She was staring at the window, when suddenly a dark figure came up behind the child. The sight made Marissa shudder with fear. She couldn’t breathe as the man took the little girl’s hand and pulled her away from the window.

Then she was gone.

Marissa kept staring at the empty window, before running back to the bike and getting back on it. She stepped hard on the pedals and screamed in anger and frustration, then took off, tears of anger rushing down her cheeks.

I’m gonna get her back. No matter what it will cost me, if I have to die while trying, I will get her back!

THIRTY-ONEBILLIE ANN

I arrived at Marissa’s house hoping for some answers. I desperately needed to talk to her. I had been calling her for days, but she didn’t answer her phone. I had been trying hard to sort out why she was suddenly so distant, so elusive. It was odd to me. I needed her help with this case—to interview her again. I needed to know if she knew Bryan Henderson. I had to figure out if there was a connection between them. And I needed to know who this guy who had come to her house was.

My knocks echoed through the street that was strangely quiet except for a few chirping birds, probably because it was still early Sunday morning. I thought I could catch her before she took off for work, in case she was working today. But no one answered much to my surprise. I waited with my heart in my throat. I was worried about her. I feared something had happened to her.

After a few moments I heard the sound of tires on asphalt. When I turned, I saw Marissa riding her bike toward me, and into the driveway, her head down and her face obscured by shadows, a cloud of sadness all around her.

“Marissa?” I said and approached her.

She saw me just as she got off her bike. She stopped for a second, then quickly averted her gaze and began to walk toward me without a word. She walked right past me as if I didn’t exist.

“Marissa?” I said again.

I followed her, calling out to her, but Marissa kept walking and wouldn’t turn around.

Finally, I stopped and shouted at her. “Marissa! You can’t just ignore me. Why won’t you talk to me?”

She paused by the door, head slumped. “You can’t help me.”

“What do you mean?” I said, feeling frustrated. “It’s literally all I am trying to do. Help you. I’m working night and day to find your daughter. I arranged for search parties that combed through the area for days, we have an Amber Alert out, everyone in the town knows to look for her. I have my entire team all over this, even if they think I’m nuts. I put my career on the line for you. I know no one believed you at first, but I do, Marissa. I believe you. But I can’t do this if you won’t help me. Can we talk, please? I’m sure we can…”

I paused, as it dawned on me all of a sudden. The realization came as a deep shock to me. I almost refused to believe it, but it was the only explanation for her sudden change of demeanor toward me. She had been begging me to believe her, and now all of a sudden, she wasn’t? She no longer needed my help?

It all made sense now.

“You know where she is, don’t you? You know who took her.”

Marissa stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn around. She stood still for a moment, her shoulders trembling. Then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, she said, “Please, just leave me alone.”

“No, Marissa, if you know where your daughter is, then we need to—”

I approached her, reaching out my hand, hoping to make her change her mind and start talking to me.

But I had no such luck.

She opened the door and disappeared inside, closing it firmly behind her.

As I watched her go, the truth suddenly dawned on me. Marissa had seen something—or someone—that had scared her into silence. She was hiding a terrible secret, and I had to find out what it was.

THIRTY-TWOBILLIE ANN

“Can we talk for a minute?”

I knocked on the door to Mr. and Mrs. Perezes’ house the next day. I felt angry and confused by this entire case, and now I was suddenly doubting my investigation. I had been thinking about it all day the day before, and all night. Maybe it was a coincidence that Cassandra was murdered on the same day that Emma disappeared. If I couldn’t speak to Marissa, I needed to find out if Bryan was connected to Cassandra.

There was one thing that I was fairly sure of. The same person had murdered Cassandra Perez and Bryan Henderson. It had to be. It had been a week now since Doyle gave me the ultimatum, and I feared he would take me off the case, if I didn’t provide anything by the end of the day.

It was Mr. Perez who opened the door. He had that look in his eyes that I had seen before in parents losing a child, of despair and grief. It was heartbreaking.

“Can we talk for a minute?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. “I need to ask you some more questions.”

Mr. Perez hesitated for a moment before nodding and stepping aside to let me in. The house was warm and cozy, contrasting with the icy feeling in my gut. I followed him to the living room, where Mrs. Perez was sitting on the couch, her eyes fixed on a TV show.

“Is everything okay, dear?” she asked, glancing up at him. Then she saw me and sat up straight. “Detective Wilde? What are you doing here? Are you bringing us any news?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. How could I even begin to explain what was going on in my head? The doubts, the fears, the suspicions—they were all jumbled up inside me, and I couldn’t make sense of them. It was so frustrating. I wanted to help these people. I wanted them to get closure. But the fact was, I was far from being able to provide them with any answers at all. Or any comfort.

It broke my heart. Mrs. Perez was holding a cup of tea in her hand. Her face was creasing in worry, and a deep frown grew between her eyes.

“I just had a few questions about the case,” I said, taking a seat across from her. “I was hoping you could help me.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, setting down her tea. “What do you need to know?”

As Mrs. Perez spoke, I couldn’t help but admire the way her hair fell in soft waves around her face. She had a gentle and calming energy about herself, and it was a stark contrast to the tension that filled the air. I could feel my heart beating faster, and I tried to focus on the task at hand. I really wished I had news for them.

“There’s been another murder,” I said.

Mr. Perez sat down next to his wife. They grabbed each other’s hands.

“Oh dear God, no,” Mrs. Perez said, her voice breaking. “Please tell me it wasn’t another child?”

I cleared my throat. “Not this time, no. A man. In his early thirties.”

They looked briefly at each other in shock. Mrs. Perez spoke, while her husband just stared at us, a look of disbelief on his face.

“That’s still so young. Is it related to Cassandra’s murder you think?” she asked. “It must be because you are here, right? Oh lord, what is happening in this town?”

Her husband clapped her gently on her hands to calm her down. “Let’s hear what the detective has to say, Malia.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “I’m sorry. Do continue.”

“We believe it might be the same murderer, yes,” I said. “Cause of death is very similar. And that brings me to why I am here.”

I found a picture of Bryan Henderson that I had on my phone and showed it to them.

“Do you know this man?”

They both leaned forward to look at it, and I noticed Mr. Perez winced slightly, then grabbed his side.

“No,” Mrs. Perez said after studying the picture. “I have never seen him before. I’m sorry.”