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Seventy-Seven
Checking her phone, which had been on silent during the meeting, Ellie had several messages.
While Derrick phoned Bennett to arrange the wire transfer from a bogus account, she listened to the voicemails, mostly anonymous.
“What the hell are you doing, Detective Reeves? You should protect our kids, not known sex offenders.”
“You’ve got your priorities all wrong, spending our tax money and manpower guarding that vile man instead of using it to find Ava Truman.”
The last one was from Meddlin’ Maude. Her granddaughter had died at the hands of a recent serial killer and she blamed Ellie for it. “I hope you don’t let Lara Truman down like you did me. That mama deserves to have her baby home for the holiday.”
Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. She agreed with Meddlin’ Maude. But it would do no good to return her call. She needed her line open in case they received a tip about Ava.
Derrick rocked back in his chair. “It’s done. The money has been sent.” His gaze settled on her. “What’s wrong? I saw you on the phone.”
Ellie stood, walking to the glass door overlooking her back deck. Rain drizzled down in a steady rhythm, streaking the windowpanes and blurring the image of the mountains beyond.
Derrick stepped up behind her. “Ellie?”
Her shoulders sagged. “I had several messages about the way I’ve handled this case and about Grueler. People are not happy with me.”
Derrick rubbed her arms. “You’re doing everything humanly possible to find Ava.”
As Derrick’s laptop dinged, they locked gazes for a heartbeat before rushing over.
There was an email from Serena. The photograph was on the way, along with the little girl’s profile.
Seventy-Eight
Derrick squeezed Ellie’s hand. He wanted to assure her everything was all right, but nothing about the situation, the kidnapping, or MWC was anywhere near all right.
He’d had a knot in the pit of his stomach as hard as a baseball when they’d talked to Serena. The only thing that vulture cared about was money.
If she was legitimate, she would have insisted on personally checking out the house and arranged for a social worker or guardian ad litem to conduct home visits. Adoptions just didn’t happen this quickly.
The first photograph appeared, jarring him back to the case, and he heard Ellie’s raspy breathing beside him.
“It’s not Ava,” Ellie whispered.
No, but it was a small blond girl with pigtails dressed in a frilly Christmas dress. She looked doe-eyed and innocent. He wondered how she’d ended up in Serena’s brokerage house for children.
Ellie read the description. “Daisy is six years old and loves to color, read stories, and play with her American Dream Girl doll named Sasha. Her father died in Afghanistan and her mother was homeless, so she turned her over to us to find a loving home. Daisy asked Santa for a mommy and daddy and we want to make that wish come true.”
That last sentence got to Derrick. “What do you want to bet that half of that is a lie?”
Ellie nodded, emotions bubbling in her chest. “Do you think she was abducted?”
He shrugged. “It’s possible. Also possible that one or both parents sold the child to the group out of desperation for money.”
“It’s hard to believe anyone could abandon a precious little girl like her. Or any child for that matter.”
Derrick murmured agreement. “I’m going to compare the photo to missing persons reports in NCMEC. But first, let’s respond to Serena.”
Ellie clenched her hands by her sides. “Tell her to give us the time and place,” she said. “No matter how they got her, I don’t want to leave the child with her or that group another day.”
“Don’t worry. We’re going to bust their operation wide open.” Derrick sent the message, asking if they could meet in the morning. When he finished, he said, “I’ll send Daisy’s picture to the tech team to verify her identity and make sure this is not a stock picture they photoshopped.”
“You think it could be fake?”
