Page 7 of The Hanging Dolls
Scott stared at her, puzzled, and then shook his head vigorously. “Right.” He retrieved a case file from his raincoat. “Lily’s sister, Bella, reported her missing at around 4:30 p.m. four days ago on October 3. She was getting Lily an ice cream and when she turned around Lily was gone. There were no reliable eyewitnesses.”
“What about surveillance?” Zoe asked with a stuffed mouth. “These waffles are good. Do you want some?”
“Uh… no, thanks. We rounded up sex offenders in the area. There are barely any. We put up missing person posters and we shared information with the sheriff’s office and WSP. There have been no sightings.” Scott conveyed the information in a monotonous, matter-of-fact tone as if he had repeated it many times before.
Zoe let it percolate when she noticed the burly man by the counter raise his arm to answer his phone, revealing a tattoo on his arm.
“What about family? Any disputes?” Aiden asked.
“Both parents work at the fish processing plant and can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt them.” His impatient eyes tracked the food as it slowly disappeared from Zoe’s plate.
“And I’m guessing this is your first missing child case?”
Scott’s face hardened as he gave a curt nod. “For me, yes. The last missing person case in the town was in the eighties.”
Zoe chewed her food slowly, realizing she had inadvertently poked a raw wound. She knew how these things worked. No one appreciated an outsider waltzing in and taking the reins on an operation. But that is what the FBI often did. Before her deepundercover mission, she had hopped from one place to another, stepping on toes and bruising egos all over the country.
“We’ll start again.” She swallowed down her milkshake. “With the playground where she went missing from.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be an asshole but why did they sendyou?” Scott asked flatly, his patience finally worn out.
Aiden explained. “In seven to nine percent of the cases, the perpetrator is someone known to the child, but not a family member—a babysitter, a family friend, a neighbor?—”
Scott shook his head, irritation flaring on his face. “The family doesn’t have any enemies. There have been no reports of suspicious neighbors. This is a safe community?—”
“And in one percent of cases, the abductor is a stranger. If that’s the case, this might not be their first time or last time. We need to build a psychological profile.”
A fleeting look of resignation before he turned to Zoe. “And what about you? Why you?”
“My sunny personality.” She bit her tongue, Simon’s warning ringing fresh in her ears. The two men watched her grimly. One puzzled and the other with a tinge of amusement.
She blinked, slurping the dregs of her milkshake. “That couple behind you?” She tipped her chin and he followed suit. “They don’t appear to be from Harborwood because they’re dressed in a completely different style. Where most people around here have some kind of waterproof coat with them to shield them from the Washington weather, he has a wool coat. He can’t be from the South, that would be much too warm, and the cut is expensive, so he’s likely from a big city with designer shops. But they have been coming here for a very long time because the waitress knew their order. So I am guessing that this diner means something to them. It’s their little tradition. That man at the counter…” Scott’s eyes followed. “He isn’t just some trucker passing by. He likes the waitress because she ignoreshim and he keeps staring at her and tries to make conversation. She’s upset with him, though, and that might be because he was involved in something illegal. He has a tattoo on the left side of his torso. It was a serpent design with a trident, which is a gang’s signage, but it’s been covered with a tattoo of a date. Perhaps he has left the gang and is trying to make an honest living, and the date indicates when he left prison.” Zoe’s eyes swept over Scott. “Youwere in AA or still are. That bronze plastic chip in your keychain. You get that when you finish one year of sobriety.”
Scott put the keys back in his pocket. “Fine. You notice things.”
Zoe bit her tongue. Her reflection was distorted in everyone’s eyes, even her sister Gina’s. They saw a chatty, effervescent woman who justnoticedthings. Reduced to an aspiring Sherlock with a badge and a gun.
“We should draw up a list of anyone who is new in town. Even if it’s some family member visiting,” Aiden said. “You think you can help with that?”
“Yeah, yeah. Chief Hunter at the station sure can. He’s involved with the community and can point you to the right resources.”
Zoe slammed her hands on the table. “Great. Why don’t Detective Cohen and I head to the playground, and, Dr. Wesley, you can go to the station?”
Aiden opened his mouth as if to protest but his shoulders fell as he nodded. “Sure. I’ll just finish my coffee and head over.”
Scott’s eyes bounced between them. “Weather’s going to get worse if we don’t hurry.”
Zoe left a bill on the table. On her way out, she looked over her shoulder, catching the interaction between the waitress and the man. As the waitress walked past him, he gripped her wrist, forcing her to face him. Her expression switched from defiant to fearful. He whispered something through gritted teeth and thewaitress wrenched her hand free—an angry red bruise marring her pale skin. Her other hand mindlessly flew to her neck and Zoe noticed purple fingerprints on the sides of her throat. The waitress lifted the collar of her shirt to hide them and nodded at the man.
The man’s smile was satisfying and cruel.
Zoe clenched her jaw. A hot swoop of rage flicked over her stomach. Her vision tunneled on the man.
“Agent Storm? You ready?” Scott asked.
“Yes.” Zoe beamed, making a mental note of the man’s license plate number as they left.
FOUR
