Page 2 of Taken from Her
Diana studied the map, red pins marking locations that should tell a story, but she felt like she wasn't reading it correctly. Three weeks of professional excellence that amounted to professional failure.
"What about community connections?" Julia asked, her tone careful but pointed. "These women were leaders and activists, visible in ways that matter to people who knew them personally. Maybe our interview approach is too formal and removed from how this community actually operates."
The observation struck Diana. Julia had experience Diana lacked; the younger detective had learned to balance professional duty with authentic connection.
"Go on," Diana said.
"When I interviewed Rebecca's friends after the vigilante case, they didn't trust questions by police initially. But when I showed genuine interest in understanding their world instead of just extracting information, they opened up. Community members might know things they don't realize are important or they might not trust us enough to share what they've observed."
Morgan nodded, closing her laptop. "The tech analysis supports that. These women were deeply connected through informal networks: group chats, community events, and social circles. If someone was watching them to learn their patterns, that intelligence might have come from within their community."
Michelle consulted her patrol reports. "Officers are getting polite cooperation from the community, but not the kind of detailed information that breaks cases. People answer questions but don't volunteer observations. It's like they're protecting something…or someone."
Diana felt the familiar tension of making command decisions, but this time it carried unfamiliar weight. Her team was suggesting that her usual investigative approach might be inadequate for this particular case, and she felt it too.
"The café," she said. "Lavender's. It's the community hub where these women spent time and processed what's happening."
"Lavender Larwood," Julia said, recognition in her voice. "She knows everyone, hosts community events, and provides crisis support. If anyone understands the connections between these women and who might want to hurt them, it's her."
Diana had avoided Lavender's Café for precisely the reasons her team was now suggesting she visit it. But three women were missing, and her comfort zone was proving inadequate.
"I'll make contact," Diana announced, even though the decision felt like stepping off solid ground into the unknown where anything could happen. "I’ll establish communication with Lavender Larwood and assess what the community knows that we don't. Hopefully, they’ll reveal something that’ll lead us on the right track."
Michelle nodded approvingly. "Being a community liaison makes sense. Building trust could unlock information we're not getting through the interviews."
Morgan reopened her laptop. "I can provide technical support for any intelligence that surfaces and analyze patterns from a community perspective instead of just looking at digital forensics."
Julia's expression suggested she understood the significance of Diana's decision beyond its investigative necessity. "Chief, approaching this community requires…flexibility. They respond to authenticity, not authority. It might be worth considering a less formal approach."
Diana paused, recognizing the wisdom in Julia's observation even as it challenged everything she knew about maintaining professional boundaries. "Noted," she said finally. "I'll…adapt as necessary."
Diana gathered the case files, the discomfort of the unfamiliar settling beside the steady pressures of her role.
"Meeting adjourned," she said, straightening her uniform. "I'll report back after I’ve made initial community contact."
As her team dispersed, Diana remained at the whiteboard, studying those three faces that had become more than case files. Somewhere in Phoenix Ridge, someone was studying the lesbian community with predatory intent.
Finding them would require her to enter that community as more than a police officer.
Diana's patrol car felt different as she navigated Phoenix Ridge's streets, familiar territory viewed through a new lens. She'd driven these roads hundreds of times responding to calls, conducting welfare checks, and maintaining the visible presence that reminded residents their safety mattered. But today, the Victorian houses with their Painted Lady facades and the eclectic downtown storefronts seemed to belong to a community she was only beginning to understand.
Coastal mist clung to the hillsides, softening the edges of a city she knew in grids and patrol sectors. Salt air drifted through her partially open window, mixing with coffee aromas from local shops where people gathered for reasons beyond simply caffeine.
She passed the entrance to the coastal trail where Tara's hiking boots had been found abandoned. Her dog had returned home alone, still wearing his leash, waiting by the door for someone who wouldn’t come back.
At the next light, Diana caught a glimpse of Isabel's apartment building, its modern lines incongruous among Phoenix Ridge's historical architecture. Isabel had chosen this city for its tight-knit community after Silicon Valley had burned her out, seeking genuine connection over competition. Her LinkedIn profile highlighted her professional achievements, butit was the handwritten note found on her kitchen counter—a thank-you from a community member she'd mentored—that revealed what Phoenix Ridge had truly meant to her.
She passed the municipal swimming pool on her left, where Joanna had taught children to swim with the patience of someone who understood that confidence in the water translated to confidence in life. Parents still brought their kids, but the lessons carried grief, questions about why bad things happened to good people, and whether anywhere was truly safe.
Diana's hands tightened on the steering wheel as radio chatter provided a familiar ambiance. But beneath the radio's mechanical comfort, doubt crept through her thoughts like fog through coastal pines.
Julia's words echoed:They respond to authenticity, not authority.
Three weeks of competent investigating had yielded nothing except growing community fear. Someone had studied their patterns, learned their routines, and identified vulnerabilities that official interviews couldn't uncover because the knowledge existed in coffee shop conversations and community gathering spaces.
She turned onto the street that would lead to Lavender's Café. She knew crime statistics for this area, response times, and local ordinances. But she didn't know which corner market sold the best coffee, which restaurants hosted community events, or which spaces felt like a safe haven for people who had nowhere else they belonged.
The shopping district rose ahead, a space where Victorian buildings had been converted to shops and gathering places, flower boxes overflowed with herbs that scented the morning air, and pedestrians moved in a leisurely pace. Diana felt the contrast between her patrol car's official presence and the organic community life happening beyond her windshield.
