Page 61 of Sinful Reality

“This could be any lady, Cato.” I un-zoom, then zoom in on another part of the image. “Different hair, different clothes, different weight; she could be ten separate, similar-looking women.”

“She has the same purse in every single picture. Like she got a good one once and never let it go. Her son ages up exactly how you’d expect year on year, and he’s always carrying the same toy.”

I peel my eyes off the phone. “A toy? Even when he’s a teen?”

“It’s hard to see in the earlier clips, but in the later ones, you catch the little ship he’s always carting around. It’s like six inches long. Two or three inches thick. It reminds me of the ones I saw at the Intrepid Museum when I was a kid.”

Stunned, not because he could pick out a tiny boat in a grainy video, and not even because he may or may not have found my perp. But, “You went to the Intrepid Museum? Who the fuck took you?”

Because it sure as shit wouldn’t have been Dad. Or even Lix, to be honest.

He grins and sits back on the couch. “Went by myself when I was nine. I even bought one of those ships, which is how I recognize it in the kid’s hand. You could argue the woman is different in each video, but she looks damn similar, has the same purse every year, and each time, she’s accompanied by a boy and that toy.”

“You only have the back of her head?” I flick the picture away and search the rest of the album. Some in black and white, though some are not. A lot of the images are grainy blobs, while others are so crisp I can make out the buckle of the bag she carries.

Then I lock in on a face I fucking know, tapping on that image and zooming in so close, I can almost count the wrinkles fanning from her eyes. “You can’t be serious?”

“She mean something to you?”

“Yeah, but…” I swipe to the next image, my brows pinching tight. “It makes no sense. She’s not… Why? And for who? She’s a single mom, her husband has bolted, no boyfriends in the house, and nothing in her record that points toward January eleventh being a significant event. Whoever our perp is, she’s working with a guy. These girls were raped by a man, Cato. The evidence proves it.”

“But what about him?” He takes back his phone and flips from one image to the next; a woman and her son. A woman and her slightlyolder son. A woman and her teen. Fifteen images later, a woman and a grown-ass man. And that grown man clutches a tiny metal ship in his right hand. “He starts out young, but…”

“What the fuck?” I push off the couch and circle, shoving my hands through my hair and holding on like the pain will help connect lines in my mind. “But he’s a kid! There’s no… And her daughter… She’s…” I squeeze my eyes shut and search for sense. “Her daughter is fine, Cato! Her daughter is?—”

“She has a daughter?” Obnoxiously calm, he studies me and nibbles on his lips. “Could’ve fooled me. Because she’s not in a single one of these videos. Old Mama is playing favorites, bringing him out every year and leaving the other locked up at home.”

“Oh God. Oh fuck.”

“Has anyoneactuallyhad eyes on the girl lately? Because I’ve scanned twenty-something years of footage in the last five hours, and I didn’t see her once.”

“Motherf—” I spin and stalk along the hall, bursting through my bedroom door and snatching up Minka’s phone, then turning back again, I unlock the screen and dial the number that sits red in the call log, with a 3 beside it that says he’s an impatient cocksucker whostilllacks boundaries. Striding to the living room, I press the phone to my ear and skid to a stop when I find Minka startling awake, jerking up to sit and her eyes scanning for danger.

“Min?” Detective Fuckface answers with a slow, seductive drawl that sets my heart on fire. “It’s still pretty early there. I’m surprised you’re calling?—”

“It’s Malone,” I snap out, purely to shut him the fuck up. “You need eyes on Serena Donohue.”

“Serena—” He startles. “What?”

“Serena Donohue! She was five years old in ‘97, right? The killings began in ‘98. Has anyone seen that child since the incident in the park that involved the fruit shop guy?”

“The incident…” Way too fucking slow, Gilbert flicks through folders at his desk, the time difference between New York and Copeland coming in handy since he’s already on the clock. “What incident?”

“The one where Serena fell off the swings, and her brother tried to fight Stein! Lachlan Donohue was eleven when Diane went missing. He was ten when Andy scooped Serena up after she fell. It was the year before the killings began!”

“Oh God,” Minka whispers. “The time Lachlan and Serena were left home alone?” Her voice shakes as she reaches up, sliding her finger through her hair. “Archer… they homeschooled. Gloria said so.”

“Which means what?” Cato questions. “No one’s gonna notice a dead girl and report her missing if she doesn’t even attend regular school.”

“Gloria’s kidney failure peaked soon after Andy’s death,” Minka adds. “She went into a temporary care facility, and Lachlan was placed in a home for special boys.” Tears make her eyes glitter. “That’s what she said.A home for special boys.”

“Gilbert?” I snarl, prompting him back to work. “Tell me that little girl has medical records orsomethingdated beyond her sixth birthday.”

“I don’t…” He leafs through folders. Pages. Boxes, as he shoves up from his desk and moves to the million records on hand for this case. “Lowe ran everyone back in the day to make sure the data was clean. Nothing raised alarms, so he put them away, and I didn’t really go back for a long, hard look. Here.” His breath comes faster as he yanks a file free of a box and slaps it onto his desk. “Gloria Donohue. Single mother, two children. Worked for the fruit stall…” He recites the details we’ve already memorized. “The girl was moving through school and hitting decent grades, all cleared by the state. The boy’s academics were not so good. He broke his arm when he was fourteen, treated at the emergency room that same day. Casted. No surgery required. I see nothing for Serena.”

“Homeschool means she could be missing, and no one would know any different,” I growl. “The abductions stopped while Gloria was in hospital. Now she’s out, and he’s back home with her, and suddenly, Janiesa goes missing.”

“There is no record of the child dying, Malone.” He flips pages, back and forth in search of the missing data. “Kids don’t just die and… nothing. These things aren’t easily hidden.”

---