Read Online The Only Witness by Pamela Beason - Free Book Online
Authors: Pamela Beason
Tags: Mystery
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He whipped out his notepad and jotted the information down. "Was there a logo?"
"You mean like a picture? Ummm ... no."
"The type of van?"
"Well, it was big and gray, and it had mirror windows. But the writing on the side, that's got to be important, right? I mean, that's a weird name, Talking Hands Ranch, right? Like maybe it's a deaf school or something, Talking Hands? So now can I get an Amber Alert?"
He'd already explained to her that they needed a reasonable suspicion of who the kidnapper was and the vehicle used. "We can't do anything without a plate or a person."
A sob rasped through the phone. Oh great, now he was making young girls cry. "But that's really important information, the Talking Hands Ranch name," he told her. "I'll look into that right away."
His phone beeped the second-call tone, and he quickly ended the call with Brittany and switched over. It was Mason, the department's resident geek.
"It's gonna take a week to sort through all the stuff on this kid's computer, Finn."
"Keep an eye out for any messages from Charles Wakefield—that's the baby's father."
"Is that another kid?"
"College kid now. He's nineteen."
"Okay, still a kid, he's probably on Facebook and Twitter. W-A-K-E-F-I-E-L-D? Any relationship to the County Executive?"
"Son."
"Ugh. Well, like I said, it's gonna take awhile to wade around in all this muck. But I have already come across one interesting item I wanted you to know about."
"What?"
"Brittany Morgan routinely visits this website called YoMama."
"Yes, I found out about it this morning. It's part of the school program for pregnant teens. I've asked for access to their email loops."
"There's all kinds of stuff about losing weight and breastfeeding and diaper rash and what to feed a baby. Can you believe that? They have to be told what to feed their babies?"
"And?" Finn prompted.
"Brittany's user name is Hot-dash-T. Get it—Hottie?"
"I get it." Sounded like a porn name. Why did so many teenage girls act like skanks these days?
"She connected there with someone named SKORGirl." Mason spelled the user name for him.
Finn rubbed his forehead. Daisy Taylor's face appeared at the window. He held up five fingers to indicate he'd be back soon. "Is that name supposed to mean something to me?"
"SK, then OR—it might be Serena Kinsey, the girl in Oregon whose baby Tika went missing from her yard a month ago. Brittany was emailing her before that and they were both bitching about how boring it was to be stuck with a baby every night. Then after Tika disappeared, Hot-T's mail is all about how SKORGirl didn't do anything wrong and shouldn't beat up on herself. And then last night, at nine-thirty, Hot-T sent SKORGirl a message: 'Now we're truly like sisters. I know exactly what you're going through. Because now Ivy's gone too.'" Mason paused. "Do you think these girls conspired to get rid of their babies?"
It was at least an interesting coincidence. "Which town was the Kinsey case in?"
Finn heard faint typing sounds, then, "Portland."
"Thanks, Mason. Keep at it." Finn called the station, assigned a tech to research business records on Talking Hands Ranch and call Portland for a copy of the Kinsey case report. With the desk sergeant, he confirmed that the garbage bin detail had so far turned up no human remains or baby items.
"Unless you count a lot of used diapers, of course. We've received plenty of complaints, though," the sergeant said. "The phone's ringing off the wall with people asking why the cops are wasting taxpayer dollars going through their garbage. They also want to know when the garbage will be picked up."
In other words, they still had nothing. Finn rubbed his burning eyelids. Ashley Kowalski's limp form falling from the refrigerator flashed though his brain. The farm dog digging up baby John Doe. Tiny corpses. Shit. Why couldn't he turn off that mental video player?
Kidnapping or murder? Where was Ivy Rose Morgan? He remembered a list of special services
"You mean like a picture? Ummm ... no."
"The type of van?"
"Well, it was big and gray, and it had mirror windows. But the writing on the side, that's got to be important, right? I mean, that's a weird name, Talking Hands Ranch, right? Like maybe it's a deaf school or something, Talking Hands? So now can I get an Amber Alert?"
He'd already explained to her that they needed a reasonable suspicion of who the kidnapper was and the vehicle used. "We can't do anything without a plate or a person."
A sob rasped through the phone. Oh great, now he was making young girls cry. "But that's really important information, the Talking Hands Ranch name," he told her. "I'll look into that right away."
His phone beeped the second-call tone, and he quickly ended the call with Brittany and switched over. It was Mason, the department's resident geek.
"It's gonna take a week to sort through all the stuff on this kid's computer, Finn."
"Keep an eye out for any messages from Charles Wakefield—that's the baby's father."
"Is that another kid?"
"College kid now. He's nineteen."
"Okay, still a kid, he's probably on Facebook and Twitter. W-A-K-E-F-I-E-L-D? Any relationship to the County Executive?"
"Son."
"Ugh. Well, like I said, it's gonna take awhile to wade around in all this muck. But I have already come across one interesting item I wanted you to know about."
"What?"
"Brittany Morgan routinely visits this website called YoMama."
"Yes, I found out about it this morning. It's part of the school program for pregnant teens. I've asked for access to their email loops."
"There's all kinds of stuff about losing weight and breastfeeding and diaper rash and what to feed a baby. Can you believe that? They have to be told what to feed their babies?"
"And?" Finn prompted.
"Brittany's user name is Hot-dash-T. Get it—Hottie?"
"I get it." Sounded like a porn name. Why did so many teenage girls act like skanks these days?
"She connected there with someone named SKORGirl." Mason spelled the user name for him.
Finn rubbed his forehead. Daisy Taylor's face appeared at the window. He held up five fingers to indicate he'd be back soon. "Is that name supposed to mean something to me?"
"SK, then OR—it might be Serena Kinsey, the girl in Oregon whose baby Tika went missing from her yard a month ago. Brittany was emailing her before that and they were both bitching about how boring it was to be stuck with a baby every night. Then after Tika disappeared, Hot-T's mail is all about how SKORGirl didn't do anything wrong and shouldn't beat up on herself. And then last night, at nine-thirty, Hot-T sent SKORGirl a message: 'Now we're truly like sisters. I know exactly what you're going through. Because now Ivy's gone too.'" Mason paused. "Do you think these girls conspired to get rid of their babies?"
It was at least an interesting coincidence. "Which town was the Kinsey case in?"
Finn heard faint typing sounds, then, "Portland."
"Thanks, Mason. Keep at it." Finn called the station, assigned a tech to research business records on Talking Hands Ranch and call Portland for a copy of the Kinsey case report. With the desk sergeant, he confirmed that the garbage bin detail had so far turned up no human remains or baby items.
"Unless you count a lot of used diapers, of course. We've received plenty of complaints, though," the sergeant said. "The phone's ringing off the wall with people asking why the cops are wasting taxpayer dollars going through their garbage. They also want to know when the garbage will be picked up."
In other words, they still had nothing. Finn rubbed his burning eyelids. Ashley Kowalski's limp form falling from the refrigerator flashed though his brain. The farm dog digging up baby John Doe. Tiny corpses. Shit. Why couldn't he turn off that mental video player?
Kidnapping or murder? Where was Ivy Rose Morgan? He remembered a list of special services
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