Girl, 11 by Amy Clarke (grave mercy TXT) 📗

much SVU. We’ve asked around, but so far no one has claimed it or explained its presence here. We’re looking into security footage in the area, but every house we’ve found that has a camera has it focused on their own driveway, and most of them don’t even have systems. It’s considered a pretty safe neighborhood.”

Elle crossed her arms as the wind kicked up. “They always are.” She looked up and down the street. Ayaan’s sedan and the squad car were the only vehicles on the street; everyone else either had cars in the driveway or a two-car garage. The front lawns were open, blending into each other without fences. Clean paths were shoveled up to the wooden decks or brick stairs that formed the welcoming entries of Colonial-style homes. These houses would mostly belong to upper-middle-class folks with teenagers or grown children, considering so few elementary students were getting on the bus. By eight thirty, it was a good bet most of them would be at work, but certainly no guarantee. If most of the parents watched their kids until they got on the bus, that meant the kidnapper had to know exactly where to be to remain unseen. And he had to know that Amanda’s mom would be distracted.

It was a risky way to kidnap a child—already a fraught mission in itself.

“What are you thinking?” Ayaan asked.

“He must have made that phone call.”

“We got the phone records this morning,” Ayaan told her. “The call came from a prepaid cell phone, bought two months ago from the Target in Shoreview. A burner phone, basically. The customer paid in cash. We’re trying to see if we can get security camera footage, but the store managers aren’t sure it has been saved.”

Elle nodded. “It probably hasn’t, but if they do still have it, I’m betting the guy went in disguised. He planned this carefully. He’d have to know the neighborhood, the behavior of the parents, what time people left for work. Let’s say the blue van did belong to him: if he got Amanda to get in it that quickly, you know what that says to me?”

“That she knew him.” Ayaan met her gaze. “Maybe you can get something out of her parents that I couldn’t. It’s not a very detailed description, and we don’t even know if the man that girl saw was our kidnapper, but it’s the best lead we have at the moment.”

Elle turned toward the house. “Let’s go talk to the parents.”

The Jordans’ house was a cozy little two-story with every light on, even in the late morning sun. Like maybe their daughter just got lost and the light would help her find her way home. When Ayaan knocked on the front door, a local patrol officer answered. He let them in after confirming Elle’s ID.

The white couple huddled together on the sofa were Dave and Sandy Jordan. Sandy’s blond hair was in rumpled knots around her shoulders, and both of their flushed faces were streaked with tears. Sandy stood as soon as she saw Elle, dropping her husband’s hand. For a moment, she just stared, tears streaming down her face. Then she launched herself at Elle, hugging her so tightly Elle felt her ribs adjust.

A memory flashed through her head from when she was a child: waking up tangled in urine-soaked sheets and screaming from the terror of a nightmare. Her mother had come running, ready to attack an intruder. Instead, she found her daughter sitting up in bed alone. The only enemy that night was inside Elle’s mind, and that was a place her mother could not reach. Elle had grasped for her then, hoping for soft arms wrapped around her like Sandy’s were now, but her mother had just looked at her, eyes hot with pain that Elle would never understand.

Elle blinked as Sandy’s embrace tightened. Awkwardly, she patted the woman on the back.

“Okay, okay,” she said, rubbing a gentle circle between the woman’s shoulder blades. Her frail body shook. Elle guessed she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since yesterday morning.

“Thank you for coming,” Sandy said when she finally pulled away. Her body hunched forward, as if the act of standing straight was painful. “I just . . . I’m friends with Grace Cunningham’s older sister. The girl from your season one case.”

Elle nodded. “Right.”

“I know what you were able to do for them. I thought maybe you could help. It’s not because I don’t trust the police.” At this, Sandy gave Ayaan a desperate glance, as if to reassure her of her faith in the force. “I felt like I had to do something. We’ve both been so useless, trying to think of anyone who could have done this. I’m going crazy thinking about what might be happening to . . . I just . . .” She trailed off into a sob and collapsed back on the sofa next to her husband. When Sandy looked up again, Elle made eye contact with her.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Dave Jordan had yet to say anything, but he put his beefy arm around his wife in a gesture that nearly swallowed her tiny body whole. He gave Elle a doubtful look. “I saw you outside. Wasn’t Commander Bishar filling you in?”

“Yes, she told me what happened, but I’d like to hear your story. Please.”

Dave finally handed a box of tissues to his poor wife. After wiping a few handfuls of them across her face, Sandy spoke again. “I was going to watch Amanda walk to the bus stop, just like every other morning. It’s freezing, so I stayed inside like I usually do in the winter. As she was walking down the driveway, I went . . .” She paused, wiping away a fresh flood of tears. “I went into the kitchen because my phone rang. No one ever calls us on the landline, so I thought maybe there was some kind of emergency. I answered, but no one was there. By the time I got back to the window, the