The Lost Girls (Book #2 in The Suburban Murder Series) E-Book

Alexa Steele

• Herausgeber: Lukeman Literary Management
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Suburban Murder
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 301

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

THE LOST GIRLS is book #2 in the #1 bestselling Suburban Murder series, which begins with THE FORGOTTEN GIRLS, book #1 (a free download)! The brutally beaten body of a young girl is discovered in a marsh in Jamesport, one of New York's most elite suburbs. Police comb the area, while many speculate her murder might be connected to the abduction, six months earlier, of three girls from Jamesport. The FBI has evidence of an underage prostitution and trafficking ring which may be related. At the request of the FBI, Billy Dee, captain of the Ninth Precinct in the Bronx, head of its Sex Crimes Unit, sends two of his most seasoned detectives to Jamesport to conduct their own investigation: Bella de Franco and Jimmy "Mack" Menendez. They are sent north, back into the land of the beautiful. Between local politics, fractured families, a heroin epidemic and a dark secret that the wealthy town strives to keep hidden, the unspeakably dark and twisted reality lurking behind Jamesport life is uncovered. As they learn that everything is not what it seems in this wealthy suburb, Bella and Mack must race against the clock to save one last girl before she is sold across state lines, where she will vanish forever. Book #3 in the Suburban Murder series will be released soon!

Leseprobe

the lost girls

(A Bella DeFranco Mystery)

About Alexa Steele

Alexa Steele is an attorney, practicing in New York City, where she lives with her family, and a lifelong mystery reader. THE FORGOTTEN GIRLS is her debut work of fiction. Alexa loves to hear from you, so please visit www.alexasteele.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, get the latest exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!

Books by Alexa Steele

SUBURBAN MURDER

THE FORGOTTEN GIRLS (BOOK #1)

Copyright © 2015  by Alexa Steele

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Jacket image ©iStock.com/ilia-art

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

PROLOGUE

The young girl slipped the door open a crack, stepped outside, and peered down the endless hallway of the motel’s second floor. Except for the roar of the highway a few hundred feet away, it was eerily quiet. The full moon illuminated the sky, the parking lot, and the rickety old chair.

Shawna’s chair.

It was empty.

The chair sat at the end of the corridor, and behind it stood the stairwell. Brianna looked left and right, but saw only a dozen locked motel room doors, blinds drawn tight. A warm breeze carried the smell of cigarette smoke, cheap cologne, and diesel. She looked down into the courtyard below and saw only the woman who worked the front desk talking to a stranger.

She went back into her room, closed the door, and sat down on her bed. It smelled of the man who had just used it—a huge, long-haired, bearded man who had scared her. Shawna usually came in afterwards, but hadn’t tonight. Brianna wondered why.

She sat on the bed and waited. One, two, three minutes.

Still, dead quiet.

She went to the door again, looked outside, and peered toward the empty chair. This time, all she could focus on were those stairs. The only thing ever blocking her from them was Shawna. Now, Shawna was not there.

She had dreamed of escaping in the early days, but, at some point after the drugs and the beatings, she had given up. As much as she hated Shawna, she needed her. She was the only thing standing between her and Jam. Not that Shawna protected her. She tried to, if she was in the right mood. More often than not Jam had his way, but at least Shawna came in afterwards with an ice pack, a glass of water, a hit to take the edge off.

A bit of kindness.

Sometimes, even Jam could be human: last week he gave her a whole day off and a gold necklace too. She couldn’t go home anyway, even if she did get out. Too much had happened. Her parents would never want her back. At least here she had a roof over her head, and food.

But those stairs.

Unguarded. Beckoning. She might never have this chance again. She turned and looked back at her room, at the soiled bed, the handcuffs, the bloodstained carpet. Dizziness began to descend—the beginnings of withdrawal. In a few more minutes her body would give way to the shaking, and her mind would go south. She thought of Hannah and wondered if she would ever see her little sister again. Her beautiful little sister.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she resisted the urge to throw up. But rather than lie back down she felt herself exiting the room, closing the door behind her, tiptoeing down the passageway, passing the empty chair, and slipping, quietly, down the side stairs. She knew she was on the move and knew it wasn’t smart, but she couldn’t seem to slow down. Her body was listening to a voice of its own.

Her feet hit the asphalt and she became disoriented. She strained to get her bearings when she realized she was standing in the back parking lot, a much more desolate spot than in front. A few cars sat parked near the woody cliff at the edge of the lot. There was not a soul in sight.

She glanced back and noticed for the first time the neon flashing sign protruding from the roof: VACANCY. Without another moment’s hesitation, she sprinted across the lot and into the brush and trees lining the dark, steep hill and disappeared instantly.

She struggled to climb the steep rocky terrain. Dressed in only a tank, a ratty old sweater, and underwear, she felt the branches scratch her skin as her small, naked feet dug into rocks. It dawned on her for the first time that she didn’t have or own shoes. She groped frantically through the darkness, fell, got back up, and kept moving. For a moment, she grabbed onto a tree and hunched over to gasp for breath, the sound of her own panting ringing in her ear.

She began to shake, slowly at first, then more so. A sob escaped her throat, as the dawning reality of what she had done began to sink in, her terror worsened by the heroin come down now upon her. She needed another hit. Her body was betraying her. She crouched down behind a fallen tree, shivering, her legs curled up to her chest like the little girl she was. Scared and alone, she started to cry.

A moment passed, and the sounds of night interrupted as fear took over. She pulled herself off the ground, bit by bit, and stood tentatively for a moment before venturing away from the shelter of the tree. The cliff had leveled off and muted light poured through branches up ahead, where it looked like an opening lay beyond.

As she approached she could now see a huge swath of green open field reflected off the light from the moon. Standing on the edge of the wood, she tilted her head and stared, in awe, at the huge open sky, the myriad stars, and that moon. She remembered as a little girl she was convinced the moon followed her, like a guardian angel. Tonight, it felt that way again.

Maybe she could go home after all? Maybe she could even go to high school? She had forgotten about the world. She had forgotten about nature. She had forgotten about God.

She looked behind, then ahead, and broke into a wild dash over the field fueled by panic, but the field was not as big as it seemed—out of nowhere tall, stiff sea grass greeted her and the land began to slope into a dark hole. The lightness that had filled the field was abruptly gone, replaced by solid blackness with no form. The moon, her friend, was nowhere in sight.

She took a few steps but instantly fell forward, as her legs gave way. She sank into the wet and muddy bottom and cast about blindly for something to hold onto, or hide behind, but there was nothing.

Only grass, mud, and shallow water.

Her shaking became more violent as she wrestled to free herself from the tangled terrain and struggled to keep going. She couldn’t scream and she couldn’t turn around. All was quiet except for the sound of her body, rustling through the tall grass, and the crickets, screeching their mating call through the marsh as it echoed off the water and in between the leaves.

And then a new noise.

The sound of splashing.

Confused, she turned to glance behind. But when she did so, her heart reflexively clenched, sending searing pain through her body. The figure came out of the darkness and no longer cared to be quiet, or hidden. It splashed angrily toward her.

She had been followed.

Just then the weight of a body bore down on her tiny shoulders. She crumpled and smashed into the muddy bottom. Beefy, angry hands grabbed her legs and pulled her backwards as she clawed forward through the sludge. She thought of her little sister, the bedroom they had shared, her dog Wolfie.

Even her mom.

She wasn’t going to survive this, she knew. And now that she was caught, she didn’t even want to. It wasn’t she who had forgotten God, she realized in that moment. It was God who had forgotten her.

ONE

The back of the man’s jacket was the first thing Bella saw when she strode into Billy’s office: FBI.

Malloy, she thought in a flash.

This must be Malloy.

Billy rose to his feet and the man, startled, turned to see Bella in the doorway, her long, strawberry blond hair hiding the black and gold detective shield dangling from her neck. She wore fitted jeans, a white ribbed tank, and army-green canvas wedge sneakers. A nine mm Glock was holstered neatly at her side.

At 6 foot 5, the man’s height lent stature to his burly, grizzly-like build, as did his unruly jet-black hair and beard. Dressed in prototypical federal agent garb—khakis and an L.L. Bean polo—he greeted Bella with a crooked smile and a look of surprise.

“Special Agent Walt Malloy,” he boomed in a deep voice as they shook hands.

“Bella de Franco,” she replied evenly.

“Detective Bella de Franco,” Billy corrected, emphasizing her title, as he came around to the front of his desk and gave her a hug.

Malloy stood stiffly and his eyes blazed into Bella as she exchanged words with Billy. Malloy remained standing even after Billy sat back down, and did not take a seat himself until Bella was seated in the worn, brown leather swivel chair beside him. Chivalrous, she noted.

Her favorite quality in a man.

“You seem particularly chipper this morning,” Billy noted to Bella, who grinned.

She was wide awake, fueled by both the double shot of espresso she downed on her way in and the high that always came from being called to work a homicide. Two weeks mandatory vacation and a week more catching up on paperwork had just about done her in.

“Happy to be back in the saddle, that’s all. Call me crazy, but vacation isn’t what it’s cracked up to be,” she said with a light laugh.

“Now that’s a first,” said Billy warily. “You ever hear of anyone not liking vacation, Walt?”

“No, can’t say that I have,” Malloy answered, intrigued. “Maybe you’re just going to the wrong kinds of places?”

“Only place I go when I’m not working is into my own head. That’s why it’s no fun,” Bella joked, though Billy knew she meant it.

“How ya doing, kiddo? All good?” Billy asked in a serious tone.

“All good,” she replied a little too quickly.

Billy nodded. A few seconds of silence passed as Malloy looked back and forth between them.

“So where’s your better half?” Billy asked. “He’s late.” Billy looked aggravated.

“I didn’t know I had a better half,” joked Bella. “Or any half, for that matter.”

“Only when you need it, which is today for sure,” Billy said as he checked his watch.

“If he said he was coming he’ll be here,” Bella assured him.

As soon as the words popped out she regretted them. Why was she vouching for Mack? For all she knew he wouldn’t come in at all. She had spent a mere week of her life with him last month working a homicide. They hadn’t even spoken since wrapping it up. Truth was, she had no idea if he was on his way in. It was 7:25 a.m. For all she knew, he was hung over somewhere after a late night on the town. He probably didn’t even remember her name.

She turned her attention to Malloy. Billy had told her Malloy ran a federal joint task force dedicated to breaking up underage prostitution rings in tri-state area suburbs, and that Malloy had specifically requested their Sex Crimes Unit be involved. Bella had liked the idea in theory and still did, but wasn’t sure what kind of havoc it would wreak on her daily schedule. She had about enough havoc already as far as she could tell.

Before Bella could ask Malloy about his work, Billy’s face lit up and there, hulking in the doorway, stood Mack, a large cup of coffee in one hand and a cell in the other. He had on his signature black tee, black jeans, and a pair of black Vans with no socks. His holster and gun were strapped under his arms. He was not as scruffy as Bella remembered. He had shaved, and it looked like he might even have gotten a haircut, though his wavy hair still rested below his ears. He scanned the room quickly, put his phone into his back pocket, and extended a hand to Malloy.

“Detective Jimmy Menendez. Call me Mack.” He introduced himself to Malloy with a quick smile. At 6’2”, he was almost Malloy’s height.

“Special Agent Walt Malloy,” came the loud reply as he assessed Mack. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming in.”

Mack gave Billy a quick fist bump and then looked at Bella and smiled, a real smile, his first since walking in. He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. His cologne was strong and he smelled good. Bella felt unexpectedly rattled.

“OK, let’s get down to business. Close the door, will you?” Billy asked Mack.

Mack closed the door, grabbed a fold-out chair from against the wall with one arm, and placed it a few inches from Bella. Billy nodded to Malloy, and Malloy began to speak.

“Last year I got permission to head up a task force with the sole purpose of breaking up underage prostitution rings. We had our eye on one in particular operating out of the Haven Motel on I-95 when three girls from Jamesport disappeared. You may have heard about it?”

He paused to see if any of them had. Only Billy nodded.

“We were brought in to help with the missing persons case, though no one knew we had the Haven under surveillance. They just needed help with the search. But a few weeks later we went in for a bust, suspecting a connection. By the time we got there the place was clear. We were a day too late,” Malloy said ruefully before he continued.

“A few months ago we got word the Haven was back in business. I decided this time around it would be smart to get some help. I called your captain and asked for cooperation,” Malloy said to Bella and Mack as he looked at Billy. “He agreed. Our plan was to get you guys up and running by end of summer.”

Bella’s and Mack’s eyes flickered with recognition, as each remembered Billy telling them about the “doozy” on its way into the unit.

Malloy’s face changed suddenly.

“This morning, the body of a young girl was found in the marsh one mile from the motel. I haven’t seen her. Apparently, it’s real ugly.”

“Who is she?” Billy asked.

“We don’t know. Hasn’t been identified yet.”

He paused and waited for a reaction, but didn’t get one. Bella, Mack, and Billy held hardened, blank expressions. He went on.

“We can’t afford to be diverted by a murder investigation now. We’re under the radar. The local guys, even the state police, don’t know we’re there and we want to keep it that way.” He exhaled before elaborating. “Our friends over at State have a couple of detectives on the scene as we speak. The town of Jamesport has one detective on the payroll and he’s poking around too. I doubt he’s worked a murder in a long time, if ever.”

“How would this work?” Billy asked. “What do you need?”

“I’d like a couple of your guys involved in the murder investigation and reporting back only to me.”

“It’s way out of our jurisdiction. What would be our basis?” Billy asked.

Malloy nodded as though he knew this question was coming.

“I’ve got an angle,” Malloy answered. “A card was found in this girl’s pocket with a number—718 area code. Don’t know where it will lead, but the area code alone suggests a connection between the victim and your jurisdiction. It’s tenuous, but it’s enough to justify snooping around.”

“How did we hear about it?” asked Billy.

“Through me. Official story will be we work together on the task force and I mentioned it to you. I don’t care if the local guys hear about the task force, I just don’t want them knowing about the sting. I need people on the inside of this investigation who can keep me in the loop.”

Bella, Mack, and Billy nodded.

“No one up there you can trust?” Mack asked.

“Can’t really afford to. Those monitoring prostitution in the area have alternatively turned a blind eye or arrested the girls. Most of them see these girls as breaking the law. They don’t see them as victims.”

“Well, prostitution is illegal,” Mack pointed out.

“It is. But the girls in this ring and others like it are underage, some as young as twelve. And what used to be a local problem has turned into a whole new ballgame—girls are being trafficked, in state and across state lines. Bought and sold, forced into sex slavery. These girls are not criminals—they are victims. But most don’t see them that way.”

“You’re saying literally bought and sold? Here, in the US?” Mack sounded flabbergasted.

“Every day. It’s a burgeoning national epidemic, and it’s happening right under our noses,” Malloy informed them.

“Where do they come from?” Bella asked.

“Many are illegal immigrants who have the threat of deportation used against them. Increasingly, American girls who have run away from home or from an abusive foster care family are targeted. Within forty-eight hours on the street these girls are picked up by pimps and forced into prostitution or sold.”

The room was dead quiet. Malloy went on.

“In our case, the pimp we have our eye on is an infamous, violent ex-con named Jam. He has been hiding in the Haven with a couple of German Shepherds for weeks,” Malloy said. “If it turns out this girl was in his stable, believe me, Jam’s our guy.”

Billy looked aggrieved and Bella knew what he was thinking. The only thing he hated more than sex crime was sex crime against a minor.

“Will we be able to hit him with federal charges if we can prove he bought or sold her?” Billy asked.

“Absolutely. We’ll add a murder charge to a trafficking indictment, if we can get one. The task force has been categorized under Human Trafficking, so we’re operating under the jurisdiction of the US Attorney’s Office. This elevates our importance at the bureau,” Malloy pointed out. “Domestic Terrorism and Human Trafficking have become the feds’ two main causes, so we are on the radar, big time.”

What he didn’t add was that, with this sting, his own professional status was on the radar too.

Billy looked back and forth between Bella and Mack.

“You in?” Billy asked Mack point-blank.

“Not soon enough,” Mack answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“I want Bella on this,” Billy said calmly to Malloy without even bothering to ask her. “She’s one of my best guys. You want her too. Believe me.”

The three men looked at Bella and waited a full moment before hearing her reply.

“I’m in,” she said quietly.

Mack hung his head. Malloy looked pleased.

“Then we’re done,” Billy exhaled. “You two will report to me and Walt only. I’ll coordinate on our end with regard to where that phone number leads, see what we can find. My office will provide whatever support we can.”

“Thank you. There’s a high-level briefing tonight downtown,” Malloy informed Mack and Bella. “It’s for a select group. I can get you in and I’d like you both to go. You’re gonna need an idea of what you will be up against if this turns out the way I think it will. Cool?”

“No problem,” Bella agreed.

“Yeah, I can make that happen,” Mack chimed in.

“Okay. Great.” Malloy looked relieved and checked his watch. “I’m heading back up. I can lead you to the crime scene. Medical examiner’s probably there by now.”

Mack and Bella nodded in unison and Billy shook Malloy’s hand as the two exchanged a few words. When Malloy walked out of the office, Billy turned to Bella and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze.

“You good?” He searched her eyes.

“Good as ever,” she said with a wink. He couldn’t tell if she meant it.

“I’ll check in soon,” she added sweetly. Then she turned to Mack. “You coming?”

“Yeah, be there in a sec,” he said blandly.

She took the hint and walked out of the office, leaving Mack and Billy alone. Mack shut the door lightly behind him.

“What’s up?” Billy asked. He looked curious.

Mack hesitated.

“I just want to make sure… you think she’s up for this? You really think she’s OK?”

Billy was confused, then realized Mack was referring to Bella.

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

Mack shot him a look of disbelief.

“Maybe it’s too soon to be working another homicide? Especially of a young girl?”

Mack sounded like he thought this should be obvious.

Billy suddenly got it. He knew Mack and Bella had gotten along well when he put them together last month. It was a gamble that had paid off. Billy had also noticed Mack’s protectiveness over Bella when the case wrapped up. But that was Mack. He was a protective kind of guy.

But here they were, one month later, and Mack’s concern for Bella had clearly lingered. Mack hadn’t just cared about her then. He cared about her still. Now.

“Ya know what?” Billy replied with a glimmer of a smile. “She’s a lot tougher than she looks. I don’t know how, or why. But she is. And anyway, she isn’t going back out alone.” Billy winked. “Now she has you.”

TWO

The blinding sun ground into the asphalt as Bella and Mack climbed into the dark Ford sedan parked out back, its black leather seats hot to the touch. It was a scorcher for early July, and the scent of Mack’s cologne filled the airless car instantly. Bella rolled down the window, but only the smell of garbage and Big Macs came through. Mack turned the A.C. on full throttle and pulled behind Malloy’s black SUV. Ten minutes later, with the car cooled off and open road before them, Mack glanced at Bella.

“So, how’s it going?”

“Great,” she replied, light and airy. “You?”

He kept the focus on her.

“Yeah? That’s good to hear. I was wondering how you were holding up,” he said, his eyes kind.

Bella was taken aback.

“You mean being forced on vacation?”

He laughed.

“I mean after our little excursion into the burbs last month. Wasn’t the most pleasant way to spend time,” he said. His voice turned gentle. “Looked like it hit you hard.”

Bella squinted, as if in pain, and looked at him.

“I’ve been hit harder. No need for concern.”

She sounded defensive and she knew it, but she didn’t want to revisit the homicide they had investigated in Greenville, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about the way it affected her. He happened to be right—it had hit her hard. But she had been trapped with her thoughts for three weeks now, and all she wanted was to get her mind on something else, even if that something else was a new murder. Frankly, she was surprised he even remembered. And more surprised he seemed to care.

She changed the subject.

“What have you been up to?”

Mack let her off the hook. He told her about his decision to start working again, his meetings with the higher-ups, and how Billy was coordinating his return. Then he mentioned his old partner, Sal—how he had seen him last week for the first time in a while.

“Sal Botteli?” Bella asked.

“Yeah, you know him?” Mack looked surprised.

“Not really. We crossed paths a few years back, can’t remember why. He doesn’t work at the precinct anymore, right? Wasn’t he transferred?”

Mack looked stoic and didn’t respond. Bella had inadvertently stumbled upon a sore spot, she realized, so she remained quiet. This was the problem with real conversation, she thought to herself as she looked out the window. It was like navigating an emotional minefield. You never knew what you might step on.

When Mack finally spoke he sounded doleful, regret laced through his tone.

“I was on the beat fifteen years with Sal. We came up the ranks together. He was one of the first guys I met. We became buddies instantly.”

He paused a moment, eyes on the traffic ahead.

“I was made detective two years before him, but once he was promoted, they partnered us up in homicide. Worked it five years, day in and day out. You know how it is,” he said, looking quickly at Bella then back to the road.

“Was the best man at his wedding,” he continued. “Was there for him the day his wife left too. He was like a brother.”

Mack spoke now as though Bella was not in the car. He looked straight ahead as he talked, and Bella quietly listened. Instinctively, she had the feeling he was leading up to something that wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Anyway, not everyone’s cut out for the stuff we saw. Took a real toll on Sal.”

Bella had heard rumors over the years about the ill-famed Jimmy Menendez, the battle-hardened detective who had come from nowhere only to disappear into nowhere. She had heard of his struggles with drinking and women. She had heard of his insubordination, recklessness, pushing the envelope too far. But she had never heard a thing about Sal.

She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. Wary to pry, she turned on the radio. Mack seemed lost in his thoughts, so Bella thought about Malloy’s statement that many of the young girls getting caught up in trafficking rings were coming from bucolic suburbs across the tri-state area. They drove in silence until they pulled off at exit 39, Jamesport. There stood the Haven Motel prominently on the corner of an intersection, right next to an IHOP.

“The palace of pleasure.” Mack nodded as he peered at the Haven. “Right next door to where families bring their kids for pancakes Sunday morning,” he added as he shook his head.

The motel was a decrepit, dirty-looking two-story structure with a tiny exposed parking lot in front and a larger, more hidden lot out back. A tall neon sign at the tip of a post announced VACANCY in flashing blue. A gas station stood between the motel and the IHOP. Malloy pulled over and Mack and Bella pulled up beside him.

“The marsh is behind the motel,” Malloy informed them as he looked over at the Haven and the woods behind. “But we’re going to take the long way, through town, and enter from the other side.”

A few minutes later Bella and Mack were in the center of one of the most dazzlingly beautiful towns Bella had ever seen. As she and Mack rolled down Main Street, Bella regarded the pristine town of Jamesport.

Main Street unfolded for four glittering blocks of boutiques and cafes whose façades were a combination of faded brick, white shingle shutters, smooth creamy limestone with black-framed or all-glass windows. Money oozed out of every nook and cranny. Bella noticed tall American flags poking their way out of huge black flowerpots on every corner, waving respect for the Independence Day that had just passed.

The myriad of well-known stores—Lululemon, Calypso, Intermix, Tiffany, John Varvatos, Design Within Reach—stood under the shade of welcoming awnings. Bella spotted a huge yellow arched sign with the name BOOKLOVERS prominently etched in gold leaf. The big chrome and glass window underneath displayed loads of books on display.

The deep red stop signs on every corner ensured traffic move slowly, so Bella and Mack moved at a crawl. On one corner, a historic white farmhouse with a light gray standing seam roof had been turned into a spa. On another corner, across the street, a deep red clapboard barn hosted a design, art, and antiques center which boasted thirty vendors on display inside. Landmark lofts and flagstone buildings, originally designed as factories but remodeled using deep red and French-blue accents, were now occupied by high-tech companies. The two supermarkets in town were of the gourmet variety: Whole Foods and Fresh.

Once Bella and Mack reached the end of Main Street she noticed a walking path running along and through the middle of town. On one side of the path was a split-rail fence; on the other, a low dry stone wall. Bella could see women pushing baby strollers, women running in groups of two or four, and women biking. Bella saw three women sitting together on a long bench whispering and laughing and noticed a fourth woman, at the far end of the bench, who sat alone staring up at the sky.

Mack turned left over a stone bridge arched above the wide river that cut through town. As they crossed, Bella looked down at the river at two crew team boats that glided seamlessly by. The bridge poured motorists onto Ashford Avenue, where a huge stone and glass library rested on a hill overlooking the sound. A white-tented amphitheater used for summer concerts and musical performances stood next door.

Mack followed Malloy as he made a sharp right off Cranberry onto a long, narrow semi-paved road. A few minutes later Malloy stopped and got out of his car, walking to Mack and Bella’s car. He instructed them to continue to the end of the road and gave directions to his surveillance van, where he told them to go afterwards.

“Remember, Billy sent you.”

Mack and Bella continued down the long road lined with poplars, arborvitae, and evergreens in neat, straight columns. Bella speculated why the road was called Cranberry Drive if there wasn’t a cranberry tree in sight. Who named these streets anyway, and why did all suburban roads look the same? she wondered. It seemed exact specimens had been planted on block after block. Where were the wildflowers, hibiscus, bougainvillea, rose bushes? The horticulture was unbelievably predictable in the suburbs, she noticed. Just like the people. She smiled.

They stopped at a blue and white police barricade erected at an entrance to a field behind it. Bella noticed a large drawing of Northrop State Park’s map erected on a frame near the road, which showed acres of open fields, bike paths, playgrounds, and tennis courts. From the visuals on the sign, the park rolled down to a beach on the Long Island Sound.

Out of nowhere, a large hand tapped loudly on Mack’s window and an officer gestured to roll down the window. After introductions and showing of IDs, the officer moved aside the wooden makeshift gate and Mack gingerly rolled the car over the grass field in the direction the officer pointed.

Bella noticed a hub of activity a few hundred feet in front where the field gave way to tall, stiff grass.

The marsh.

Mack pulled the car under the shade of a big oak next to a shiny white police car with the words Jamesport Police emblazoned in purple on its side. He shut off the engine and turned to look at Bella. He wanted to apologize for having begun a conversation he couldn’t finish. He wanted to thank her for not pressing him, for not forcing the issue.

But he was too late.

As soon as the car stopped, she exited almost instantly so that all he could see was the back of her long, wavy hair and her hand on her Glock, as she walked quickly and with purpose past the DO NOT ENTER sign in front of her, straight for the marsh.

THREE

“Jesus Christ! Can I get some help here?”

The man’s aggravated gruff voice pierced through the hum of activity at the edge of the marsh as he ripped off his CSI jacket and threw it to the ground. The parameter he was staking with string covered a wide swath of land around the water’s edge. Bella watched from a few feet away until she heard a deep voice behind her.

“Lieutenant Manning, Major Crime Squad.”

She turned to see an extremely tall, well-built, clean-shaven and serious-looking man. He looked and acted military. “You two are?”

Mack stood next to Bella.

“Detectives Menendez and de Franco,” Mack answered. “Bronx SVU.”

Manning looked surprised.

“And you are here why?”

“Our captain sent us. We’ve got a possible connection between this victim and a place we’ve been watching back home,” Mack said smoothly.

“How is that? We don’t even know who she is,” Manning observed.

“There was a card in her pocket for a bodega we know,” Mack countered.

This seemed to satisfy Manning.

“You’ve cleared it with the chief, I presume?”

“Our captain has,” Mack replied.

“This must be our hero,” Bella crooned as she bent down and rubbed the neck of a yellow Lab that had run up beside her dragging a cop behind. The dog wagged his tail wildly, licked her face, and nuzzled his head into her thighs.

“All yours,” said the cop. He handed Bella the leash indifferently and walked away without another word. Bella held the dog’s leash and watched as the cop made his way to a couple of buddies close by.

“What is this place?” Bella asked Manning as she looked around.

“It’s part of Northrop State Park,” Manning replied. “But for Manhattan residents who summer here, it’s their summer beach.”

“Where’s the beach?” Bella was confused.

“On the other side of the marsh. Fills up with folks from the city from Memorial Day on,” he replied.

Officially town property, the marsh itself was used by the local school system as part of a nature conservatory program. It rambled along the northern side of the park, came up against a parking lot, then veered off and cut through the eastern border and an open field.

“So lots of city people milling around this time of year?” Bella asked.

“This time of year, you bet,” Manning replied.

“Found anything yet? Besides the girl?” Mack asked.

“We’ve got a couple of guys in the field right now taking a look,” Manning responded.

“Pretty big area,” Mack pointed out. “Think you’ll have success?”

“Sure as hell hope so.” Manning smirked.

“Would hate to have to wait for the autopsy. Nice to be able to get started with something sooner,” Mack commented.

“I hear you. May have to wait though. The parameter’s pretty big—its

gonna take a while,” Manning observed.

“Who is the commanding detective?” asked Bella.

“That would be John Harris. Poor sucker,” he snickered. “I’ll send Chief Carey over to say hello,” he offered as he walked away.