“I want everyone to be careful going home, once you get there, check-in using the group chat, so I know everyone made it home safely, and I will see you all back here at seven am,” Eric tells us before opening the passenger door to allow Michelle into the car.
I get in mine, start it up, and watch as Frankie, Heath, and Declan pull away before I follow behind, with Eric following me.
Though the streets of Largo are empty and quiet, it takes me a little longer than normal to get home. My eyes are blurry and burning and I know it’s because I’m tired. I can hear the chimes of the texts going off, letting me know that everyone is starting to get home.
I pull into my apartment complex and breathe a sigh of relief that I am finally here. What should have only taken ten minutes, took me twenty tonight. I quickly grab my stuff, knowing if I sit here too long, I’ll fall asleep in the car, so I get out, and make my way up the stairs and to my door. Once inside, I lock the door and pull out my phone, looking at the chat to see I’m the last one to check in, so I quickly send off a text.
Made it home.
Eric responds,
See everyone at seven. Get some sleep.
I trudge my way to the bedroom, and without even undressing, curl up on the bed. I don’t remember shutting my eyes, but my alarm clock wakes me at six. I turn it off, wishing I could just close my eyes and go back to sleep, but then I instantly remember Kim is missing. It’s enough to jolt me out of bed.
I quickly make my way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee before jumping into the shower. I don’t have the luxury of time to enjoy the shower, so I quickly wash up, get out, wrap a towel around my hair and another around my body, and then brush my teeth before going to the kitchen to get me a cup of coffee.
I grab a cup out of the cabinet above the coffee pot and pour what I consider to be liquid gold, into my cup. I add a little sugar and creamer, stirring before I take the first sip.
“Mmmm,” I moan as the hot liquid goes down my throat.
I take my cup back to the bedroom with me as I only have twenty minutes before I need to leave to make it to the office at seven, and I need to get dressed. I place the cup on the bathroom counter. I take the towel off from around my body, placing it in the hamper. I make my way to my dresser, pull out my matching bra and underwear set, as well as pantyhose and put them on.
I go back into the bathroom, take the towel off my head and toss it in the hamper as well. I grab my comb and begin combing my long brown hair until it’s smooth. I proceed to French-braid it, so I can pin it up.
People have often commented to me how they wish they could French braid their own hair, but their fingers get confused, and they mess up. I’m often asked how I’m able to do my own hair, and it still looks so professional. I learned early on how to do my own hair, but where most people can do someone else’s hair, I can only do mine.
To be honest, I’ve been doing things myself since I was a kid. I don’t even think twice about it. Both my parents worked while I was growing up, so they would ensure I was awake to get ready for school before they walked out the door. Sometimes mom would have breakfast made for me, but most of the time I was left to take care of myself as there was no one else around to do it for me. It was the same when I got home from school. My parents worked twelve hours a day, so by the time they came home, I already had homework completed and dinner ready for them.
It's probably one of the reasons I have a hard time dating and have never been married. I’m thirty-five years old, and I’m so used to doing things for myself that it's hard to allow someone else to do things for me. In my mind and heart that’s what I want, but in reality, when they do it, I get pissed off and end up walking away, of course, they let me without a fight.
I get my hair braided and pinned within five minutes before walking to the closet, pulling out a pair of black pants and a cream top. I get the pants on, then button the top up before grabbing a blazer and sliding my feet into my flats.
Returning to the bathroom, I grab my vitamins and take them with my coffee. I look at myself in the mirror, taking note of the dark circles under my eyes from the lack of sleep. I ponder for two seconds on whether to put some make-up on to cover the bags under my eyes, but quickly dismiss it. I’m not a person who needs or wants to wear make-up, plus I expect everyone will have dark circles under their eyes today.
I grab my coffee cup, leave the bathroom, and make my way to the kitchen, draining the last of my cup and placing it in the dishwasher before grabbing my travel cup and filling it with coffee before I head out the door.
I pull into the parking lot at five minutes to seven, seeing that I am the first one to arrive. I make my way into the building and up the elevator to our floor. I unlock the office and head straight to my computer to see if Public Safety has sent over the data from Uber or Lyft yet.
Just as I get into my emails, Heath and Declan walk in, both looking worse for wear.
“Did either of you get any sleep?” I ask.
Heath shakes his head no, and Declan doesn’t respond.
I nod in understanding as I watch both of them make their way into the conference room to continue looking through the files of past cases.
I scroll through my emails and find the one I’ve been waiting for. I open the data sheets and scroll through them, looking for Kim’s name or address, only to be disappointed when Eric walks in with Frankie following behind him.
“Did you get the data from Public Safety?” Eric asks me, and I nod.
“There are no pick-ups in Kim’s name or from her address, nothing for her neighborhood either,” I say quickly before he can ask.
He nods and walks to the conference room.
I grab my notebook, pen, and coffee, following behind Eric as he enters the conference.
He looks at the stack of files on the table, “Is this all the past cases that Kim has worked on?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir. All the ones we could find that have her name in them,” Heath responds.
“Good. I want everyone to grab a few files, we are going to go through them all together. I want you to chase down where the criminals are and who their closest relative or friend is and find out what they are doing. If you think we have something potential to chase, put it in a pile in the middle of the table. Someone has Kim, and we need to find her,” Eric tells the room, as we all grab files and open our laptops.
I open the first file that I grabbed. It’s the first case we worked on as a team when I started. The serial killer was picking up prostitutes, killing them, and getting rid of their bodies by feeding them to his pigs. He killed over forty-nine women before we received a tip that led to his arrest. Looking up the suspect, I see he’s still in prison, though he was attacked a couple of weeks ago and is currently listed in critical condition. No family and no visitors. “I hope he dies,” I mutter.
“Huh, what?” Heath asks.
“Nothing, we don’t need to worry about this one,” I say, throwing the file into the discard pile and grabbing another.
I look up the next serial killer, his family, friends, and visitors, and again nothing jumps out as a possible person who would have a vendetta against Kim or the team.
For the next three hours, we all go through the files. The discard pile is larger than the potential pile. We are so engrossed in what we are doing that the ringing of Eric’s cell phone has us all jumping.
I watch as Eric looks at the caller ID, giving off a confused look, before answering and walking out of the conference room, presumably going to his office to handle the call.
I decide now is probably a good time to take a break. The coffee has long since been gone, and I need something else to drink. I stand up, and my legs feel like jello from sitting too long, it takes me a few minutes to get the blood moving again before I move and make my way to the bathroom, before grabbing a bottle of water from our refrigerator.
Eric comes back to the conference room as I sit back down.
