoga attire and cleaned herself up a bit, but she probably could use a long soak in a hot bubble bath.
“Our visit with him needs to be well planned. Right now, I think it’s safe to assume I wasn’t reported missing because of his pull with the department. I want to find out what Pierce was doing at the motel.”
“This girl, I recognize,” Todd announces. His face pales when I line up my gaze with his. I can guess how he knows the girl.
“It’s not like that,” he tries to assure me. “I never—I didn’t do what they did.” He leans away from me as I make my way back to his side.
“Right.”
“I didn’t. I just—fuck—” A sob tears from his chest, and he wipes his sleeved wrist across his nose. “I didn’t mean to get so fucking involved. These girls…the younger and younger they got, the worse the shows got, but I was so fucking deep...Cathy said she’d turn me over, tell them I was behind it, that I knew where the girls were but was blocking the taskforce from finding them.”
I slam my hand on the table. “You were blocking them!”
“No!” He shakes his head, frantic. “Not really. I told them the signals were pinging to different locations each time. But I gave them locations.”
“Not the right locations.” How had I thought joining the police force would ever result in being able to catch the bad guys? The people who are supposed to be around to help sort out shit, to help find the assholes, are the very monsters I was hunting.
“I gave them the locations of the first pings. Most of the time, the signal would bounce. If Cathy gave me the okay, I relayed it.” His fingers fluttered as he wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead. “I think she only said to give a correct location once she was sure they wouldn’t find anything once they got there.”
“Pierce is a piece of shit detective or he’s in on this bullshit too.” The list of people needing to die grows longer every day.
“As far as I know, he’s not involved. Cathy gave the directions. She was playing Pierce.”
And me. So easily she’d played me. I know her daughter for fuck’s sake. The rift between them is becoming a bit clearer to me. There could be more there than just a girl outgrowing her mother.
Putting my focus back on the problem at hand, I pull the laptop from him and spin it around so I can see the poor kid. “Who’s this girl?”
“Her real name is Candace Lindenhurst. Missing person’s report filed six months ago. Cathy had her…she taped her a few nights ago.”
“You mean you taped her a few nights ago, then sold the footage for her,” Dolly states. She’s gone calm since she dealt with Cathy, but she’s also getting tired. She needs rest, to gain her strength if we are going to take on Romero.
Todd nods silently, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Where did Cathy get her?” I ask.
“A guy. I don’t know who he is. She talked to him on the phone a lot that night. He’ll be in her records.”
I glare him down. “Then get his fucking information.”
“R-Right.”
Dolly tosses me Cathy’s cell phone from the counter, and I drop in front of Todd. “Make a file. I want all the girls’ names you can find and their last known locations. I want the names and numbers of anyone Cathy ever worked with to get the girls, transport the girls, or paid to watch them.” I clench my teeth and take a calming breath.
“I can do that.” Todd picks up a pen and drags a piece of paper closer to him. His movements are slow. He’s beyond exhausted from blood loss, but he’s too smart to stop doing what I demand of him.
“I’m going to put the TV on,” Dolly says.
I follow her into the living room and plop down on the couch while she flips through the channels. Todd’s tapping starts up again from the kitchen.
“He can get away if we don’t watch him.” Dolly waves the remote toward the kitchen.
“I can see him fine from here.” I point to his reflection in the large mirror on the wall. “Besides, his legs are useless. I’m sure we can catch a man trying to army crawl across the floor.”
Dolly smiles, then turns her attention back to the television.
“Wait. Stop.” I lean forward and tug on her shirt.
“What?” she asks, flipping to the next channel.
“Go back two channels.” I stand from the couch. I could use a break—a long ass sleep, a hot bath, or a few beers. Something’s going to give soon.
Dolly clicks the button a few times, and the news report comes back on.
“Isn’t that the guy from the motel?” Dolly gives me a worried look.
“Yeah.” I take the remote from her and turn up the volume.
“Detective Pierce is ready to make his statement,” the anchor woman, all dolled up with her plastic smile and aerosol glued hair, says, and the camera cuts to Pierce standing at the podium at the PD, the taskforce spread out behind him. Somber expressions, blank stares, hands folded solemnly before them, they stand in unison behind their leader.
“As reported earlier this week, we have put out an amber alert for this girl.” He picks up an eight by eleven picture of a young girl. It’s her school picture. She can’t be more then thirteen. Her brown hair is pulled up into a ponytail, showing off her high cheekbones and sparkling light brown eyes. This girl has no worries in her life. This girl is innocent.