Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

“I’m Mia Vaughn, fire marshal in charge here.”

She had a commanding presence. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a bun like she meant business, and her sharp facial features only added to that image. And she was probably good at her job, but they could be looking at a serial killer, and Amanda didn’t want to bring a new person up to speed. “Where’s Sullivan?”

“Out sick, but don’t worry, I’ve got this under control. I know all about the fire on Bill Drive.”

Amanda met the marshal’s gaze. “This one arson too?”

“It has the markings of it, but I’ll need to conduct a full investigation to know for sure.”

Amanda recalled Sullivan’s words that they consider the evidence without a preconceived notion of foul play. She looked closer at the realty sign and noticed the agent’s name was the same one they’d contacted after the Bill Drive fire. “Was the place lived in?” she asked Mia.

“Not currently, no.”

“Is the place owned by Woodbridge Bank, by chance?” Trent asked.

Mia glanced at Trent. “It is and has been sitting on the market a couple of months.”

Maybe they hadn’t been far off to assume their killer was someone associated with the bank and aware of vacated homes. It was listed with the same real estate agent. Maybe the estimator and inspector involved with 532 Bill Drive were also pulled in to work on this property—even possibly the contractor and County Services. She’d call Aiden Aikens as soon as possible. It was Sunday, so she might have to hunt him down at his house, but she’d do what was necessary.

“Do we know what caused the fire?” Trent asked.

“My investigation should reveal that.”

Amanda glanced again at the remains of the structure and let her gaze trail to the neighboring houses. Unscathed, except for some siding that was marked with soot. But whatever had been used to set the blaze had certainly done its damage quickly. “What can you tell us about the victims?”

“Not a lot at this point. I’ve called for an anthropologist.” Mia twisted her mouth, and Amanda witnessed the first fracture in the woman’s powerful demeanor. “There’s not much there. Just some bones.”

As Amanda had thought, but she looked quizzically at Malone, who was quietly taking in their conversation. When he’d called to tell her about the fire, he’d really made it sound like two casualties had been confirmed. “Then how do we know the remains belong to two people, both female?”

“Uh, we don’t really,” Malone said. “I was basing that on an eyewitness who came forward. He saw a man and two young women—as he described them—go up the driveway into the backyard.”

Amanda battled with how to react—disappointed or encouraged. Someone else may have seen their killer, but they could have rushed in assuming the bones were the young women. “We’ll obviously want to speak to this man. Before we do—” she addressed Mia “—when was the fire?”

“Neighbors said the explosion happened this morning at eight, and the fire was out at ten. It took a while to get the flames under control.”

“An explosion?” The question scraped from her throat. “Are you suggesting a bomb?”

Mia shook her head. “Not necessarily in the typical sense. There are plenty of household items that can cause an explosion. Most common I’d say would be a propane tank with a cracked valve. All it takes is a spark.”

“That the case here?” Amanda asked.

“Need time to investigate, Detective.”

Amanda’s thoughts returned to the time of the explosion—after sunrise. Did it take a while for the fire to build? She’d ask Mia but figured her answer would be she still needed time to investigate. She turned to Malone. “Where can we find this eyewitness?”

“In his house across the street with Officer Wyatt.” Malone nudged his head in that direction.

Wyatt was the same officer who had interviewed Chris Ingram. Apparently, he knew whose doors to knock on. “Okay,” she said, taking a step away, but then she walked back and handed Mia her card. “You have one?”

“I do, but…” Mia patted her hips, and it emphasized the bulky turnout gear. “I’ll be around for a long while yet. Just pop back after you’re done over there.”

“Will do.” Amanda briefly met Malone’s gaze. “We’ve got more bodies. Tell me you’re reconsidering that media ban. I know I had my reservations about thinking we have a serial killer, but I don’t think we can ignore it anymore—not if two young women were killed in that house.” When she’d finished talking, Malone was just staring blankly at her. “Well?” she prompted.

“I’m not considering the media ban.”

“You still don’t think we’re looking at a serial killer?”

“Oh, I never said that.” Malone ran a hand over his stomach. “But I think we need to do the opposite of a media ban.”

“Now you’ve lost me.”

“We’ve got four dead bodies now, potentially due to one man. Before victims continue to pile up, I want to open a tip line. It’s time to reach out for the public’s help. Someone might come forward.”

“The ones who aren’t afraid of their tongues being cut out, I guess.”

“Amanda, consider the full picture. More deaths could prompt a brave soul to speak up. Someone out there might have gotten a good look at our killer, and just like that, the pieces will fall together.”

She considered Malone’s suggestion and weighed the options. When she’d wanted the ban, part of the reason was to deny the killer the attention he craved, and the other was she didn’t want fear to shut people up. But Malone’s viewpoint held some merit, too, and if it could help catch this bastard, she was for it. “It could work. Go ahead.”

He smiled. “Glad you agree, though I didn’t need your permission.”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes, teasingly, a flash of levity at a horrible crime scene.

“Get to work.” He waved her off, but she didn’t move.

“Just one thing… that real estate agent is the same person who was commissioned to sell five thirty-two Bill Drive. Trent