Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

She pulled out her phone and checked the time. It was half past three in the afternoon, and most banks around there closed at five. “Why not today?”

“Mr. Adkins is off.”

“All right.” Not that she was pleased.

They reached the conference room, and she entered first.

She proceeded to bring up the email with the 911 recording.

She turned her media volume up all the way and hit Play.

The house across the street is on fire.”

“Please tell me who I’m talking to,” the dispatcher replies.

“Shannon Fox. Please get the fire department here.”

“I see you’re calling from six-oh-two Bill Drive. Is that right, ma’am?”

“Yes.”

The dispatcher verifies Fox’s phone number, then asks, “What are you seeing?”

“I told you. The place is on fire. You going to get someone here to help?”

“When did you see the fire?”

“Just a minute ago.”

“What’s the address on the burning house?”

“Five thirty-two Bill Drive.”

“Is anyone in the house that you know of?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“I’ve dispatched local firefighters and emergency response units to that location. Please keep your distance from the house, ma’am.”

Amanda noted that the dispatcher had been calm and professional, asking the necessary questions, such as where, what, when, and who. Fox had sounded more annoyed than panicked, but Amanda picked up on something else. “When the dispatcher asked if anyone was in the house, Fox said she didn’t think so. Makes me wonder if she had seen people go into the place before.”

“She could give us a lead on the squatters, which could possibly end up getting us Doe’s identity and some insight into who may have killed her. Just one thing, though. If Fox was aware of their existence, why not warn the dispatcher that people could be inside?”

“Let’s go ask her.”

Eight

The emergency vehicles were gone except for a police cruiser parked at the curb. But the pall of death was energetically tangible, and a small memorial on the front lawn of 532 Bill Drive was a visual testimony to the loss of life. Bouquets, candles, and cards were set with care. Rest in Peace was scrawled with black marker on poster board.

They’d need to have it all photographed and cataloged just in case their killer had decided to leave a message. But that didn’t mean the thought felt right. It would be like they were desecrating a sanctuary.

The memorial was still on Amanda’s mind several minutes later when she and Trent were seated across from Shannon Fox in her living room. Shannon was a trim and petite brunette with short-cropped hair, brown eyes, and sculpted brows. Her background, which they’d checked before coming, told them Shannon was forty-three, single, rented the house she was living in, had no criminal record, and worked at Prince William Medical Center in Manassas.

“I never saw anything.” Shannon had been adamant about that fact and repeated her claim several times since she’d let them into her house.

“You obviously saw fire to call it in,” Amanda said.

“Ah, sure. I saw flames through the window in the front door.”

“We listened to your nine-one-one call, Ms. Fox,” Amanda began. “You sounded rather calm.”

“I work as a nurse at Prince William Medical Center. I see worse things most days.” Shannon rubbed her cheek against her shoulder.

“Okay, fair enough,” Amanda conceded. “What had you up this morning?”

“I was getting home from a night shift. I got off work at five, but by the time I actually left, it was about quarter after or so. I also stopped for a coffee and a donut on the way home.”

That would explain the passing of fifty minutes, even though the driving distance was thirty minutes at most—and in the early morning, probably less. Out of due diligence, they’d confirm Shannon’s statement about working. Amanda would keep in mind, though, that Sullivan had said firebugs don’t usually call to have their fires put out. And what would have a nurse deciding to kill a young woman? Amanda was about to ask a question when Shannon spoke.

“Did someone die? I saw the…”

“The memorial? And yes.” Amanda wasn’t going to tell Shannon outright they were approaching the death as murder, but no doubt the woman could piece that together.

Shannon got to her feet and looked out her front window to the street. “I’m happy that I don’t have to go to work again until Sunday night. I need time to process what happened… right across from me.”

Yet, she’d claimed to have seen worse in her job as a nurse. Amanda joined her at the window. They’d covered that Shannon hadn’t seen anyone suspicious that morning. That had led to the repeated, “I didn’t see anything.” Amanda would try another angle.

“We understand the couple who used to own the house moved out last August. Have you seen anyone going in and out of the house since then?”

Shannon rubbed her arms. “Yeah, kids hung around the place. They probably crashed there sometimes, but I haven’t seen them in a few days. And I swear that I didn’t know anyone was in there at the time of the fire.” Her eyes beaded with tears.

“You couldn’t have known for certain.” Amanda felt the desire to ease Shannon’s guilt, and she highly doubted the woman before her was a murderer. “The fire isn’t what killed the victim.”

“What did?”

“I can’t get into details, but I’d like to know why you didn’t at least mention the possibility of squatters to the nine-one-one dispatcher?”

“I should have, I guess. I just didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. And, now, that’s all I’m saying.”

Amanda studied the woman. Given the faraway look in her eyes, she would guess Shannon may have spent time on the street herself. She thanked her, and Amanda and Trent saw themselves out.

She felt drawn to the memorial and went toward it. The closer she got, the heavier her legs became. She could handle murders—even the grisly ones. But when the victims were young, it was much harder to compartmentalize and remain detached. It was