Page 13 of We Are All Guilty Here

Virgil suggested, “Could be Cheyenne wanted to spend the afternoon alone, then meet up with Madison right before the show to watch the fireworks.”

“That’s not how girls work,” Emmy said. “The point of being at the park wasn’t to see the fireworks. It was to hang out together. Plus, today is Madison’s birthday. Cheyenne wouldn’t roll up at the last minute. Especially if she had a curfew.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Virgil only had sons. “Is there a calculation Madison makes when she realizes Cheyenne is late? Like you said, it’s only a twenty-minute bike ride. At what point would Madison jump on her bike and come check the house?”

“I think no more than an hour,” Emmy said. “Madison would’ve been texting her, calling her cell, calling the house.”

Virgil said, “I’ve got warrants in the works for phone records. Both girls. Both house landlines.”

“There’s something else.” Emmy took out her spiral notebook. She made a rough sketch of the soccer pitch, plotting the locations where they’d found the bikes, then marking the broken caution tape. She used dashes to trace the sedan’s route. “The tire tracks take us here, to Cheyenne’s bike. Madison’s bike was way over here, maybe a hundred yards away and out in the open. We know from the tire tracks that the sedan was nowhere near Madison’s bike.”

Virgil said, “Okay, so Cheyenne showed up late, and she andMadison were together with their bikes near the cluster of trees. The kidnapper rolls up in his sedan. Gets out. Maybe they talk. He grabs Cheyenne, conks her on the head. She’s out cold, bleeds onto the ground. Madison drops her phone, jumps onto her bike, pedals across the field. He’s on foot. He runs, snatches her up, too. Leaves the bike. Puts both girls in the sedan. Drives away.”

Emmy had seen the blood. “I think one of them was shot.”

Gerald nodded. “Agreed.”

Emmy felt bile rush into her mouth. She nearly gagged as she tried to swallow it down.

Virgil asked, “Who’s our bad guy? Family? Acquaintance? Stranger?”

“Stranger,” Gerald said. “Emmy is Hannah’s best friend.”

She had to swallow again. Her father didn’t need statistics. He only needed a pair of eyes. Emmy’s cruiser was routinely parked in front of Hannah’s house. She was generally in uniform when they went for a drink after work. Emmy was also the sheriff’s daughter. Everyone in town knew the connection. Everyone in Madison’s circle would know about it, too. Even the most craven offender wouldn’t be reckless enough to target Hannah’s girl.

It had to be a stranger.

Gerald said, “Madison’s bike was left out in the open. Cheyenne’s bike was tossed under the trees.”

“He panicked,” Virgil said. “It’s pitch dark. He figured if one bike was found, no one would search for the other one. We’d focus on one girl instead of both. Probably starting with the parents and working out from there.”

“Needed us to waste time,” Gerald said. “Wanted to get away.”

Emmy took a quick breath, trying to dive back in. “From a logistical standpoint, it’s incredibly risky to go after two fifteen-year-old girls at the same time. They’re too unpredictable. The likelihood that one or both would fight back is too high.”

“He took Cheyenne first,” Gerald said.

“He must’ve talked to her,” Emmy said. “Maybe he drove up to her on the street. She was on her bike. He showed her the gun, told her to get into the car. She started bargaining with him, trying to talk him out of abducting her. Like, ‘my friend iswaiting for me. If I don’t show up, she’ll come looking. She knows where I am. Her stepmother’s best friend is a cop.’ Then the kidnapper decides to use Cheyenne as bait to draw out Madison.”

“We’ll know from their cell phone records if she called or texted Madison,” Virgil said. “Maybe the kidnapper had some kind of sick fantasy he’s always wanted to act out. Two girls at once.”

Emmy looked down at the ground so that they couldn’t see her expression.

Gerald said, “GBI said call the FBI.”

Emmy knew her father wasn’t big on federal involvement. They tended to break more things than they fixed. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t know.”

They all turned when a set of headlights swung onto the street. Emmy checked her watch. They had hit the three-hour mark. The chances of the girls still being alive had dropped to twenty-two percent.

Virgil stepped into the driveway as a blue minivan raced toward them. Ruth Baker jumped out of the vehicle before her husband had time to stop. Her face was red, eyes swollen from crying. She was frazzled, scared, panicked. “Have you found her? Where is she? Tell me what happened.”

“Ma’am,” Gerald said. “We haven’t found her. I need to ask you some questions.”

“What questions?” She grabbed onto his arm. “You should be talking to Hannah and Paul. We told them Madison was a bad influence. Whatever mess Cheyenne has gotten into is that little bitch’s fault.”

Emmy tried to keep her composure. The woman was distraught, grasping at straws. It still hadn’t hit her that the small things didn’t matter anymore. The kidnapper didn’t care.

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