A man. He was small and dark and looked at her with terror in his eyes.

“W-who are you?”

SEVENTY-THREEBILLIE ANN

The Chief sat in his study, his head bowed, as I paced back and forth before him, my words spilling out of me like a stream. He nodded occasionally, his expression attentive as I revealed my theory.

“Pete Perez told us that Marissa—or Kitty—as I believe her real name is, came to him, pregnant and in labor. He found her in the shed, and he helped her give birth to the baby, to Emma.”

I paused to see if he was still listening. He was. He nodded and said, “Interesting.”

I continued. “She ran away from her kidnappers, but couldn’t make it far, because she was, well, about to give birth. That’s why I think our killer and kidnapper is somewhere nearby, in our area.”

“That makes sense,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Pete then decides to help her out and lets her stay in the house that he owns that is currently vacant. She stays there and never gets farther away from where she was being kept. Now this is where it gets a little uncertain but hear me out. Maybe she stayed here, close to her kidnapper, because she had other children. I’m not sure about this one but think about it. Kitty was kidnapped fourteen years ago. She could have had more than one child in that time. Maybe she stays close in order to keep an eye on them, see them once in a while. I think… but I’m not sure, this will be another guess, but what if she became a prostitute? We heard there was a man coming to the house often. A neighbor told us so. Maybe he came to pick her up. Perhaps there was more than one. Maybe that’s how she made a living. You know, because she couldn’t get any other job. And she had been raped so many times that it was the only thing she knew how to do, sad as it is. We know for sure that she didn’t work at the hospital like she said. And she did work often at night. She definitely didn’t have any social security number, and no ID or even a bank account. It’s hard to find work without any of those things these days. She lived completely off the radar, and so did her child. Until the kidnapper found her. Whoever took Kitty back then on her way to school, he is the one we’re looking for. He killed the stepdad, Cole; he killed Cassandra Perez, who was Emma’s babysitter; he killed Bryan Henderson, Emma’s pediatrician. He killed Ashley because she was in the room with him when he killed Henderson, and she saw his face, or at least might be able to recognize him. He killed Alex Johnson because he was with Ashley, and he too probably saw who he was. He attacked Pete Perez and took a lock of his hair and planted it in the condo, so he would be a suspect, as he was connected to Cassandra, Emma, and Henderson now. And that brings me to the most important part that I realized just a few hours ago.”

Chief Doyle lifted his eyes and met mine. He looked tired. I didn’t care. I was on a roll here.

“And that being?”

I paused and collected my thoughts, then said, “He is one of ours.”

A frown grew between his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it. The planting of the hair, the disappearance of Ashley’s belongings from the condo. And get this. You told me that someone matching Pete Perez’s description was seen outside of Alex Johnson’s house, but as I went back into the files, I couldn’t see any statement saying that. I believe it was a lie.”

Doyle was biting his lip while looking at me. “I don’t believe that. This is a little far out there for my taste.”

“I thought so at first, but then I went to talk to Kitty’s mom, and guess what?”

He sighed. “What?”

“The stepdad, Cole, had a good friend who came to the house often and who helped them start search parties for Kitty, and he took the lead in the search for her. And he was a police officer. Officer Damian was his name. She said he also knew Travis Walker, my old partner, and that’s why no one ever looked into him. Because he was police. Because he knew the head investigator.”

The Chief waited a few moments after I finished speaking, his eyes thoughtful as he seemed to contemplate my words in silence. I felt a thrill of anticipation shoot through me as he slowly lifted his gaze to meet mine.

“Very interesting,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his years. “You have a keen mind, and I must say I am very impressed.”

“That’s all I’ve got so far,” I said. I was hopeful, he seemed to believe me. “Now will you put me back on the case?”

He contemplated for a few seconds, then rose to his feet. “Let’s walk.”

He walked to the door. He held it for me, and I walked out into the foyer, still awaiting his response. I really felt like I was on to something here.

We walked to the front door and stopped. He placed a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “Listen,” he said. “I can tell that you have worked really hard on this theory and I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I really do. I think you’re definitely on to something there. You make some valid points.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?”

“Because there is. Wilde, you’re under investigation for your involvement in the attempted murder of your ex-partner. Now if it comes out in your favor then by all means we will let you get back on the case, if it hasn’t been solved by then.”

“But… that could take months,” I said. “I’m worried about Marissa.”

He shook his head. “I have had enough of this now.”

A little girl showed her face in the doorway behind him. I smiled at her. “Hi there, little girl.”

Doyle turned with a gasp. “How did you get in here?”

He rushed toward her, grabbed the girl in his arms, then put her in the study and closed the door. I stared at him, puzzled. He seemed agitated, frantic even.

“She’s been sick,” he said. “High fever. Strep throat. Luckily, it’s coming down now after I got her some antibiotics.”

“Hmm,” I said, puzzled. I was about to leave, when I stopped. “I didn’t know you had a little one. I thought your wife died years ago.”

“She did,” he said. “She had our baby right before she died. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do.”

He had almost pushed me toward the door, when I spotted a framed diploma on his wall. I paused again.

I read his name. Jake Damian Doyle.

I turned to look at him with a gasp. That’s when I saw the gun in his hand. It was pointed at me. Without thinking, I lunged forward and grabbed his arm, with a loud scream, but he was too quick. He pushed me back and lifted his gun, but instead of firing, he hit me in the face with the grip. Everything went black and I tumbled to the ground. I could hear him panting, agitated, and felt a sharp pain in my head, before I drifted into oblivion.

SEVENTY-FOURMARISSA

Marissa opened her eyes slowly, squinting against the inky darkness. What was that? What had woken her up? Was someone screaming? Or had that been a dream? Was it Emma?

Emma!

She felt the rug beneath her, rough and scratchy against her skin, and sensed her arms were bound tightly. Every muscle in her body quivered as fear coursed through her veins like an electric current.

Where am I? Why can’t I move?

She heard an engine turn on and, seconds later, she felt movement. She realized she was inside some kind of vehicle. There was the faint smell of motor oil and the rumble of an engine. She blinked and soon her vision adjusted to the gloom. She tried to remember what had happened.

She remembered him. He was there, in the shed.

Damian.

Her kidnapper. The man who had taken everything from her. The father of her four children. He had tried to strangle her with a belt, but somehow—by luck or miraculous intervention—she had managed to trick him. She had let her body go numb and he had let go of her. She had passed out.

He must have thought I was dead, she thought, dread washing over her again. I need to get out of here.

Desperately, Marissa tried to push away the rug and move her limbs but found herself tied up too tightly. Her breath came out in shallow gasps as panic welled up inside her chest.

Where is he taking me? she wondered frantically, while her heart pounded in her chest.

She thrashed in the darkness, searching in vain for a glimmer of light. As the vehicle rumbled on, Marissa tried to calm herself down, to think rationally. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to focus on her surroundings. She could hear the sound of other cars passing by, and the occasional honk of a horn. They must be in the city, she realized. Maybe she would get lucky, and a cop car would find reason to pull them over.