Alec exhaled through his nose. Unfortunately, Callan had a point. “Different precincts?”
“Different detectives. Different priorities. Cases spread out enough that nobody saw the full picture.”
“Same fucked-up result.”
“That, too.”
Alec straightened, a decision settling into place. “I want timelines,” he said. “Last known movements. Any commonalities—employment, favorite restaurants and coffee shops, rideshare drop-offs. Check all their social media connections and profiles.”
“Already on it.” Callan switched to another screen layered with maps, notes, and highlighted addresses. “There are some shared locations, but nothing strong enough yet to call definitive.”
Alec studied the screen. They had threads. Maybe. Or just noise. His gut told him it was the former.
“Let’s get Gaby and Rhys in the field to run the leads.”
“Good call.” Callan’s fingers blurred over the keys. “I’m sending them the files now.”
Alec’s gaze drifted over the faces. Four women. Four disappearances. And somewhere in the middle of it all, a pattern beginning to emerge.
If Callan was right, this wasn’t a missing persons investigation anymore. It was a hunt for a serial predator before four became five.
Chapter 8
Gaby always hated interviews with people who were trying not to cry. Anger, denial, hostility, those she could work with. They gave a person an edge. A direction to move in. Grief was different.
Grief sat across from her at a kitchen table with cold coffee untouched and answered questions because answering was all that was left to do.
Paul and Marlena Bellamy lived in a small duplex west of Coral Gables, in a neighborhood where the lawns were clipped short and every window seemed to have curtains.
Paul sat beside his wife, shoulders rounded beneath a pressed button-down shirt. At seventy-one, he looked exhausted in a way that seemed to go beyond a lack of sleep.
Marlena, sixty-six, sat with a photograph of Anna clasped in both hands.
“She always called on Sundays,” she said in a whisper-soft, distant voice. “Even if she was tired. Even if it was only for five minutes.”
Gaby wrote that down though it wasn’t evidence. Not technically. But it kept her hands busy.
Rhys sat alongside her, letting silence do what it often did. People filled it when they were ready.
“She worked too much,” Marlena continued. “Bank during the day, restaurant at night. But she said she was saving. Wanted to buy a house someday.”
Paul finally spoke. “And get a dog.”
A faint smile touched Marlena’s mouth. “She loved dogs.”
Gaby glanced at the photograph. Anna smiling in sunlight, hair loose around her shoulders, one hand lifted as if she’d been caught mid-wave.
“Did she have many friends?” Rhys asked gently.
Mrs. Bellamy’s fingers tightened around the frame. “A few. None were close, the way a young woman ought to have.She was shy. Sweet.” Her eyes lifted, meeting Gaby’s. “Too trusting.”
She knew the type. The ones who apologized before asking for help. Who smiled through discomfort because making a scene felt worse than enduring whatever caused it. Just like her sister.
“Did she ever mention feeling unsafe?” Gaby asked.
Marlena shook her head. “That’s what the detective kept asking. Was anyone bothering her? Did she owe money? Was there a boyfriend? As if there had to be a reason.”
Typical line of questioning from a male detective. As if danger only came for women who invited it. Gaby kept her expression even. “Did Anna go out much? Clubs? Bars? Social groups?”
