Desperation in Death (In Death #55)(8)

“Dallas. There’s been an Amber Alert out on her since last November. November nine. She didn’t come home from school. Bester Middle—private school. I’ve got the names of the detectives assigned. And there’s a notation the parents have offered two hundred thousand to anyone with information that leads to their daughter’s return.”

“This kid hasn’t been on the streets for over seven months. A runaway, possibly. We’ll see what the investigators say. But she’s had a decent place to stay. You know this shit—is that actual wood or composite?”

Peabody crouched down.

“It’s pine,” she said. “The real deal. Looks like it has some age on it. The lab’ll have to pin that down. I think it’s an old stud.”

“Like your grandfather?”

“Ha! Funny! Like a wall stud maybe, and somebody who didn’t give a shit about decent wood ripped it out. Somebody rehabbing a building—like we’re doing with the house, but we’d never treat material like this. It’s warped some, so it’s been out in the weather. Probably for a while.”

“Another point she was dumped. The killer didn’t just happen to pick that up lying on the ground here. We’ll have uniforms canvass, but somebody brought her here, after that storm blew out, dumped her under that tree.

“Could’ve weighed her down, dumped her in the river—it’s close enough.”

“They wanted her found.”

Eve nodded at her partner. “And why’s that? She was out in that storm, and she fought. Nothing under her nails, so she didn’t get any scratches in—or the killer cleaned them before the dump. No facial bruising, just a little on her knuckles.”

“Fight didn’t last long,” Peabody concluded.

“No.” Eve looked down at the body again. “Not long.”



* * *



Eve waited until she got to Central, into her office, grabbed some life-giving coffee from her AutoChef, before making the first contact.

Rather than start with the notification, she contacted the lead detective on Mina’s missing persons case.

“Ah, hell. Ah, fuck it all to hell.” Detective Sharlene Driver scrubbed her hands over her deep brown face, then pressed her fingers to eyes several shades darker.

Then she dropped them, and the eyes went cop flat. “I’d appreciate the details, Lieutenant.”

“And you’ll have them. My partner’s writing the report now and will copy you. I’ll answer any questions you may have. I have some of my own.”

“How about I anticipate some of them, answer—and reciprocate by sending you our files?”

“Appreciated.”

“It’s a good family, Lieutenant. Mother’s a civil rights attorney—does a lot of pro bono work. Father’s a doctor, a GP, has his own practice. They’re financially solid, but not crazy rich—not kidnap a kid for a big, fat payday rich. Mina did exceptionally well in school, had a solid circle of friends—no serious boyfriend, but she was sweet on a guy in her class. We talked to him, his family, the friends. Nothing pointed to her running off. Nothing.”

Driver paused. “You have to look at that. Kid gets pissed off, takes off, but not here. She’d negotiated a vid date—her first group date with the boy and two other couples, and was looking forward to it. She was walking home from soccer practice.”

“Usual time and route?”

“Yeah, and that’s a thing. It’s only about a half mile, nice neighborhood—with this little grove of trees along her way. The other thing is while the parents had the talk about strangers and all that, and Mina was a sharp kid, she was also the type—look at her parents—to try to help somebody she thought needed it.”

“Somebody knew her route, used her nature, grabbed her up.”

“That’s how we saw it. No ransom demand. We got some hotline calls, but mostly bogus, and nothing panned out. The closest we came is somebody thought they might have seen a van in the area. Either a black or brown or frigging blue van. With windows, no windows.”

“I hear you.”

“The dad picked up the son at his friends’—where the kid habitually went after school—just before five. Mina was due home by five, but he didn’t worry until about five-thirty when his wife got home. They called Mina’s ’link—but couldn’t connect. Started calling her friends, her soccer coach, then while Oliver—the dad—went out to drive around the area, Rae called the police.

“They haven’t given up, Lieutenant. This is going to crush them. If you could do me a solid, let my partner and me notify them. We have a relationship.”

“I’ll make sure you get the report quickly. I’ll want to talk to them, but it can wait until later in the day.”

“I’ll tell you they’re going to be on their way to New York today. They won’t wait.”

“Give them my contact. I’ll make time.”

“They’re going to ask me if she was raped.”

“I can’t give you that information. She’s with our ME now, and he’ll determine that. What was she wearing the night she went missing?”

“School uniform—she’d have had her soccer clothes in her bag. White, long-sleeved shirt, navy pants. She had a habit of shoving her school blazer in her backpack—because it was lame—and wearing a white zip-up hoodie. Same with her uniform shoes—dark brown loafer style. She’d more likely have worn her white kicks.”