Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

mull over the implications of the woman being Ashley and the man her killer. Had he walked with her to 532 Bill Drive? How had he gotten her cooperation? Drugs? Maybe something different than he’d given Shannon Fox, or a smaller, non-lethal dosage? And if the killer had chosen the house, did the geography mean something to him? Was he from this neighborhood? It would allow him to blend in more.

“How did they seem to you?” Trent asked. “Like were they friendly with each other or did she look in distress?”

“She was fine, I guess. Laughing a bit. Unsteady on her feet.”

That could be the result of drugs. Whatever the case, Amanda had this strong feeling in her gut that the woman was Ashley. She considered showing him Ashley’s computer-rendered photo, but feared he’d easily fall prey to the suggestion and jump on Ashley being who he’d seen with the man. Besides, he had said he didn’t get a good look. She was curious, though, why Chris hadn’t said anything about the duo when officers would have gone to his house after the fire. Had he simply minimized the importance of a man and woman walking down the sidewalk? She supposed it wouldn’t have stood out at the time. But then, when he saw that same man again, jogging on the morning of—and in the vicinity of—a second murder, it came back to his mind. That was plausible.

“You seem awfully interested in this man and the woman from the other day…” Chris eyed them studiously. “Do you think this man is a murderer?”

“Far too soon to say.”

“Well, there was a young woman found in the fire,” he said. “Then Ms. Fox and what happened to her. I read an article that she’s the one who called the fire department. Is that why the killer targeted her?”

“These are open investigations, Mr. Ingram, and I’m not at liberty to discuss them with you.” Goosebumps spread across her flesh. People liked to play detective, but she was getting a bad feeling about Chris.

“It had to be because she called nine-one-one.” Chris mentioned the call again, sounding quite confident it was what had gotten Shannon Fox murdered.

Tingles spilled over the back of Amanda’s neck and down her arms. Their killer wanted attention, and he’d sought her out… What if the story of a jogger had been a ruse to lure them here? Then the additional story of a man and woman to toy with them? Could they be sitting across from the killer they hunted?

“How can you be so sure Ms. Fox was killed for placing the nine-one-one call?” Amanda pushed out.

Chris’s gaze flicked to her, to Trent, then to the floor. “I heard her tongue was cut out.”

His words didn’t relax her. He could claim he’d heard it when he’d actually been responsible. But his soft, almost timid demeanor, calmed her. “Who told you that?”

He tugged on the sleeves of his shirt. “Everyone around here knows.”

“Not a direct answer to my question, Mr. Ingram.” She leveled a glare at him.

He turned a deeper shade of crimson. “It’s just the scuttlebutt in the hood.”

“Who did you hear it from?” She was one step away from hauling his butt to the station if he didn’t start talking.

“Uh, some guy down the street, lives next to the house that was burned down.”

“Name? Number?” Trent inserted, probably sensing her impatience.

“I dunno. He’s in his forties and has a bad comb-over. That help more?”

“That it does.” She got to her feet and pressed one of her cards into Chris’s hand. “See anything suspicious, call me anytime.” Depending on how things shook out, they might be back for his alibi just for due diligence.

“Ah, sure.”

She left the house and trudged down the sidewalk.

Trent caught up. “Ted Dixon?”

“Sounds like it, but I’d like to know how he found out.”

She walked up Ted’s path and banged on his front door like his place was on fire. She was mid-knock when he answered. She lowered her hand. “We need to talk to you, Mr. Dixon.” She made a move past him into his house.

“Hey, what the— What are you doing?”

“You don’t want anyone to see you talking to the cops,” she said. “Just honoring your wish and saving us some time.”

Trent came inside, too, and Ted closed the door.

“You better have a good explanation for barging in like this.” He thrust out his chin and put his hands on his hips.

“We’ve heard you’re spreading rumors about Ms. Fox’s murder.” She laid out the more innocent explanation, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he was just a gossip.

“You’re going to have to give me more to go on here.” He swallowed, his throat bulging like a whole rat was going down.

“Really?” She angled her head. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

His peacocked stance started to crumble apart; his shoulders sagged, and his head bowed slightly forward. “I might have heard that her tongue was cut out.”

“You heard it, or you did it?”

“What? No!” he burst out. “I swear to you. I just heard about it.”

“Who told you?” She hadn’t exactly confirmed the mutilation had happened in so many words, but the subtext of the conversation was serving to unnerve Ted.

He rubbed at the back of his neck and worried his lip.

“Mr. Dixon, if you don’t start talking, I’m going to assume that you killed Ms. Fox, maybe even the girl from next door. Did you?” she pressed.

“I’d swear on the Bible, no.”

“Then where did you hear that Ms. Fox was mutilated?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“You absolutely should.” She pulled her cuffs out, the threat of arrest implied.

Ted held up his hands and waved. “No, I’ll talk. I heard it from a friend of mine.”

“You’re going to need to get far more specific than that.” She snapped the cuffs, and Ted twitched.

“Fraser Reyes,” he rushed out.

That name was one she was very familiar with. He was the journalist who wrote a piece a couple of months ago that had gotten her in shit