6
Noelle stepped to one side of Sydney Beason’s front door as Evan rang the bell.
The victim’s home was a town house in a development that had street after street of identical connected homes. Only the colors were different. Cream, beige, brown, or a soft mustard. Each one had the same style of front door and an identical young maple tree near the single-car driveway.
The home was quiet. Evan rang the bell again and then knocked.
Not a camera doorbell.
Noelle didn’t see security cameras either.
“Walk around back?” asked Noelle. Sydney’s townhome was on the end of a long row.
Evan nodded, and they started down the walkway and then went around to the back, where the unit had a tiny yard with a tall fence.
Noelle reached over the gate and undid the latch.
The yard had a small patio with two white plastic chairs and a matching end table between them.
Faded red rings stained the table, possibly from wine.
“Noelle.” Evan’s voice was low.
She turned to see him pointing to the side of the house, where a hot-pink-and-turquoise Barbie Jeep was parked next to a small slide.
She has kids.
Noelle banged on the glass slider door. “Deschutes County sheriff! Open up!” Then she yanked on the handle and was shocked as it slid effortlessly to the side.
It’s open.
She moved to the side of the slider and drew her weapon, locking gazes with Evan, who already had his drawn.
No one reported her missing.
Where are her kids?
Could her killer be inside?
Noelle announced herself again and stepped inside the town house, immediately moving to the right and clearing those corners as Evan entered directly behind her and covered the left.
They were in a family room with a fake fireplace and a small attached kitchen.
A few toys and children’s books were strewn about the room.
“Deschutes County sheriff! Is anyone home? Show yourself now!” Evan yelled.
Silence.
The room was clear, so Noelle moved to the garage door as Evan cleared a bathroom.
She cleared the garage—no car. And then she and Evan moved up the stairs.
Noelle breathed hesitantly through her nose and was relieved there was no scent of decomp.
The last thing she wanted was to find murdered children.
Upstairs they cleared a primary bedroom with an en suite, a child’s bedroom with a twin bed and pink Barbie comforter, and a third bedroom with a double bed.
No signs of struggle.
The hallway was lined with a dozen large framed photos of a little girl. They started with a pink, wrinkled newborn and went on up to a blonde four- or five-year-old with a devious look in her eyes.
“Where’s the ex?” asked Noelle. “Maybe it’s his turn to have the daughter.”
“I’ll call the deputy I have on him.”
Noelle stepped into the largest bedroom, noting that on the unmade side of the bed there was a nightstand holding a stack of novels, reading glasses, and an empty coffee cup, while the other side had nothing.
In the bathroom, there was only one toothbrush.
A pink razor was in the shower, along with expensive shampoo and conditioner.
It appeared Sydney had lived alone. A quick peek in the walk-in closet revealed women’s clothing and enough shoes to start a shoe store. Always interested in shoes, Noelle scanned the shelves, noticing the woman wore the same size as her. But the shoes weren’t to Noelle’s taste.
I’m a shoe snob.
She knew it. She spent a ridiculous amount on high-end shoes and clothing. She’d grown up poor, but her second marriage had brought with it an incredible amount of wealth. Her husband had insisted that she dress a certain way. As had his mother.
Noelle left the room and took another look at the daughter’s room. The little girl loved pink. Or else her mother loved pink. Belle was spelled out in a pastel framed print.
Now she has a name.
Where are you, Belle?
Belle’s bed was also unmade. There were about twenty stuffed animals stacked on the bed against the headboard and wall, leaving a small nest for the girl to sleep in.
“We need to get over to the ex’s home,” said Evan, appearing in Belle’s doorway. “The ex told the deputy he only gets his daughter every other weekend. He hasn’t seen her or talked to her mother since the drop-off the previous Sunday.”
“The deputy told him we found Sydney’s body?”
“He did. Not how we hoped to handle it, but what else can you do when you ask a man where his daughter is? The deputy says the man showed genuine shock about the death and a lot of fear for his daughter. I told the deputy not to let him leave the house or make any phone calls. He wanted to immediately call his parents and Sydney’s parents to see if she dropped off the little girl. His name’s Trey Beason.”
“Let’s go before he explodes,” said Noelle, knowing the father must be going nuts.
“We need to be the ones to tell the grandparents their daughter was murdered and their granddaughter is missing. Not him. I’ll get someone to sit on this house and call for a forensics team.
” She crossed her fingers that Sydney had left Belle with her parents.
But they haven’t noticed that Sydney is missing?
An ominous wave crept over her skin.
Something is very wrong.
“Give me my fucking phone!”
Noelle sympathized with the father. Trey Beason’s face was red and his eyes were wet. His fear and stress filled the room.
“Not until we talk first,” said Noelle.
“I already talked to that cop!” Trey pointed angrily at the front door, through which the deputy had left to go to the grandparents’ home.
“Mr. Beason,” began Evan.
“My daughter is fucking missing and you want to talk?”
“We want to notify Sydney’s parents in person about her death,” said Noelle. “Do you think we should do that with a phone call?” she snapped. “The deputy will immediately let us know if Belle is there.”
Trey dropped onto his sofa, rocking back and forth, his head in his hands. “I’ve got to call my parents.” He choked out the words. Trey was a tall man with blond hair, indicating where Belle had gotten her hair color.
“What are the chances that Sydney left Belle with your parents without you finding out?” asked Noelle.
Trey was silent for a moment. “None. I would have heard about it.”
“What about friends of Sydney’s? Is there someone she trusts to leave Belle with?”
He got to his feet and paced, his fingers buried in his hair. “I don’t know. We’ve been divorced since before Belle was born. I don’t know her friends anymore.”
“Telling us her friends’ names from then could help,” suggested Noelle.
“Mind if I use your bathroom?” Evan asked.
Trey spun and glared daggers at him. “Yes, you can search my house. Tear it apart, I don’t care. Whatever it will take to get you to actually start looking for my daughter!”
Evan nodded and headed down the hall.
The father whirled on Noelle. “Please do something to find her instead of sitting here and talking!”
“I need names,” said Noelle. “I’ve already let the FBI know we have a missing child. They’re the experts when it comes to finding children. Things are already moving that you can’t see.” She’d notified the local office before arriving at Trey’s home.
Trey dropped back on the couch. “Thank God! Why didn’t you say that first?”
“Give me names to pass on to the FBI.” Noelle sat and pulled out her phone to take notes. Her hands shook, her nerves affected by the father’s wrath and fear, which were palpable in the room. She wasn’t scared; she was wired.
Belle’s father rattled off some names. He asked for his phone so he could look through his contacts to prod his memory. He was calmer, so Noelle handed it over.
A text from the deputy popped up on Noelle’s phone. Belle was not at her grandparents’, and the last contact they’d had with Sydney was a text ten days ago.
She took a breath. “Belle is not at Sydney’s parents’ home,” she said quietly to Trey.
“I’ll update the FBI.” She sent a text to Mercy.
She hadn’t been quite truthful with Trey about the FBI.
Earlier she’d given Mercy a heads-up that there was a potential missing child situation, and Mercy had agreed that they needed to check with the grandparents first.
Now she’d activate the FBI machine.
“Call your parents,” Noelle told him.
He stared at the phone, his face grim. “What do I say? How do I tell them Belle is missing and that Sydney’s been murdered?” He set down the phone. “Now I don’t want to tell them. I can’t. I feel sick to my stomach.”
Evan came back into the living room. He met Noelle’s gaze and shook his head.
Nothing suspicious.
Trey still needed to be cleared for Sydney’s murder, but the murder had dropped down in priority a minuscule amount for Noelle and Evan. Sydney was already dead; Belle might be alive.
“Call them,” Noelle repeated. “Now.”
The man nodded and took his phone into the dining area, where the detectives could still see and hear him, but he would feel as if he had a little privacy.
Noelle’s phone vibrated with a call, and she saw it was Dr. Peres. She knew the forensic anthropologist was still working at the recovery site.
“Detective Marshall,” said Noelle.
“Victoria Peres,” said the doctor. “We’ve found something in one of the graves that I wanted you to know about immediately.
” In the background, there were unintelligible voices.
“Yes, right there,” said Dr. Peres, clearly moving the phone farther from her mouth.
“Get another photo, and then I want it bagged right away.” Her voice returned.
“Sorry about that, Detective. I’m sending the gun to be processed immediately. ”
“Gun?” repeated Noelle. Evan glanced at her, a brow rising.
“Yes. It’s a Glock 17.” More unintelligible words in the background.
“A fourth generation?” the doctor asked away from the phone.
“How can you—okay. Detective, my assistant says the markings show that it’s a fourth generation.
” A pause. Then the doctor snorted. “Of course it is,” she said to her assistant and then, louder, stated, “Detective, it appears the serial number has been scratched or shaved off somehow.”
“That’s what they think,” said Noelle, her excitement rising at the valuable discovery.
“It can be read.” Some people didn’t realize that the serial numbers are imprinted so forcefully on weapons that the compression changes the metal several layers down, invisibly retaining the identification.
There were several different forensic techniques to read the imperceptible numbers.
“Thank you, Dr. Peres. We’ll get that processed as soon as possible.
” She ended the call. “We’ve got a gun from one of the graves,” she whispered to Evan.
He pumped a fist. “Excellent. We’ll have another name soon.”
“But will it be the name of the victim or murderer?” asked Noelle.
“Could be stolen too,” said Evan. “But whoever it was stolen from might give us a strong lead.”
“True.” She looked over at Trey Beason. He’d sat down at the dining table, his shoulders slumped, his hand pressed to his eyes as he spoke to his parents. His cheeks were wet.
We’ve got to find Belle.