“That, and she asked me?—”
She raised a hand. “Say no more.” If anyone knew the lengths to which grieving parents and family members would go to find the truth, for better or worse, it was Di. As captain of the FJG, she oversaw human trafficking, domestic violence, and crimes against children cases, many often involving runaways. “But won’t the FBI and missing persons databases have more info?”
“We’ve put in all the usual requests,” Jamie said. “They’re compiling files and uploading for us to review.”
With special emphasis on the names they’d relayed from his mother’s books and on any reported within the past year since Cam had been on the West Coast. “We wanted to review BPD’s files too,” Cam said. “Since missing persons are usually reported here first.”
“I got you.” She held open the swinging counter door and led them through the bullpen. Their path of travel was frequently delayed by officers interrupting to greet Cam, but they eventually reached the basement stairs. “Timing’s good,” Di said, leading them down. “Superintendent’s at headquarters.”
“He owes me a favor or ten,” Cam said.
“Don’t doubt it,” Di replied. “But now’s not a good time for feds to be poking around BPD and missing persons cases.”
“Why’s that?”
“Officer over in D-4”—she looked over her shoulder at Jamie—“that’s District Four.”
“South End,” he said with a nod.
She halted and Cam nearly ran into her. “You sound Southern and look California . . .”
“Grad school at MIT, and I spent summers here all through undergrad.” He jutted a thumb at Cam. “With this one.”
She waved a hand and continued down the steps. “Okay, you’re local. So over in South End, Officer Murphy’s daughter, Shannon, went missing day before yesterday. We’re trying to keep it in house, at least for now.”
“Randall Murphy?” Cam asked.
She shook her head. “Little brother, Billy.”
“They’re Southies,” Cam told Jamie. Then to Di, “Like you said before, the feds have more resources that can help.”
She raised both hands as they walked down the hall to archives, which took up the back half of the building’s basement. “Preaching to the choir, sugar, but they got their reasons.” She pushed open the swinging doors, and the lights automatically flipped on.
Standing among the four wooden worktables, Cam eyed the rolling racks of files stretching endlessly the opposite direction. A sad sight in and of itself—so many cases—but the very files he needed access to.
“You remember where everything is?” Di asked.
“Yep, other than the coffeemaker.” He’d noticed it missing from the kitchenette.
“Upgrade.” Waggling her brows, she opened a cabinet door to reveal a single-serve espresso machine.
“Look at you,” Cam teased. “Gettin’ all fancy.”
“Was the least I could do for the archives and evidence clerks.” Always taking care of her people. “You in town for a while?”
“To be determined.”
“All right, just don’t fall asleep down here. Lights go out automatically now.” She gave him a wink as she stepped past him toward the doors. “You boys let me know if you need anything.”
The doors swung closed behind her and Cam sat at the table by the window, picking at the nick his own fingernail had carved there over the years.
“How’s it feel to be back?” Jamie asked, claiming the chair across from him.
“Better than it should,” he admitted, and that was a problem.
The first time Nic visited “mobile command,” it had been a bright spring morning, right at the start of this mess with Vaughn. Five months later, they were meeting under the cover of darkness and Aidan, rather than Mel, stood on the deck of the yacht with Irish and American flags flying from its stern.
“I see I’m late for the party,” Nic said, climbing aboard.
