Page 89 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

The girl’s eyes moved between them. “You don’t get it.”

Sabre tried again. “Then help us understand.”

For a moment, something flickered—desperation or resignation maybe—then she shut down completely. “I’m done.”

After a few minutes of silence, they stood to leave.

Outside, the door closed behind them.

“She’s not going to give it up,” Vale said.

Sabre shook her head. “At least not until she’s ready.”

“Which may be too late.”

“I’m not sure your aggressive approach helped, but it is your case.”

“I had to try because your way isn’t working either, at least not fast enough.”

“So, what do we do now?”

Vale looked at her. “We find another way. For now, we know she didn’t bring a weapon with her. We still need a name... unless, there’s no name to give.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“What if she disassociated or something? What if she was just protecting herself?”

“That’s possible,” Sabre said. “But she seemed believable to me.”

“Because that’s what she really believes.”

“You could get a psych eval ordered,” Sabre suggested.

“I may do that.”

Sabre nodded, but her mind was on a little girl from long ago.

“There are so many things that Bay said or did that reminded me of Hannah.”

“You think Hannah survived and this is her?”

“I want so badly to think Hannah is alive. Maybe I’m projecting now.”

Chapter 33

Sunday late morning

JP sat in the truck outside a small, sun-faded duplex, reading through case files again. Todd Maddox didn’t look like much on paper. His employment history was mostly in construction, but lately, he’d been working for himself as a handyman. He had a couple of minor run-ins with police that never turned into charges on his record, but no felonies. There were no obvious red flags that would justify what Bay had done. On paper, Todd Maddox was clean.

JP set the file on the passenger seat and looked at the house. The problem with paper was that it told you what someone had been caught doing, not what they’d gotten away with.

The duplex sat quiet in the late morning. One car, a red Mazda, sat in the driveway, curtains half-drawn in the front unit.

JP got out, walked up, and knocked. It took a minute. Then the door opened just enough for a woman in her late fifties to peer out.

“Yes?”

“Good morning. My name is JP Torn. I’m a private investigator looking into Todd Maddox.”