Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

out of touch?” She turned to Amanda. “The Lynches lived a few doors down. They had a daughter named Ashley. Two nights after Crystal ran away, Ashley’s mother came to our door looking for her daughter. She said her daughter was here for a sleepover. First time I’d heard of it. And she certainly wasn’t here. Before that night, I’d never met Mrs. Lynch. I’ve never met their daughter.”

“But you’d seen them around before?” Trent asked.

“Sure. I’m not blind, but it’s not like I ever paid them any real attention.” Leila huffed out a deep breath as if agitated she had been placed in a position in which she felt the need to defend herself. She looked at her husband and jutted out her chin. “Detective Robbins asked us about Ashley Lynch. You really don’t remember?”

He flushed but said nothing.

Robbins must have been the detective assigned the missing person cases. They hadn’t gotten that far before heading to Washington. Amanda pulled up the picture of Jane Doe on her phone again and held it for Leila to see. “Do you think that could be their daughter?”

She shook her head. “Honestly, as I said, I never met her or paid the family any real attention.”

“Did Crystal ever mention having a friend named Ashley?” Trent asked.

Leila looked at him. “No.”

Amanda wasn’t taking that as confirmation. From the picture the couple had painted of their family life, she’d probably been optimistic that they could have named any of their daughter’s friends. But Amanda’s gut instinct about returning to the Fosters’ seemed like it might pay off. “Do the Lynches still live just down the street?” Amanda looked left and right, taking in the other gorgeous houses around them, but would guess, based on Leila’s use of the past tense, the Lynches had moved on.

“They live in Michigan now.” Leila shrugged and added, “From what I’ve heard.”

“Which house did they live in?” Amanda asked, and Leila flicked a finger down the street and described the house. “Okay, thank you for your time.” Amanda turned back toward the department car, and as she and Trent were walking away, the Fosters were in a heated conversation with arms flailing wildly in the air. It ended with a slammed door in Henry’s face at about the same time Amanda and Trent got into their vehicle.

“They obviously hate each other,” Trent said as he pulled out of the driveway.

“There’s a lot of rage, that’s for sure. And blame.”

“What made you think that Crystal ran away with a friend?”

She thought she’d explained it already, but she’d elaborate anyhow. “Crystal was thirteen. She could have run away alone, sure, but her father mentioned that she was involved with the wrong crowd at school. She got pulled in for smoking weed. These kids probably also felt like they were on the outskirts of society for some reason, not understood. I just don’t see Crystal leaving solo. She was looking for someplace to belong.”

She gestured toward the dash. It was going on eleven thirty. It would take them an hour to get from Washington to Manassas for Fox’s autopsy, but they had a little time. “Just pull over, and let’s see if we can find the Lynches in the system.”

Trent parked at the curb and keyed into the onboard laptop. “The Lynches, Hugh and Sabrina, and, yep, I’ve got a Michigan address.”

“Pull up Missing Persons. Search Ashley Lynch.” She could hardly wait for Trent to do that and for the results.

“She’s here all right. Thirteen at the time, and the report was filed within a couple of days of the one the Fosters submitted on Crystal.”

“The time it took the Lynches to know their daughter was missing and not just at a friend’s for a sleepover,” Amanda concluded. “Is there a picture?” She leaned over to get a better view of the screen. Trent angled it more toward her.

Staring back at her was a younger version of their Jane Doe. It was in the eyes and unmistakable. “It’s her.” She sank deep into her seat. She thought that once she had a name, there’d be a level of relief, but it only made her feel more determined to find the girl justice. “We need to get on the road, but when we finish up at Fox’s autopsy, we’ll dig into Ashley’s Missing Persons report and see what the investigating detective had to say. Then we’ll go from there.”

After the situation with the Fosters, there was no way she’d be reaching out to the Lynches until she was absolutely positive the body of the young woman lying in the morgue was indeed their daughter.

Twenty-Eight

Amanda and Trent stepped into the morgue and found Paula Jeffery in a smock, wearing a helmet—the face shield down—and a bone saw in hand.

“You started without us.” Not a question. If Jeffery was getting ready to cut, she’d already conducted an external examination. Amanda was appalled. An ME of Jeffery’s experience would know that detectives preferred to be present from the very start of an autopsy. This was just one more indication that Jeffery thought herself above law enforcement.

The ME gestured a hand toward a clock on the wall that was housed behind a metal cage. “You are late.”

Amanda read the time. “You said you’d be starting at one. It’s five minutes after.” They’d grabbed a quick bite to eat, but then ran into an accident on the highway that had resulted in lane closures, delaying them.

“Yes. Late.” Jeffery pursed her lips.

“What have you already found out?” Amanda went the diplomatic route. The ME would have started earlier than one to be at this stage of the autopsy, but accusing her wouldn’t do Amanda or Trent any favors.

Jeffery lifted the face shield and set the saw aside. “I scraped under the deceased’s fingernails and found epithelia.”

“I want that fast-tracked at the lab.” If it went through the process and garnered a hit, they could be reaching the finish line faster than expected.

“Yes, it is all a priority,” Jeffery