Chapter 72
Kirsten
You know how Maple found out that Ella Hart was some poster girl on the dark web? Well, Maple’s been on YouTube since she was a baby too, right? What if she found herself on the dark web, and that’s why she’s gone AWOL? #findMaple
I offer Officer Browne a glass of water, but he refuses. The man is about fifty, thickset with an overgrown buzz cut of silvery gray hair and a closed-off demeanor.
‘So Maple didn’t come back here last night,’ he says, repeating what I’ve told him. ‘But you only realized this around eleven o’clock today because you’d gone to bed early with a migraine and then assumed Maple was sleeping in this morning?’
‘That’s right, yes,’ I murmur, trying not to look guilty. It sounds so much worse the way he says it, so I tell him a white lie. ‘Maple was at the mall yesterday afternoon, and when I saw that she’d booked an Uber back home, I relaxed and let the pills knock me out.’
‘Right,’ he says, nodding. ‘We’ll contact Uber; find the driver.’ Then he turns to Garrett. ‘And you, sir?’ he asks.
‘I spent the night at my folks’ house with our youngest two. I only found out Maple was missing when I got back this morning.’
The officer nods again, but more vigorously, and I can tell he’s a man’s man. That he instinctively wants to cut Garrett some slack while holding me to account. ‘Has Maple run away before?’ he asks, still looking at my husband.
‘No, never,’ Garrett says.
‘And has anything happened recently that might have caused her to go?’
This question is directed at me. I sense Garrett try to make eye contact, and of course I know that what Maple overheard yesterday is relevant. But I can’t do it. I can’t let this officious man with his wide stance and narrow eyes think I’m some kind of whore.
‘No, nothing,’ I say. ‘Maple has a great life. She’s an influencer, and her YouTube page – Maybe Maple, you might know it? – has nearly two million followers. She’s a model too; she did a shoot recently in Vegas. And we’re really close as a family; she adores her younger siblings.’
I’m expecting to see some admiration in Officer Browne’s expression, a softening at least, but he looks alarmed. ‘So Maple has a public profile on social media?’ he asks. ‘And do you know if she’s been communicating with her followers online?’
I wonder how to answer such a stupid question. ‘Well, that’s how being an influencer generally works,’ I choose.
‘Give me a minute,’ the officer says gruffly, then speaks into his radio.
‘Dispatch, I’m with the parents of the missing girl.
I’ve carried out a risk assessment, and I’m going to need a detective to come by here.
Also, look up Maybe Maple on YouTube for a description, yeah, it’s her, and send out a BOLO asap. Great, thanks.’
‘You make it sound like Maple’s in real danger,’ Garrett says, his voice gravelly. ‘BOLO means what exactly?’
The detective gives him a sympathetic smile. ‘Be On the Look Out. We would always treat Maple’s disappearance as urgent due to her age, but it’s true that her having a public profile does increase the risk that this is more than a teenage runaway situation.’
The room seems to sway. ‘You think someone’s taken her?’ I whisper.
‘No, I don’t,’ he says. ‘I just can’t rule it out, not with the growing evidence of how many predators operate online. Especially around child influencers.’
I feel the stain of his judgment like an oil slick. ‘I am aware of the dangers,’ I say with all the authority I can muster. ‘That’s why I have access to all of Maple’s social media accounts and check them regularly.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ he says, his expression softening a notch. ‘Because I’m going to need details of all her devices and social media handles. TikTok, Instagram, WhatsApp, Snapchat. Did Maple have any other apps like Discord or Telegram?’
‘Of course she didn’t,’ Garrett says, affronted. ‘Telegram’s for drug dealers and conspiracy theorists, not happy-go-lucky teenagers like Maple.’
I push my lips together, remind myself that Garrett has always been ignorant about these things.
‘Well, some of its users are suspicious of the mainstream apps, yes,’ Officer Browne says, nodding. ‘And online predators generally fall into that category, so it’s a relief to know she doesn’t use it.’
I feel my neck flood with heat. But Blake runs a modeling agency, I remind myself. And anyway, she’s a woman, like Blake Lively. Not a man, like Blake Shelton. I blink. Why exactly did I assume Blake was a woman?
‘Now, I appreciate that there will be lots of accessible photos of Maple online,’ the officer continues. ‘But I’d be grateful if you could provide one that we can use officially with your consent.’
Consent. Is that what I gave Blake when I sent those photos via Telegram?
And consent for what? I’d love to find out for sure, to prove the police officer wrong, but Blake has gone dark on me again.
That’s twice now. Both times when I ask questions, and after I’ve sent photos of Maple. At all ages, and in not many clothes.
Nausea balloons inside me, pushing against my rib cage. God, I’m going to be sick.
‘I’ll get a photo,’ I blurt out. Then I rush out of the kitchen.