CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY
Bree ate half the sandwich and handed the leftover piece to Matt. “I’ll eat the rest later.”
While she agreed with Matt that they needed fuel to work, the trip to the morgue had ruined her appetite. Instead, she headed for the drive-through at Starbucks. “I’m sorry. Tea is not going to cut it tonight.”
Matt stuffed her leftovers into the insulated bag. He sniffed the tea his mother had packed and closed the spout. “Make that two.”
While she drove and they guzzled coffee, her deputy called to report that Howard Killian had been at the bar in Scarlet Falls at lunchtime but had left around one o’clock.
“We just can’t catch a break.” Bree drained her cup.
“He can’t hide forever,” Matt said.
The GPS announced they’d reached their destination. The Abbotts lived in a sprawling one-story home on an oversize lot near the outskirts of town. Bree scanned the dark yard as she and Matt walked to the front door. Chickens clucked somewhere.
She knocked. The woman who opened the door was small like Grace. Similarities between mother and daughter extended beyond physical characteristics. Mrs. Abbott’s driver’s license said she was only forty-two. She could have passed for a decade older, at least. She wore baggy jeans, a sweatshirt, and beat-up sneakers. Her blonde hair was streaked with gray and bound in a tight ponytail. Lines bracketed her eyes, and the circles under them were dark enough to be bruises.
Bree introduced herself and Matt.
“Are you here about Grace or my husband?” Mrs. Abbott wiped her hands on the hem of her apron.
“We’re focused on finding your daughter,” Bree said.
“You best come in then.” Mrs. Abbott stepped aside, turned, and led them back to a kitchen organized with military precision. Plates, mugs, and glasses lined open shelves. The rectangular table was long enough to seat a dozen on the matching benches. Two teenage girls washed and dried dishes on autopilot.
“Girls,” she said. “Go to your rooms. I’ll finish the dishes later.” With a mumbled “Yes, ma’am,” they fled, leaving it eerily silent for a house with eight—nine—children in it.
“Riley and my younger children are in bed,” Mrs. Abbott said.
“How is Riley?” Bree asked.
“Getting acquainted with her family. The twins are only six, so Riley has built-in playmates,” Mrs. Abbott said.
“Where is your husband?” Bree would be very angry if Mr. Abbott hadn’t kept his word about staying home.
“In the garage, fixing something.” Mrs. Abbott nodded toward a door. “He can’t be still.”
“May I?” Matt gestured toward the garage door.
Mrs. Abbott consented with a gesture of surrender, and he disappeared through the door. Mrs. Abbott leaned both hands on the table. “Are you any closer to finding Grace?”
“Not yet.” Bree leaned a hip on the counter. “What did Grace do since she moved home?”
Mrs. Abbott’s fingers clutched the edge of the butcher block like claws. “She’s been helping with chores, taking care of Riley, making the necessary calls about a job ...”
“Did she go anywhere?” Bree asked.
“Just to work this morning.”
“Did she seem normal?”
“I don’t even know what normal is for her anymore. She slinks around the house like a stray cat.” Mrs. Abbott pushed away from the counter, picked up a huge chef’s knife, and positioned it over a red onion. The knife sliced with mechanical precision, each slice identical to the last, the knife moving fast enough to make Bree curl her own fingers into her palms.
“Tell me about this morning,” Bree said.
The knife paused, halfway through an onion. “She was up at five, pitched in with breakfast and cleanup. She booked a ride with Uber and left for work around seven thirty.”
“Seven thirty?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Abbott gave Bree a quizzical look. “Why?”
Because Grace didn’t start work until ten.
Bree pulled her notepad and pen from her pocket. “I’m constructing a timeline of her day. She didn’t say she needed to run an errand after work?”
“No. She specifically said she was coming straight home.”
Bree sent Rory a quick text, asking him to check Grace’s Uber and Lyft apps for activity from the morning. Grace could have needed to stop at a store or the post office or any number of routine errands, but the fact that she’d chosen not to tell her mother put Bree on alert. “We’d like to see Grace’s room in case there’s something that might indicate where she’s gone.”
“Of course.” Tight-lipped, Mrs. Abbott led the way out of the kitchen and down a hall. They passed two bedrooms, each crowded with two sets of bunk beds, like dormitories. In the third room, Riley sat on an opened sofa bed, flipping through a picture book on her lap. Grace’s clothes were folded on a nearby table. The two had been sharing the room.
“What book is that?” Mrs. Abbott went into the room and held out a hand.
Riley handed over the book automatically. “It’s about unicorns.” She wore a threadbare nightgown several sizes too large, clearly a hand-me-down. Instead of her usual explosion of color, the gown was a drab beige. Bree wondered if Riley had chosen the nightie or if it had been chosen for her.
Bree crouched to Riley’s eye level. “Do you remember me?”
Riley nodded.
“Are you OK?” Bree asked.
Riley’s gaze darted to her grandmother, then back to Bree before the child nodded again. She looked fed and clean and as comfortable as to be expected, considering she was living with virtual strangers.
“Where’s my mommy?” Riley asked. “She promised she’d come back right after her work, but she didn’t.”
Bree kept her voice neutral. She wouldn’t lie to the child, but there was no reason to give her nightmares either. “I’m not sure. I’m hoping to find her soon.”
To her surprise, Riley wrapped her arms around Bree and gave her a quick squeeze. “Thank you,” she said in a small voice.
The child is safe.
The thought wasn’t as comforting as Bree wanted. An image of Grace, dead-faced and wrapped in a tarp, popped into her mind. She banished it. Cops usually planned for the worst-case scenario, but at this moment, dwelling on it wasn’t helpful.
“Let’s get you a glass of water.” Mrs. Abbott extended a hand. Riley took it and left the room with her grandmother.
Bree opened each drawer. Grace didn’t have many possessions other than basic clothes and a few books. Bree checked between the pages, looking for receipts or notes. She found a small toilet kit hanging on the back of the door. She opened it. Grace was very low maintenance in the beauty department. Bree unzipped a side pouch and pulled out a bag of candied ginger. She stared at it for a minute, then zipped the pouch just as Riley skipped back into the room. The mattress springs creaked as she clambered onto the bed.
“I’ll tuck you in in a minute,” Mrs. Abbott said to Riley, then turned toward Bree.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Bree assured her and left the room. She found Matt and Mr. Abbott in the kitchen.
Mr. Abbott stood at the kitchen sink, scrubbing under his nails with a brush. “You haven’t found my daughter.” His voice was full of accusation and resentment.
“No, sir, not yet,” Bree said. “We’ll keep you updated.”
Mr. Abbott’s head bowed, and his broad shoulders caved in. He said nothing as Bree and Matt left the house.
In the vehicle, Bree told Matt about finding candied ginger in Grace’s toilet kit.
“Isn’t that a natural nausea remedy?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Maybe she’s coming down with the flu.”
“Or she’s pregnant.”
Matt froze. “Fuck. Ally and Jana were both pregnant. Two could be a coincidence, but three? No way.”
Bree’s phone buzzed as she fastened her seat belt. “It’s Rory.” She punched “Answer.” “You’re on speaker, Rory. Matt is here also.”
“I’m in Grace’s phone,” he began. “I went right to her Uber app. She called for a ride a little after two o’clock this afternoon, but when the driver arrived at Weekends, she wasn’t there.”
Which confirmed the kidnapper most likely had pretended to be her ride.
“Also,” Rory continued, “you were right about her using Uber early this morning. She booked a ride at 7:31 and arrived at 7:58 this morning.” He gave them an address.
“One more thing,” Rory said. “The vehicle in the surveillance video at Weekends is a Honda Accord. Of the available colors, champagne, white, and silver are the best possibilities. I’m also trying to clean up the video for more details.”
“Thanks, Rory!” Bree ended the call. “I’ll have Marge pull motor vehicle records, see how many light-colored Accords are registered in our area.”
“Going to be a long list,” Matt said. “There are a few hundred thousand Accords registered in the state.”
She lowered her phone. “Let’s go check out that address.”
“Already on it.” Matt worked the dashboard computer, a.k.a. the mobile data terminal. “Tax records say the property is owned by a nonprofit, Vital Care Network.” He tapped on the keyboard. “Reverse search on the address shows the property is currently occupied by Choices for Women. It’s a pregnancy counseling center.”
“That sounds familiar.” Bree repeated the name in her head. “I know! There was a brochure for a pregnancy counseling center in Ally’s backpack.” She called Todd using voice commands. When he answered, she asked him to check the file. “There should be photos of the brochure in the file.”
Papers shuffled on the line.
“Got it,” Todd said. “You are correct. The brochure says, ‘Choices for Women: Sexual Health Resource Center. Free and confidential.’”
“Vital Care Network also sounds familiar,” Matt said.
“Yes!” On Todd’s end of the call, keys clacked. “Jana’s phone records! She called Vital Care Network two weeks ago.”
“So, we’ve linked Jana, Ally, and Grace to this center. That can’t be a coincidence.” Bree tapped her forehead. “Todd, I want you to call Trish’s sister, Diane, and point-blank ask her if Trish had been to the center.”
“Dr. Jones didn’t find any sign of a fetus in Trish’s autopsy,” Matt pointed out.
“True, but Trish could have thought she was pregnant,” Bree said.
“I’ll call her sister now.” Todd ended the call.
Matt checked the website, then looked at his phone. “The center just closed.”
“Let’s drive by.” Bree entered the address in the GPS. “Maybe someone is still in the office.”
They headed for the address. The center was located in the end position of a small shopping center. A Laundromat was the opposite anchor. Bree parked in front and stared at the building. The windows were obscured by posters listing services: pregnancy testing, counseling, and STD screening. Huge capital letters spelled out FREE CONFIDENTIAL in red.
“The lights are still on,” Bree said. “Let’s knock on the door.”
Matt pointed. “I see someone moving around inside.”
They stepped out into the rain. Bree hurried to get under the awning, which felt ridiculous. She was already soaked. She knocked on the door and waited. A woman dressed in scrubs came to the door. She pointed to the CLOSED sign.
Bree pointed to her badge.
The woman unlocked and opened the door with an annoyed, “Can I help you?”
“Yes.” Bree waited.
The woman stepped back and admitted them into a small lobby. She was about fifty, with a thick, frizzy, salt-and-pepper bob. A name tag proclaimed her to be Darla. “We’re closed.”
“We know.” Matt took up a lot of space in the small vestibule.
Bree had no time or patience for sweet-talking anyone. “You probably know we’re working on a murder case.”
That got Darla’s attention. Her eyes widened. “Is this about the serial killer?”
“Yes,” Bree said. “So far, two of our victims have been to your center. I’d like to give you two additional names for you to check your records.”
Darla’s chin snapped up. “I’m sorry. You’ll need a warrant.”
“You’re not a licensed medical facility,” Matt said. “HIPAA doesn’t apply.”
“We pride ourselves on our confidentiality.” She tucked some hair behind her ear, but her hair was too thick, and it immediately sprang out again.
Bree tried again. “We don’t need their records. I just want to know if they came here.”
“No.” Darla gestured toward the door.
“They’re dead,” Matt snapped. “They aren’t going to object.”
Darla pointed to the door in a don’t let it hit you in the ass way. “We could be sued by their families. The dead have the same rights to privacy as the living. Get a warrant or get their next of kin to request their records.”
Frustrated but not surprised, Bree tried to think of another argument. With two identified victims and her missing woman linked to the center, she would be able to get a warrant, but that would take time. She also didn’t think Grace was being held captive in the center. Places open to the public weren’t good stashing spots for kidnapping victims. The center wasn’t big. She looked through the doorway into a waiting room. Maybe there was room for three or four consultation rooms and a small amount of office space. The walls appeared cheap and thin, not substantial enough to cover the sound of a woman banging or screaming.
Bree’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Todd. “Excuse me. I need to take this call.” She stepped into the waiting room and answered the call.
Todd blurted out, “Diane confirmed that she drove Trish to the center for a pregnancy test a week or two before she went missing, and that the test was positive.”
Four out of four.Trish, Ally, Jana, and Grace were all tied to Choices for Women.
Bree wanted to scream. “And she withheld this information from the police?”
“She didn’t think it would matter. No one else knew, not even the boyfriend, and she thought the information would devastate their parents.”
“OK. Thanks, Todd. I need you to get a search warrant for the center. I want staff records, everyone who works there. We need to know who was there when the victims visited the center.” Darla was never going to part with those records until a judge made her.
“I’m on it,” Todd said.
Bree punched “End” and slid the phone back into its holder on her belt. A row of framed photographs caught her attention. Most showed volunteers raising money for the center. Bree stepped forward and squinted at each photo until she recognized a face at what appeared to be a community Bowl-a-Thon. Her gaze locked on the woman sitting behind a stack of brochures, her hands folded on the table, smiling for the camera.
She turned to Darla and tapped on the photo. “Who is this?”
Darla stepped into the waiting room and leaned over the chairs to look at the photo more closely. “That’s Sandy. She’s been a volunteer here forever.”
Bree had been right. It was Sandy Zolek, Jana’s boss at the Sunrise Café. “Thanks for your help.” She made eye contact with Matt. “Let’s go.”
They hurried out to the vehicle.
Bree slammed her door closed. “It can’t be a coincidence that Sandy Zolek volunteers here. She’s involved in this. I know it.” She pounded a fist on the steering wheel. “That lead she gave us about the black car? I’ll bet she was trying to throw off the investigation.”
“I agree,” Matt said. “When are we storming the castle?”
“As soon as we can scrounge up a piece of hard evidence to support the link between the victims.”
They drove back to the station and went into the conference room. Todd was at the table, the case reports spread out on its surface.
Matt paced the conference room. He wanted to move on the information, and he was less concerned about potentially breaking a law or two.
But Bree had to care. It was her responsibility to ensure they followed the law. She held up a hand in a halt gesture. “We need something else. We have no proof Sandy knew the other women or that she was there at the same time as Jana.”
“We don’t have time.” Todd banged a fist on the table. “Jana was killed quickly. We need to rescue Grace.”
“I know.” Bree popped another antacid into her mouth. “Trust me. I’m ready to breach doors at the Zolek farm, but we need something else. One connection to the victims isn’t enough to justify a raid.”
Marge entered the room, a few sheets of paper in her hand. “I dug into those motor vehicle records. I have a list of all the light-colored Honda Accords registered in the region. There are thousands.” She handed Bree a stack of papers.
Bree’s phone buzzed. Rory. She handed the papers to Matt and answered.
“I got it!” Rory said. “I sharpened the video, and you can see the license plate of Grace’s kidnapper reflected in a puddle. I’ll email the photo now.”
“You’re a genius.” Bree reached for her laptop.
“I know.” Rory signed off.
Bree opened the email and downloaded the photo. “Todd, run this plate.” She read off the numbers and letters.
A minute later, Todd smacked the table with a palm. “The vehicle used by the kidnapper to grab Grace is registered to Eric Zolek.”
“Now we can get a warrant.” Bree’s blood hummed as the pieces of the case snapped into place. “Let’s move. I want to go after Grace ASAP.”