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I can recall the report so vividly in my mind because I’ve read over it so many times. Aislin disappeared somewhere between her house and the school. A fact that fucked with my head for a long time. She was one year away from being back in the same school as I was, which would have meant catching the bus at the same time again. One year. Instead, she had to walk through our ghetto little neighborhood filled with the maggots of society by herself every morning because the high school I went to started an hour earlier than her middle school.
Six initial suspects, though how they started with six, I’ll never understand. The report was such a mess; it seemed like they grabbed a few random pieces of shit and called them suspects. Hell, any one of our neighbors in those four blocks could have easily snatched her but not a single witness came forward.
Ricardo, her mother’s scumbag boyfriend at the time and the man I’d personally witnessed making lewd and suggestive comments toward Aislin, was first on the list.
Vince Bellemi, the registered sex offender two blocks over, was the obvious suspect, but he was cleared almost immediately.
Tucker Caed, whose potential involvement in Aislin’s disappearance was what led police to the victim he went to jail for assaulting.
Clay Campbell, Aislin’s bus driver, was suspiciously missing from work that morning but the showed up for his afternoon route. Records proved he had a medical appointment around the time of her disappearance. He was cleared after allowing police to search his home.
Demitri Ditmars and Matt Richardson were both fuck buddies of her mother’s although not who she was reportedly seeing at the time of Aislin’s disappearance. Neither were looked at very seriously. Besides a few drug violations, neither had much of a record. Matt made my job easier when he was killed in a car accident a year later. Demitri, however, was a little trickier to track down. Seven years ago, after I had already transferred to Brighton, I’d followed him to California. He was on my radar for three months before I lost him.
I drop my hammer to the ground, done with the last piece of subflooring. Tomorrow, I can begin installing the dark hardwood I picked out for the kitchen. Sitting back on my ass, knees cocked, I nab the bottle of water next to me for a cool drink. The sinking sun’s rays filter unhindered through the living room windows. My gaze settles in that direction.
It still blows my mind that with six initial suspects, the case went cold as fast as it did. It was like the cops in this town gave up when she didn’t show up a week later. I had to beg and plead with the lead detective at the time to take my statement, and he was reluctant, adamant that she ran away.
I knew Aislin. There wasn’t a damn thing that would’ve made her run away without telling me. Knew it down to my gut. I didn’t need to see her malnourished body fifteen years later riddled with signs of chronic abuse, scars, and open wounds or to read the medical report that detailed each mark on her previously unblemished skin to have confirmation she didn’t simply run away.
A small ounce of hope came from the fact the local department was scrambling to cover their asses. Times were different now. Back then, a girl disappeared, and her face would be on the news and in the paper. It’d be a hot topic for a couple of days or weeks, but as soon as the trail went cold, she’d be forgotten. Nowadays, with the discovery of her body, national media outlets have been flooding the tiny town of Westbridge, desperate for the inside story.
With all the pressure from the media, the department had a complete overhaul and that led to bringing my team in. Ordinarily, I would not be assigned this case because I was so close to it and had personal connections, but I was the one, along with Tavers, who had gathered information over the years. No one else was more equipped than me and him to take on the case. Of course, the department fucking up all those years ago helped the decision from the higher-ups as well.
The citizens of the town were shocked. Many hadn’t lived here for more than a decade. When the housing market crashed, unpaid mortgages forced out most of the slumlords and scumbags who lived in the area, which left a huge profit for people like me who flip houses. The area was quickly cleaned up, and new families began moving in. The fear that was absent with Aislin’s disappearance rocked through Westbridge like a tidal wave.
Beside me, my phone pings with a new message. The email from Tripp hits my inbox. I quickly scan the details, but there isn’t much. The name of a guy, Sin, and a phone number.
After debating the pros and cons of waiting until Monday to call versus calling now, it doesn’t take long for me to come to a conclusion. When it comes to Aislin, I’m not good at waiting. My thumb taps the blue hyperlink to his phone number, and I bring the cell to my ear. It rings twice.
“Sin.” A deep voice grunts over the line, and I realize I should have waited to call on a department phone on Monday.
“My name is Detective Niko James, and I’m calling in regards to a missing woman. I was told you might have some information on a dismantled trafficking ring.”
“Not involved in that any longer. They’re working on identifications. You need to call the Minneapolis Police Department for more information.”
“My contact said you could help directly. A database or something. I need to know if she was ever there.”
“Are you not hearin’ me?” he barks. “I’ve got nothin’ for you.”
The hair on my neck stands on end as my own temper starts to rise. For the first time since I was a kid, I lose control of that carefully constructed thread of restraint, and I snap.
“Hear me,” I start in a low, threatening tone. “It could take them a year or more to go through all those photos and records and make matches to missing persons. I’ve already been waiting fifteen years to find out what happened to my woman, and seeing as they found her dead body a few months ago, I’m done waiting. I don’t have another year of this left in me, especially knowing I’ll never get her back.”
His end of the line is silent, and all I can hear on mine is the sound of blood rushing through my ears and my own heavy breathing. The hand I have wrapped around the phone twitches with the need to hang up with each second that passes.
“Got a sec, I’ll pull up the database.” The sound of typing on a keyboard filters through the phone line.
My mouth tightens in an odd mixture of relief and suspense as I wait. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“Description?”
“Caucasian female between the ages of thirteen and thirty. Brown hair, length varies. Eyes are green. More of a green amethyst than a jade color.”
“Any distinctive marks? Birthmarks, tattoos, piercings?”
“Um…” I cough to clear my throat. “A coffee-colored birthmark. Below her left ear. Looks like a star.”
“Running the search,” he informs me, but I only half listen. I am too busy trying to control my thoughts of Aislin.
