Page 19 of We Are All Guilty Here

The knot twisted tighter. “He must’ve used them to expand his drug business into the high school. Summer school is in session until the end of the month. Both girls are enrolled. That means kids from Verona, Ocmulgee, Clayville, and North Falls.”

“Not good.”

“I’ll see what Dylan knows.” Emmy took out her phone and started texting Deputy Dylan Alvarez, the sheriff’s resource officer who was in charge of the high school, to see if he had any useful information about dealers or the girls. “Dylan patrols the halls every day. He can tell us which kids we need to talk to.”

Gerald’s phone started to ring. He flipped it open, put it on speakerphone. “You got both of us.”

“No news on the girls.” Virgil was obviously standing outside. The chirp of crickets filled the background. “Paul went online and pulled up Madison’s cell phone records from the last six months. Other than Paul and Hannah, Madison only ever called three numbers. The first one matches the flip phone Cheyenne’s parents knew about. The second number was registered to a pay-as-you-go account.”

“A burner phone,” Emmy said. “The number could belong to the kidnapper. How frequent are the calls?”

“Nearly nonstop, and not short,” Virgil said. “Some last thirty, forty minutes. Some are over two hours. The number of texts is ridiculous. I don’t have the content, but I’ve got the time stamps. We’re talking quick bursts, sometimes a text was sent every four or five seconds.”

“That sounds more like two girls,” Emmy said. “Is there a pattern between Madison’s phone, Cheyenne’s flip phone, and the burner? Like did Madison text with both Cheyenne and the burner simultaneously?”

“Hold on.” Virgil was clearly looking at the records. “Okay, the short answer is no. It looks like Madison only called Cheyenne’s flip phone before and after summer school hours. During school, she was exclusively contacting the burner, andthat’s like—Jesus, a lot. Fifty, maybe a hundred texts over the course of six hours. Then they stop when school is out, then they pick back up around midnight and continue off and on until the morning.”

“The burner has to belong to Cheyenne,” Emmy said. “A predator or dealer wouldn’t be on the phone that much. It leaves a record. He’d want to interact in person. Less chance of being overheard. Lower risk of the parents finding out.”

Gerald asked, “What about the third number?”

“That’s the interesting thing,” Virgil said. “Eight days ago, the burner phone went dark, then a third number came online, also pay-as-you-go. Madison stopped communicating with the old number and picked up the new one. Same frequency, same hours.”

“Maybe the burner was lost?” Emmy asked. “Stolen?”

“Whatever the reason, we need to lay our hands on those phones,” Virgil said. “You have to have the actual device to read the texts. Paul gave us the password for Madison’s iPhone, but I couldn’t get the damn thing to power on. It’s not just the glass that got cracked. The bits and pieces are loose inside.”

“Was it backed up to the cloud?” Emmy asked.

“No, they opted her out ’cause she had so many texts and pictures it was blowing through their data plan,” Virgil said. “I’ve got the phone bagged and ready to go to the GBI lab along with the Bakers’ desktop computer.”

“Delay that,” Gerald said.

Emmy looked at her father. She knew that he’d decided to call in the FBI.

She asked Virgil, “What about the Bakers? Can they access records on Cheyenne’s flip phone?”

“Felix doesn’t have an online account. You need a code to activate it. He’s going to call the business office as soon as it’s open in the morning.”

Emmy thought it was weird that an engineer didn’t have everything set up electronically. “If you’re trying to be sneaky, you buy a burner phone because you can pay cash and you don’t have to give your real name. You wouldn’t buy it online because you’d have to use a credit card, so you’d go to abrick-and-mortar to get it. There can’t be more than a couple of places where Cheyenne or Madison could buy a burner. I’d start with the Good Dollar and the kiosk at the outlet mall.”

Gerald said, “Could be the kidnapper bought the phones.”

She hadn’t thought about that, but it made sense that the man controlling Cheyenne would also control who she spoke with.

Gerald said, “The bulge in Madison’s pocket.”

Emmy felt her heart sink. She’d stupidly thought Madison had packed a bag of snacks. “She could’ve had a flip phone on her at the park. Dad, there’s no way this was random. The kidnapper is sophisticated and seasoned at grooming girls.”

Gerald said, “Put a team on the List.”

Emmy had known it was coming, but it still hit her like a hammer to the chest.The Listreferred to all the registered sex offenders in the county.

“Shit,” Virgil mumbled. He was feeling it, too. “Yes, boss.”

Gerald closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket. His eyes stayed on the road. Emmy listened to the white noise of the car wheels traveling over asphalt. They were on Vernon Road, named after her great-great-grandfather. Soon, they would take a left onto Delilah Avenue, named after her great-great-grandmother. Hannah lived just behind Delilah on Clay Street, which was named after the first Clifton who’d stolen the land from the Creek tribe in 1822 and plastered his name all over the county.

“Emmy Lou?” Gerald said.

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