“I just got a call from Ashley’s friend Thelma. She says she thinks she just got pocket-dialed from Ashley’s phone. She heard a bunch of shouting like someone was yelling at someone else. There was loud music playing so she couldn’t tell exactly who was doing the shouting but she thinks it was Denton Rivers.”

“Ashley’s boyfriend?”

“Yes. I called Denton on his phone to see if he’d heard from Ashley yet, not letting on that I’d just talked to Thelma. He said he hadn’t seen or heard from Ashley since school but he sounded squirrelly. And this Drake song, “Summer Sixteen,” was playing in the background when I called. I called Thelma back to see if that was the song she heard when she got butt-dialed. She said it was. So I called you right away, Detective. Denton Rivers has my baby girl’s phone and I think he might have her as well.”

“Okay, Mia. This is really helpful. You did a great job. But I need you to stay calm. When we hang up, text me Denton’s address. And remember, this could all be completely innocent.”

She hung up and looked at Ray. His one good eye suggested he was thinking the same thing she was. Within seconds, her phone buzzed. She forwarded the address to Ray as they hurried down the stairs.

“We need to hurry,” she said as they ran to their cars. “This is not innocent at all.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Monday

Early Evening

Keri braced herself as, ten minutes later, she drove past Denton Rivers’ home. She slowed her car, examining it, and then parked a block away, Ray behind her. She felt that tingling in her stomach she got when something bad was about to happen.

What if Ashley is in that house? What if he’s done something to her?

Denton’s street was littered with a series of cookie-cutter one-story houses, all way too close together. There were no trees on the street and the grass on most of the tiny front lawns had long since turned brown. Denton and Ashley clearly did not share similar lifestyles. This part of town, south of Venice Boulevard and a few miles inland, did not have any million-dollar homes.

She and Ray walked quickly together down the block, and she checked her watch: just after six. The sun was beginning its long, slow descent over the ocean to the west, but it wouldn’t be truly dark for another couple of hours.

When they reached Denton’s house, they heard loud music coming from inside. Keri didn’t recognize it.

She and Ray approached in silence, now hearing shouting – angry and serious, a male’s voice. Ray unholstered his weapon and motioned for her to go around back, then signaled the number “1,” as in they would enter the house in exactly one minute. She looked down at her watch to confirm the time, nodded, took out her own gun, and scurried along the edge of the house toward the back, making sure to duck when she passed open windows.

Ray was the senior detective and he was usually the more cautious between them when it came to entering private property. But he clearly thought these were exigent circumstances that didn’t require a warrant. They had a missing girl, a potential suspect inside, and angry shouting. It was defensible.

Keri checked the side gate. It was unlocked. She opened it as little as possible to avoid squeaking and squeezed through. It was unlikely anyone inside could hear her but she didn’t want to take any chances.

Once in the backyard, she hugged the rear wall of the house, keeping her eyes open for movement. A ratty, decrepit shed near the property’s back fence made her uneasy. The rusty corrugated door looked like it was about to fall off.

She crawled up on the back patio and held there for a moment, listening for Ashley’s voice. She didn’t hear it.

The rear of the house had an unlocked wooden screen door, which led to a 1970s-style kitchen with a yellow fridge. Keri could see someone down the hall in the living room, shouting along with the music and flailing his body as if he were head-banging in some kind of invisible mosh pit.

There was still no sign of Ashley.

Keri looked down at her watch – any second now.

Right on time, she heard a loud knock on the front door. She opened the rear screen door in tandem with the sound, masking the slight click of the door latch. She waited – a second loud knock let her close the rear door concurrently. She moved swiftly through the kitchen and down the hall, glancing in every open doorway as she went.

Back at the front door, which was open except for the screen, Ray knocked hard, then even harder. Suddenly Denton Rivers stopped dancing and moved to the door. Keri, hiding at the edge of the living room, could see his face in the mirror beside the door.

He looked visibly confused. He was a good-looking kid – short-cropped brown hair, deep blue eyes, a wiry, sinewy frame that suggested he was more likely a wrestler than a football player. Under normal circumstances he was probably a catch, but right now those good looks were masked by an ugly grimace, bloodshot eyes, and a gash on his temple.

When he opened the door, Ray flashed his badge.

“Ray Sands, Los Angeles Police Department Missing Persons Unit,” he said in a low, firm voice. “I’d like to come in and ask you a few questions about Ashley Penn.”

Panic spread across the kid’s face. Keri had seen that look before – he was about to run.

“You’re not in trouble,” Ray said, sensing the same thing. “I just want to talk.”

Keri noticed something black in the kid’s right hand, but because his body partially blocked her view, she couldn’t tell what it was. She raised her weapon, training it on Denton’s back. Slowly, she unlocked the safety.

Ray saw her do it out of the corner of his eye and glanced down at Denton’s hand. He had a better view of the item the kid was holding and hadn’t raised his own gun yet.

“Is that the remote for the music, Denton?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you please drop it on the ground in front of you?”

The kid hesitated and then said, “Okay.” He dropped the device. It was indeed a remote.

Ray holstered his weapon and Keri did the same. As Ray opened the door, Denton Rivers turned around and was startled to find Keri standing in front of him.

“Who’re you?” he demanded.

“Detective Keri Locke. I work with him,” she said, nodding at Ray. “Nice place you got here, Denton.”

Inside, the house was trashed. Lamps were smashed against walls. Furniture was pushed over. A bottle of whiskey sat on an end table, half empty, next to the source of the music – a Bluetooth speaker. Keri turned the music off. With the room suddenly quiet, she took in the scene more meticulously.

There was blood on the carpet. Keri made a mental note but said nothing.

Denton had deep scratches on his right forearm that could have come from fingernails. The gash on the side of his temple was no longer bleeding but had been at some point recently. The torn shreds of a picture of him and Ashley lay scattered on the floor.

“Where are your parents?”

“My mom’s at work.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s busy being dead.”

Keri, unimpressed, said, “Welcome to the club. We’re looking for Ashley Penn.”

“Screw her.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No, and I don’t give a rat’s ass. Me and her are done.”

“Is she here?”

“Do you see her?”

“Is her phone here?” Keri pressed.

“No.”

“Is that her phone in your back pocket?”

The kid hesitated and then said, “No. I think you should leave now.”

Ray got uncomfortably close to the kid, held out his hand, and said, “Let me see that phone.”

The kid swallowed hard, then fished it out of his pocket and handed it over. The cover was pink and looked expensive.

Ray asked, “This is Ashley’s?”

The kid stood silent, defiant.

“I can dial her number and we can see if it rings,” he said. “Or you can give me a straight answer.”

“Yeah, it’s hers. So what?”

“Sit your ass on that couch and don’t move,” Ray said. Then to Keri, “Do your thing.”

Keri searched the house. There were three small bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, and a linen closet, all innocuous looking. There were no signs of struggle or captivity. She found the pull line for the attic in the hallway and tugged. Down came a set of creaky, wooden suspension steps leading upstairs. She carefully climbed up. When she got to the top, she took out her flashlight and pointed it around. It was more of a bonus crawl space than a real attic. The ceiling was only about four feet high and cross beams made it difficult to move around, even while crouching.

There wasn’t much up there. Just a decade’s worth of spider webs, a bunch of dust-covered boxes, and a bulky-looking wooden trunk at the far end.

Why did someone put the heaviest, creepiest item at the far end of the attic? It had to be hard to get it all the way to that corner.

Keri sighed. Of course someone would put it there just to make her life difficult.

“Everything okay up there?” Ray called out from the living room.

“Yup. Just checking out the attic.”

She climbed up the last stair and squatted her way across the attic, making sure to step on the narrow wooden beams. She worried that a wrong step would send her crashing through the drywall ceiling. Sweaty and covered in dusty spider webs, she finally reached the trunk. When she opened it and shined the flashlight inside, she was relieved to discover there was no body. Empty.

Keri closed the trunk and made her way back to the stairs.

Back in the living room, Denton hadn’t moved from the couch. Ray was sitting directly front of him, straddling a kitchen chair. When she walked in, he looked up and asked, “Anything?”

She shook her head. “Do we know where Ashley is yet, Detective Sands?”

“Not yet, but we’re working on it. Right, Mr. Rivers?”

Denton pretended not to hear the question.

“Can I see Ashley’s phone?” Keri asked.

Ray handed it to her unenthusiastically. “It’s locked. We’ll have to get tech to work their magic.”

Keri looked at Rivers and said, “What’s her password, Denton?”

The kid scoffed at her. “I don’t know.”

Keri’s dour expression let him know she wasn’t buying it. “I’m going to repeat the question again, very politely. What’s her password?”

The kid hesitated, deciding, and then said, “Honey.”

To Ray, Keri said, “There’s a shed out back. I’m going to go check it out.”

Rivers’ eyes darted quickly in that direction but he said nothing.

Out back, Keri used a rusty shovel to pry a padlock off the shed. A strip of sunlight pierced the interior through a hole in the roof. Ashley wasn’t in there, just paint cans, old tools, and other random junk. She was just about to step back outside when she noticed a stack of California license plates on a wooden shelf. On closer examination, there were six pairs, all with stickers for the current year.

What are these doing here? We’ll have to have them bagged.

She turned around and started to leave when a sudden breeze slammed the rusty door closed, blocking out most of the light in the shed. Thrust into semi-darkness, Keri felt claustrophobic.

She took a huge gulp of air, then another. She tried to regulate her breathing when the door creaked open, letting some sunlight back in.

This must have been what it was like for Evie. Alone, thrust into darkness, confused. Is this what my little girl had to face? Was this her living nightmare?

Keri choked back a sob. She’d pictured Evie locked away in a place like this a hundred times. Next week it would be five years exactly since she disappeared. That was going to be a tough day to get through.

A lot had happened since then – the struggle to keep her marriage together as their hopes faded, the inevitable divorce from Stephen, going on “sabbatical” from her professorship in criminology and psychology at Loyola Marymount University, officially to do independent research but really because the drinking and sleeping around with students had forced the administration’s hand. Everywhere she turned, she saw the broken pieces of her life. She’d been forced to face her ultimate failure: the inability to find the daughter who’d been stolen from her.

Keri roughly wiped the tears from her eyes and chastised herself silently.

Okay, you’ve failed your daughter. Don’t fail Ashley too. Get it together, Keri!

Right there in the shed, she powered up Ashley’s phone and typed in “Honey.” The password worked. At least Denton was honest about one thing.

She tapped Photos. There were hundreds of pictures, most of them standard fare – adorable little selfies of Ashley with friends at school, she and Denton Rivers together, a few photos of Mia. But scattered throughout, she was surprised to see, were other, edgier pictures.

Several were taken in an empty bar or club of some sort, clearly before or after hours, with both Ashley and her friends visibly drunk and in hardcore party mode, shotgunning beers, lifting their skirts and flashing their thongs. In some they were working bongs or rolling joints. Bottles of liquor were rampant.

Who did Ashley know that had access to a place like that? When was it happening? When Stafford was in DC? How did her mother have no clue about any of it?

It was the photos with the gun that really caught Keri’s attention. It would suddenly be there in the background, a 9mm SIG, sitting inconspicuously on a table next to a pack of cigarettes, or on a couch next to a bag of chips. In one instance, Ashley was out in the woods somewhere, down by a river, shooting at Coke cans.

Why? Was it just for fun? Was she learning how to protect herself? If that was it, then from what?

Interestingly, the photos with Denton Rivers tapered off considerably over the last three months, corresponding with new ones of a strikingly good-looking guy with a long, wild mane of thick blond hair. In many of the pictures, he was shirtless, showing off his six-pack abs. He seemed very proud of them. One thing was certain – he was definitely no high school kid. He looked closer to his early twenties.

Was he the one who had access to the bar?

Ashley had also taken a number of erotic photos of herself. In some, she was flashing her panties. In others she was naked except for a thong, often touching herself suggestively. The photos never showed her face but they were definitely Ashley. Keri recognized her room. In one she could see the bookcase in the background with the old math book hiding her fake ID. In another she could see Ashley’s stuffed animal in the background, resting on her pillow with its head turned away, almost as if it couldn’t bear to watch. Keri felt the urge to throw up but forced it down.

She went back to the phone’s main menu and tapped on Messages to see the girl’s texts. The erotic pictures from Photos had been sent one by one from Ashley to someone named Walker, apparently the guy with the six-pack. The accompanying messages left little to the imagination. Despite Mia Penn’s special connection with her daughter, it was starting to look like Stafford Penn understood Ashley much better than her mom did.

There was also a text to Walker four days ago that said, Formally kicked Denton to the curb today. Expecting drama. I’ll let you know.

Keri powered the phone off and sat there in the dark of the shed, thinking. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander. A scene formed in her head, one so real that she might as well have been right there.

It was a nice, sunny September Sunday morning, filled with endless blue California skies. They were at the playground, she and Evie. Stephen was returning that afternoon from a hiking trip in Joshua Tree. Evie wore a purple tank top, white shorts, lacy white socks, and tennis shoes.

Her smile was wide. Her eyes were green. Her hair was blond and wavy, pulled into pigtails. Her upper front tooth was chipped; it was a grown-up tooth, not a baby one, and would need to be fixed at some point. But every time Keri brought it up, Evie went into full panic mode, so it hadn’t happened yet.

Keri sat on the grass, barefoot, with papers scattered all around her. She was getting ready for her keynote speech tomorrow morning at the California Criminology Conference. She’d even lined up a guest speaker, an LAPD detective named Raymond Sands whom she’d consulted with on a few cases.

“Mommy, let’s get frozen yogurt!”

Keri checked her watch.

She was almost done and there was a Menchie’s on the way home. “Give me five minutes.”

“That means yes?”

She smiled.

“It means big, big yes.”

“Can I get sprinkles or just fruit toppings?”

“Let me put it like this – how do you spread fairy dust?”

“How?”

“You sprinkle it! Get it?”

“Of course I get it, Mommy. I’m not little!”

“Of course you’re not. My apologies. Just give me five minutes.”

She returned her attention to the speech. After a minute, someone walked past her, briefly casting the page in shadow. Annoyed by the distraction, she tried to regain her concentration.

Suddenly, the quiet was shattered by a bloodcurdling scream. Keri looked up, startled. A man in a windbreaker and baseball cap was running away quickly. She could only see the back of him but could tell he was holding something in his arms.

Keri got to her feet, looking desperately around for Evie. She was nowhere to be found. Keri started running after the man even before she knew for sure. A second later, Evie’s head poked out from in front of the man. She looked terrified.

“Mommy!” she screamed. “Mommy!”

Keri chased after them, breaking into a full sprint. The man had a big head start. By the time Keri was halfway across the grassy field, he was already in the parking lot.

“Evie! Let her go! Stop! Someone stop that man! He has my daughter!”

People looked around but they mostly seemed confused. No one got up to help. And she didn’t see anyone in the parking lot to stop him. She saw where he was headed. There was a white van at the far end of the lot, parallel parked near the curb for an easy exit. He was less than fifty feet from it when she heard Evie’s voice again.

“Please, Mommy, help me!” she pleaded.

“I’m coming, baby!”

Keri ran even harder, her vision blurry with burning tears, pushing past the fatigue and fear. She had reached the edge of the parking lot. The asphalt was crumbly and dug into her bare feet as she ran but she didn’t care.

“That man has my daughter!” she screamed again, pointing in their direction.

A teenage kid in a T-shirt and his girlfriend got out of their car, only a few spots from the van. The man ran right by them. They looked bewildered until Keri yelled again.

“Stop him!”

The teenager started to walk toward the man, then broke into a run. By then the man had reached the van. He slid the side door open and tossed Evie in like a sack of potatoes. Keri heard the thump as her body slammed against the wall.

He slammed the door shut and started to run around to the driver’s side when the teenage boy reached him and grabbed his shoulder. The man spun around and Keri got her best look at him. He was wearing sunglasses and a cap pulled low and it was hard to see through the tears. But she caught a glimpse of blond hair and what looked like part of a tattoo on the right side of his neck.

But before she could discern anything else, the man reared his arm back and punched the teenager in the face, sending him crashing into a nearby car. Keri heard a sickening crack. She saw the man pull a knife from a sheath attached to his belt and plunge it into the teenager’s chest. He pulled it out and waited a second to watch the kid tumble to the ground before hurrying around to the driver’s seat.

Keri forced what she’d just seen out of her head and focused on nothing but reaching that van. She heard the engine start and saw the van start to pull out. She was less than twenty feet away.

But the vehicle was picking up speed now. Keri kept running but she could feel her body start to give out. She looked at the license plate, ready to commit it to memory. There was none.

She reached for her keys, then realized they were in her purse, back on the field. She ran back to where the teenager was, hoping to grab his and take that car. But when she got to him, she saw his girlfriend kneeling over him, sobbing uncontrollably.

She looked up again. The van was far off in the distance now, leaving a trail of dust. She had no license plate, no description to speak of, nothing to offer the police. Her daughter was gone and she didn’t know how to get her back.

Keri dropped to the ground beside the teenage girl and began to weep anew, their wails of despair indistinguishable from each other.

When she opened her eyes she was back in Denton’s house. She didn’t remember coming out of the shed or walking across the dead grass. But she had somehow gotten to the Rivers’ kitchen. This was twice in one day.

It was getting worse.

She walked back into the living room, looked Denton in the eyes, and said, “Where’s Ashley?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why is her phone in your possession?”

“She left it here yesterday.”

“Bullshit! She broke up with you four days ago. She wasn’t here yesterday.”

Denton’s face sagged visibly at the verbal gut punch.

“Okay, I took it from her.”

“When?”

“This afternoon at school.”

“You just snatched it out of her hand?”

“No, I bumped into her after the final bell and snuck it from her purse.”

“Who owns a black van?”

“I don’t know.”

“A friend of yours?”

“No.”

“Someone you hired?”

“No.”

“How’d you get those scratches on your arm?”

“I don’t know.”

““How did you get that bump on your head?”

“I don’t know.”

“Whose blood is that on the carpet?”

“I don’t know.”

Keri shifted her feet and tried to hold back the fury rising in her blood. She could feel herself losing the battle.

She stared through him and said, without emotion, “I’m going to ask you one more time: where is Ashley Penn?”

“Screw you.”

“That’s the wrong answer. You think about that on the way down to the station.”

She turned away, hesitated briefly, and then suddenly swung back around and punched him with a closed fist, hard, with every ounce of frustration in her body. She got him square in the temple, in the same spot as his previous wound. It split open and blood shot everywhere, some landing on Keri’s blouse.

Ray stared at her in disbelief, frozen. Then he jerked Denton Rivers to his feet with one powerful yank and said, “You heard the lady! Move! And don’t trip and hit your head on any more coffee tables.”

Keri gave him a wry smile for that one but Ray didn’t smile back at her. He looked horrified.

Something like this could cost her her job.

She didn’t care, though. All she cared about right now was getting this punk to talk.

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