Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

back from the lab about the drug used on Ms. Fox. It was a lethal dosage of ketamine, or Special K as it’s called on the street.”

“It’s one of the most commonly used date-rape drugs out there,” Amanda said. Her time on the job taught her that much. “Women wake up the next morning and may not remember anything, or if they do it’s blurry and scattered.” What she didn’t verbalize was the drug also had an intoxicating effect. Her earlier suspicion—that the girls Justin Cooper saw weren’t drunk but drugged—was gaining merit.

“Well, as you know, Fox wasn’t raped, but I’d say the killer used the drug on her for two purposes. One, for sedation so that he could sever her tongue without resistance, and two, for the purpose of killing her.”

Pleasant thoughts…

“You should know, Detective, that the drug actually has a practical use as well. It’s used to treat depression and provide pain relief.”

“But varying doses would have a different effect, correct?” Amanda asked, her mind on the way evil people manipulated the drug.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Amanda ended the call and turned to Trent. “The girls weren’t drunk, they were drugged. Probably with Special K. Also, if we run with the assumption that the man Justin Cooper saw was our killer, then he brought the girls to 816 Clear Mountain Circle.”

“Okay, but Ted Dixon recognized Ashley Lynch, having seen her around the house on Bill Drive. Was she squatting there, or had the killer taken her there?”

“Hard to say. Chris Ingram described a girl who could have been Ashley Lynch walking with a man on Bill Drive. Taking her to five thirty-two?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. What I do know is if Lynch was drugged with ketamine like Fox, then that remains a constant in his MO. He might normally use it for its intoxicating effects but chose to switch it up with Fox.”

“When will we know if Lynch was drugged?”

“Good question.” She pulled out her phone and called Rideout. She met with his voicemail and left a message.

She resumed walking, soaking in how beautiful the day was. It was warm, but not blazing hot, and the sun was shining brightly with barely a cloud in sight. Yet no one was out walking, working in their yards, or sitting on their front steps or porches. The only people out of their homes seemed to be clustered across from the scene at 816.

She noted many vehicles in driveways, some on the street. A white van, marked with a decal on the door, pulled away. The Pansy Shoppe. They were out of Triangle, a small town about four minutes from Dumfries. She’d ordered her wedding flowers from them, and sometimes picked up arrangements for Kevin’s and Lindsey’s graves there.

The observation portrayed such a contrast. Death, murder, and mayhem steps away. Yet people went on with their lives, even beautifying them with fresh bouquets.

“Let’s turn back and see if there’s anything more the fire marshal can tell us. Maybe the anthropologist has arrived and—” Her phone rang, and she answered without consulting caller ID.

“Mandy, you’re still coming for dinner, right? I know you’re a busy girl. Don’t know if you’re caught up with investigating those murders that have hit the paper, but your family wants to see you.” Her mother finally stopped to catch her breath.

The family Sunday dinners started when her mother was released on bail. In her mom’s words, “I want to make the most of my time left as a free woman.” There was no way Amanda wanted to let her down—she’d already done that enough for a lifetime and then some—but she had a serial killer to stop. “Yeah, they’re my cases, Mom.”

“Oh.” The disappointment, the dejection… One of the teeniest words in the English language, and her mother had managed to wield it as a knife. “You do need to eat. Can’t you just drop in for a quick bite? I promise I won’t tie you down.” Her mother’s voice was grim, but her turn of phrase was macabre considering she’d restrained the man she murdered. Her mother cleared her throat and said, “Poor choice of words. But I won’t be here forever, you know.”

Amanda glanced at Trent, considered her mother’s words and balanced it with the workload and urgency of this case. Her mother was right about Amanda needing to eat, though argument could be made that she often went hours without food when on a case. Her mother also had a point that the family dinners would soon come to an end. “What time will dinner be on the table?”

“Wonderful. That means you’re coming? Say six? You can make it then?”

Amanda pulled back her phone and read the time. 2:20 PM. “I’ll do my best.” There was a brief silence, which Amanda filled. “I love you, Mom.”

“Oh you’ve made me so happy. Love you, Mandy Monkey.”

Amanda ended the call.

“Mandy Monkey?” Trent said and started laughing.

She glared at him. “What the—”

“I, uh, overheard.” He was snickering, probably doing all he could not to have a good old belly laugh.

No one was to call her Mandy Monkey outside of her family. She didn’t even like them calling her that, but she tolerated it because of who they were. Trent might be her professional partner, even a friend, but for him to use her nickname was crossing a line. “Don’t you ever call me that.”

“I’m so… sorry.” He bit back more laughter, and tears beaded in his eyes.

She shook her head. “Do what you must. Get it out of your system before we go back to the scene.”

He instantly became silent, his spark gone like she’d put a hose on him. And thank goodness, because they needed to keep perspective if they were going to win this one.

* * *

There was a new vehicle at 816 when Amanda and Trent returned.

“The anthropologist has arrived, as you probably figured out,” Mia announced.

If the van hadn’t been a clue, Amanda could see three people working in the interior of the