Page 26 of Missing White Woman

“That same follower lives in the area. They were able to stop by the crime scene. They sent this photo.”

It pops up behind her as a shrinking Billie moves to the right side of the frame. A small section of yellow crime-scene tape is large at the bottom of the screen. Farther back—smaller—are a couple of police cars. A few men and women in uniforms mill about.

“Obviously this just happened. Nothing’s been confirmed through DNA or even an ID. But as much as it hurts me to say this, it does sound like our Janelle. I don’t know how she got inside or how long she was there. And I don’t want to speculate. Not right now.”

Billie pauses before continuing. “What I can tell you is about the house. I know you’re wondering who it belongs to. According to my follower, it’s an Airbnb. They even sent me the listing! I’ll add it to the comments, but here’s a look inside.”

The screenshot behind her changes to an Airbnb listing page. After a few seconds, Billie changes the screenshot to a photo of a dark gray living room with two couches and a massive gray rug covering hardwood floors.

“Of course we don’t know who’s renting the place now, but they have someone in custody. We don’t know who. There was someone staying there, though. I’ll share an update as soon as I know more information. If you know anything about who rented the house, please, please, please let me know. My Instagram DMs are open.”

Billie pauses again. Struggles to get the next words out. “Y’all, I really hope this isn’t our Janelle, but it’s hard to be hopeful.” She then looks directly into the camera. Resolute. “And if that is our Janelle in there, whoever did that to her: Please don’t think you’ll get away with this. She was someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister. Someone’s friend. We will make sure there’s justice for Janelle.”

NINE

The last time I’d spoken with Adore Smith—now apparently A. Kristine McKinley—also had involved cops.

Domingo had done everything by the book—technically. Lots of pleases and thank-yous, but each word had dripped with condescension. Constantly asking if I was okay, then ignoring me when I said I wasn’t. I’d been loud, angry, and belligerent by the time he’d dragged me in. Since he was too smart to physically harm me, he’d taken a perverse pleasure in putting me in time-out.

I stayed in the corner of that cell in central booking for what felt like forever. There was no clock. The only indication, the sunrise, not that I could see anything through the sliver of a window. It was only after they finally came to get me for my phone call that I realized it had been close to six hours. When I finally got my chance, I had two choices: Adore or my mother.

It was the easiest decision of my life.

“This is Adore,” she’d said, loud enough to be heard over the bass line of the song she had playing. I recognized it immediately. Rihanna.

“It’s me.”

“Bree! I’ve been texting you all morning. Thought maybe you were mad at me. Where have you been?”

“Jail.”

“What?” There was some mumbling on her end. She had to be talking to Keith because a few seconds later Rihanna immediately shut up and it was quiet. “What are you doing in jail?”

I flashed on Domingo’s hands on my leg. He’d said he was searching for a weapon.

“I was leaving the party. Tired as hell. I must’ve run a red light because this asshole cop stopped me.”

“Okay… You have some unpaid ticket you didn’t know about?”

I wished it was that easy. “No,” I said, then spoke loud enough for every cop around to hear me. “He said I had fucking drugs.”

“You brought weed to the party?”

“Of course not. You know I’ve barely even drank since I started studying.”

“True. Despite my best efforts.” She was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “There was no way you would have any drugs on you.”

“I know. But he said he ‘smelled something.’ Asked me if he could search the car and my dumb ass said yes.”

Some lawyer I’d be.

“So then where did the drugs come from?”

“Him,” I said, then louder. “The drugs came from him. Officer Domingo searched my car, then came back with a bag of weed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Adore said. “That cop had to have put it there.”

“And I’m just staring at him as he holds up this orange baggie with a pumpkin on it, of all things, trying to say he found it in my car.”

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