Chapter 4
Monday late afternoon
JP Torn sat at his desk ready to learn more about Bay Mercer.
He had learned a long time ago that when someone handed you a name, the first question was: Is the name even real?
He typed Bay Mercer into the search bar.
The computer hummed quietly as his system ran through the usual databases: birth records, driver’s licenses, school enrollment, medical registration. Within minutes the results came back.
JP stared at the screen. Multiple entities and places came up, including Dorothy Bay Mercer, an author of romantic thriller fiction, Mercer Bay Loop, a scenic coastal hiking trail in New Zealand, a Hampton ceiling fan, and a vacation rental in Mercer, Wisconsin.
He tried again with a different spelling and a larger geographic range, using broader search parameters, including a wider age range, and limiting it to people. He found people with the alternative spelling, but no one close to her age.
JP let out a slow breath. “Well,” he muttered. “That’s interesting.”
He opened the arrest report Sabre had sent and studied the photograph again.
The girl looked young. She claimed she was fifteen, but she looked more like thirteen.
Her dark hair looked like it had been cut unevenly at some point.
Her face was thin, and she had eyes that seemed older than the rest of her.
She didn’t look scared, but rather alert, like she had spent most of her life watching for trouble.
JP had seen that look before from kids who had learned early that adults weren’t always safe.
He ran another search, this time focusing on school databases. Every kid left a trail eventually, but the results were the same. No enrollment records, no transfers, no standardized test reports, nothing.
JP tapped his fingers against the desk. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s try something else.”
He pulled up the county birth registry. He found a Bay Mercer born in 1984, but nothing close to her age.
JP frowned. That wasn’t just unusual. It was almost impossible. Even kids who lived off the grid eventually showed up somewhere, in hospital records, vaccination reports, school enrollment, something.
But this girl had no footprint at all, which meant one of three things. Either she had spent her entire life outside the system, someone had deliberately scrubbed all traces, or, the most likely, she wasn’t using her real name.
JP turned back to the arrest report. A short note at the bottom listed the information Bay had given officers after her arrest. Just her name and age, but no address, no parent, and no emergency contact.
JP squinted at the form. The officer had written a brief comment in the margin. Subject claims to live with guardian but refuses to provide name.
“A guardian,” JP muttered. Runaways didn’t usually describe the adults in their lives that way. He flipped back to the report. It said she was fifteen. If that was true, she should have fifteen years of paperwork somewhere.
He opened the state birth registry this time and ran the name again with different variations. A birth certificate filled his screen, filed under Lila Bay Mercer, issued in San Bernardino County. The mother was listed as Jennifer Mercer, deceased, and the father was unknown.
JP scanned the record. Then he frowned and scrolled back to the top.
The girl was listed as born thirteen years ago. But the certificate itself had been filed only three years earlier.
JP stared at the screen. Delayed birth certificates happened sometimes, usually in cases involving immigration or lost records. But those filings almost always came with supporting documentation, such as hospital reports, midwife records, and affidavits from parents.
JP clicked through the supporting file, a single notarized statement.
No hospital listed, no doctor, no secondary verification.
His eyes settled on the bottom of the affidavit.
The informant was Darren Roman, family friend.
He ran the name through the state databases.
He got a hit on a California driver’s license issued six years earlier with a Riverside address.
He couldn’t find any employment records or tax filings for Roman, and the driver’s license had expired two years ago and had never been renewed.
“Well,” JP said under his breath. “That’s not good.”
He ran another search using the mother listed on the certificate. The results came back empty again. No tax filings, no property records, no voter registration. Nothing.
JP glanced back at the girl’s booking photo. Someone had gone to the trouble of creating an identity for her. But they hadn’t bothered to build the life that usually came with it. So, the name Sabre had been given was probably never meant to survive serious scrutiny.
JP picked up the phone and dialed Sabre.
She answered almost immediately. “Tell me you found something.”
“A birth certificate for Lila Bay Mercer.”
“A lot of people go by their middle name. So, that sounds promising.”
“It would be,” JP said. “If the birth certificate hadn’t been created only three years ago.”
“That’s odd. Either my client appeared out of thin air when she was twelve,” Sabre said. “Or the name she gave the police isn’t the one she was born with.”
“Exactly. And someone went to a lot of trouble to make this name look real.”
“But not enough effort to make it convincing.” Sabre exhaled slowly. “So, what now?”
JP closed the file. “Now, I find out who she used to be.”
He ended the call and stared at the birth certificate on his screen. Lila Bay Mercer. It had been created and filed three years earlier for a girl who was supposedly fifteen.
He sat up straight in his chair and stretched his back. The longer he thought about it, the more the whole thing bothered him. It wasn’t just the late filing. It was the structure.
The certificate looked legitimate. It had the county seal, a registrar signature, and notarization, but the supporting documentation was almost nonexistent. Someone had built the identity just strong enough to pass casual inspection, but not strong enough to survive someone digging.
A new concern surfaced. If this one was fake… how many others were there?
JP ran the name again through a broader registry search, this time looking not just for the exact identity but for similar patterns. He looked for delayed birth certificates for girls born between thirteen and fifteen years ago. He also looked for recently issued paperwork.
The search took longer this time, but several records finally appeared. Most were legitimate, immigration cases, hospital corrections, adoptions.
But one entry from Riverside County caught his attention. JP opened the file, and another birth certificate appeared on the screen. Joy Bay Ridden.
The girl had a birth date just one month later than the one listed for Lila Mercer.
JP frowned. This certificate had been filed five years ago.
He opened the supporting documentation, which looked eerily similar to the Mercer certificate. Just a single notarized statement, with no hospital listed and no doctor. It had provided just enough information to push it through the county registrar.
JP sat back slowly. “Well,” he murmured. “That’s interesting.”
He opened the certificates side by side—different counties and different filing dates, but the structure of the paperwork was almost identical, mother deceased, father unknown. And the birth names shared the unusual name Bay.
Someone had used the same method twice. Which meant it was a system.
JP rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If these two identities belonged to the same girl, someone had been creating a new name for her every few years.
If these were actually Bay, they were moving her, resetting her.
The process was too sophisticated to have been done by Bay herself.
She would’ve only been about ten when the first one was filed.
He studied the Riverside certificate again. Joy Bay Ridden. The name itself sounded odd, constructed, like something invented quickly.
JP looked back at the photograph of the girl Sabre was representing. Her expression hadn’t changed. Still calm. Still watchful. Still not afraid.
JP picked up the phone again.
Sabre answered on the first ring. “More bad news?”
“Maybe.”
“Define maybe.”
JP glanced at the two certificates on his screen. “I think your client has had more than one name. I found another birth certificate in a different county, under a somewhat different name.”
Sabre’s voice sharpened. “What name?”
“Joy Bay Ridden.”
“And how old is she supposed to be?”
“Almost exactly the same age as Bay Mercer.”
Sabre didn’t speak for a moment. Finally, she said, “Do you think it’s the same girl?”
“I think someone created two identities for a girl the same age using almost identical paperwork.”
“So, which one is real?”
JP smiled faintly. “Probably neither, but it does tell us that your client has been someone else before.”
“Let’s go see her,” Sabre said.