Page 137 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

His phone dinged.

Just fine. Groceries are ordered, and Pierre’s going to hold them for us if they get there before we do. We’re all set for parking too.

“Pierre,” he muttered. Grocery deliveries, city parking, and fancy French doormen. Interesting. Sounds good, he typed back, even though it didn’t.

“Sheriff Carter.”

Nate looked up at the man standing by the front desk—clean-cut, mid-fifties, khaki slacks, and a slight paunch stretching his light-blue button-down. Detective Sanchez, no doubt. The man’s clenched jaw and hostile brown eyes were a dead giveaway. Awesome. Nate stood. “Detective Sanchez.”

The detective glanced at his watch. “I’ve got about five minutes.”

Apparently they were going to forgo a handshake and any pretense of a polite exchange. “Sounds great. I’m hoping to grab a copy of the Little Girl Lost files.”

Sanchez crossed his arms. “And why would I give you those?”

“Because I have new evidence in the case, which I’ve mentioned in all seven phone messages I’ve left you since last Thursday.”

“If you’d like to tell me what you have, I’ll be happy to look into it.”

Nate shook his head. “I can place Little Girl Lost on my island hours before she ended up in Hartford. I’d say that gives me some interagency privileges.”

“Privileges work both ways, Sheriff. Especially in a high-profile case.”

He nodded as he wiggled the file folder. “Since you’re short on time, I’ll give you the rundown. I stumbled upon a picture of a twentysomething woman and a young juvenile female who looks an awful lot like Little Girl Lost. My curiosity got the better of me so I sent the photo, along with the initial intake footage I found on YouTube, to my contact at the FBI. BCOE and a forensic artist were able to confirm that the two children are a match.”

Detective Sanchez clenched his jaw again. “Come on back with me.”

Nate followed the detective into an office with two other men sitting at desks. He sent them a polite nod.

Detective Sanchez pulled on a pair of gloves, reached into a cabinet, and pulled out an evidence box labeled LGL 301-0705-95. “I grabbed this from the storage room when I got your call last week—gave things another once-over.” He opened the box and plucked up a thin file folder and a pair of pink-and-white-striped pajamas secured in an evidence bag. “We don’t have much. We never have. There were no John or Jane Does admitted to hospitals or morgues anywhere within a sixty-mile radius of Phil’s Diner the night we found the kid. I’ve got witness reports—the cook, the waitress, and the patron who was eating at the restaurant. None of them saw anything. Have the doctor’s notes, but there’s nothing remarkable there either. When we canvassed the area, no one had much to say.”

“Do you think that’s a result of the area or no one actually saw anything?”

Sanchez shrugged. “People don’t love the police around here, but the whole nation was caught up in Little Girl Lost. I would say that if someone knew something, they most likely would have come forward. An anonymous tip, at least.”

Nate nodded. “Makes sense.”

“We were flooded with stuff after the story broke—nothing that ever went anywhere. I’ve kept my ears open for any new developments over the years, but there never has been anything. Little Girl appeared at the diner. Her mother, father, or both were gone. No one saw or heard anything. End of story. Or the part of the story I know.”

Nate pulled out the picture of Callie and her biological mother. “This was taken less than twenty-four hours before Callie showed up at Phil’s Diner.”

Sanchez took the picture and compared it to the one taken of Callie at the hospital over two decades ago. “Certainly looks like her.”

“According to the FBI’s Missing Children’s Division, it is her. I tracked down video footage of both biological mother and daughter at the 1995 Carter Island Fourth of July festivities. They’re dressed identical to the images here.”

“I want a copy of this and the tape.”

Nate nodded. “The tape’s a mess—grainy and plenty of lines running through it. Damn frustrating to watch. Needs some cleaning up.”

“I’ll get it taken care of.” Sanchez handed back the picture. “I’m curious why you’re curious about this. Twenty-two years later and we’re looking at a missing person case that went cold less than a week after I started digging. A woman takes off, abandoning her child—vanishes into thin air. The child didn’t even spend two weeks in the system before she got herself a new home. At this point, she’s well past grown.”

Nate debated how much he wanted to share. Callie needed answers, and currently, this was the only man who could help him find them. “Callie’s my girlfriend,” he said as he pointed to the child in the picture. “She wants to find her mother.”

Sanchez’s eyes widened. “Get the hell out. You’re saying she’s from the island?”

“No. We have no idea where she’s from originally. She’s trying to figure out what happened, and I’m planning to do what I can to make sure she does.”

“What does she remember?”