“I’m sorry, Joe. I was right in the middle of reading something,” Cindy said. “What’s going on?”
“Lindsay told me about the story you’re following. I’m going out on a lead about a missing child. Nothing wild or unusual. Just a tip that someone saw something suspicious. They believe they saw a ten-year-old girl who’s been missing for eighteen months. Lindsay said you might want to come with us to get some context about families whose children have disappeared.”
“This is exactly what I need. Where can I meet you?”
“I’ll call you in about forty minutes. We’ll stop at theChronicleand pick you up. It’s on our way.”
Exactly thirty-eight minutes later, Joe called Cindy and said he was outside the main entrance to the building, in a blue Chevy Tahoe. Cindy managed to make it out the front door less than two minutes later.
Joe introduced Cindy to FBI special agent Debbie Roche. From the back seat, Cindy greeted the agent, a tall, athletic-looking woman with dark hair.
Joe said, “Debbie handles a lot of the coordination for missing children cases. She’s also tied in closely with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. She goes out on these kinds of assignments all the time. Today, I’m just her chauffeur.”
Cindy smiled. She knew Joe had probably volunteered to go on this assignment just to give Cindy a chance to see what it’s all about. All of her friends’ husbands were smart, stand-up guys.
Special Agent Roche said, “From what Joe’s told me, this might not be that similar to the story you’re working on. It’s a tip from a neighbor who saw a little girl from a distance and somehow made the leap that it could be a girl missing from Portland.”
Joe said, “I blame true-crime podcasts and Netflix series. Everyone thinks crimes are happening secretly all around them all the time. I’m afraid it’s not quite that interesting in real life.”
Debbie said, “We go out a lot on these kinds of tips. Unfortunately, most are useless, but we can’t ignore any of them. Imagine if a tip turned out to be accurate but no one paid attention to it.”
Cindy said, “This is plenty interesting to me. I appreciate you letting me tag along. It should give me some good ideas on how to proceed with my story.” She was almost bouncing in the back seat with anticipation. Reporters generally didn’t get to see this side of investigations. With good reason, cops usually didn’t trust reporters. Cindy was trying to turn that stereotype around all by herself.
CHAPTER23
CLAIRE WASHBURN CAREFULLYscrubbed her hands and arms up to her elbows. It was the third step in a process she’d used since joining the medical examiner’s office. She was rushing the process a little bit this morning because there was no one else in the office and she felt like she was about to cry.
She’d just finished an autopsy on a seven-year-old boy who’d been neglected to the point of starvation. It was heartbreaking. Claire had seen a lot of terrible things, but she wasn’t a hardened social worker. She wasn’t a detective. Claire was a doctor. A medical doctor. It didn’t matter that she’d chosen to go into forensics. She still had taken the Hippocratic oath. She still possessed a full range of emotions. Some healthy, some not so healthy. Either way, a good cry often made her feel better.
As she trudged to her office, Claire’s cell phone buzzed. She dug the phone out of her wide pocket and saw it was her cousin Ellen calling.
She stepped through her office door, closed it behind her. Sheanswered the phone as she sat down in her ancient, extra-padded office chair.
The first thing Ellen said was “I hope your day is going better than mine.”
Claire said, “I just did an autopsy on a seven-year-old boy.”
“Dammit, you always have to one-up me.” That gave them both a needed laugh, and the cousins chatted for a few minutes. Then came the real reason for the call.
Ellen said, “Is Hope behaving for you?”
Claire hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to respond. The truth would likely send Ellen spiraling into areallybad day. But she had to know something was going on with her daughter. Hope was technically an adult but still a teenager, and she didn’t seem to opt for responsible choices.
Finally, Claire said, “We’ve had a few run-ins. She stays out late. She’s very secretive and gets phone calls all the time.”
Ellen tried to downplay what Claire was telling her. “I was a little wild at her age too. Remember how I had to depend on my older cousin to cover for me?”
“I didn’t cover much. You weren’t secretive. You broadcasted that you were going out. You brought boys back to the house. This is something else with Hope. I’m a little worried.” Claire added, “But she was sound asleep when I left the house around seven this morning. She still looks like an angel when she’s asleep.”
“I wish she’d lean in to those angelic looks instead of dressing like a slob all the time.”
“I feel just the opposite. She’s already stunning. There’s no need to advertise it. You never know who’s out there.”
“You’ve lived in the big city too long. You should move out herenear me. It’s cheaper, safer, and a lot less stressful,” Ellen teased her. “I know Hope plans to come home sometime next week. Harold and I will sit down with her, lay out some goals. Like finding a job if she’s not going to college.”
Now that the issue had been raised, Claire wasn’t ready to move off the topic of her niece’s troubling behavior. “Ellen, how much money did you give Hope for this trip?”
Ellen paused, then said, “Harold gave her a prepaid debit card with a couple hundred bucks on it. Why?”
