For a case this high profile, a month was a long time for such a key piece of evidence to go unnoticed.
“I don’t know. We checked under the mattress. Could we have missed it? Yes. I mean, it was jammed in an odd location. And we were there to learn more about Haley. We were looking for any hints of what could have happened, get a sense of her personality, her secrets. We weren’t taking everything apart—we were trying to be sensitive to the family. Could the note have been put there after we searched the room? That’s also possible. But if someone planted the note, then why?”
“Attention,” Evelyn suggested. She’d seen it before, sometimes a misguided attempt to get more manpower on a case, and sometimes just to get the victim’s family back in the limelight. “The girl’s mom has been on the news—”
“Exactly,” Sophia agreed. “Linda Varner doesn’t need a stunt to get more attention for her daughter’s case. The woman quit her job. She does nothing but try to get resources for this. But it’s all about finding Haley. She wouldn’t plant evidence that might lead us in the wrong direction.”
“You sure?”
“You’re the profiler,” Sophia said. “But speaking as a cop—and a mother myself? Linda Varner appears to be the devastated mother of a missing child. Do they sometimes do things they shouldn’t, trying to make sense of what they’re going through? Sure. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. Linda knows I’m working the case. I talk to her every day.”
“Every day?” Evelyn interrupted.
“Yep. Every single day, she shows up here, regardless of how many times I tell her I’ll call if I have anything new. We might as well have a standing appointment. And anyway, Linda confirmed the note was written in the daughter’s handwriting.”
“The mom—”
“It’s not Linda’s writing,” Sophia broke in. “Could she have gotten someone else to write it? I guess so, but then we’re looking at a conspiracy.”
Evelyn nodded. Conspiracies were relatively rare. The simplest explanations were most often the real ones.
“So, even if we think someone else put it there, Haley still wrote it.”
“Which leaves us at the same place.”
“Right.” Sophia’s shoulders slumped, and Evelyn suddenly saw the dark circles underneath the detective’s heavy-handed concealer.
The dark circles weren’t all from this case, either, and Evelyn realized Sophia was older than she’d initially thought—probably nearing forty.
“She was into something she shouldn’t have been,” Sophia said, ticking off possibilities on her fingers. “Or she knew something she shouldn’t have known, saw something she shouldn’t have seen. Or she was a victim who’d decided to finally tell, and someone wanted to shut her up.” Sophia shrugged. “Whatever it is...”
“She almost certainly knew who grabbed her,” Evelyn finished.
“And if Haley’s note is right,” Sophia said softly, “that person has already killed her.”
Early the next morning, the door to the broom-closet-cum-office burst open, and Evelyn looked up from the Haley Cooke case file. She’d left late last night and returned early enough that she might as well have just slept at the station. She’d barely had time to swing by the BAU office first, squeezing in a quick chat with Kyle on her hands-free while she drove to the station and he headed to his physical therapy appointment.
Standing in the doorway now was Quincy Palmer, the grizzled, veteran detective Sophia had introduced her to last night. He made up for having no hair on the top of his head with a thick salt-and-pepper beard, wore his detective’s shield dangling around his neck even inside the police station and didn’t seem capable of cracking a smile. She’d also learned he had poor boundaries when it came to other people’s food in the police fridge. Her 2:00 a.m. dinner had been a candy bar from the vending machine after he’d eaten her pasta.
“You’re not going to be happy about this,” Quincy announced.
“What?” Sophia asked, barely looking up from the report she was reading.
“Morning news.” He turned and headed back the way he’d come, offering no more information.
“Shit.” Sophia dropped the report on the table and followed.
Evelyn trailed behind them, not even trying to keep up. They turned into the break room—it smelled of gunpowder and body odor—on the other side of the station. There were a handful of patrol cops inside, drinking coffee and chatting before their early morning shift started. A small TV was on in the corner, the sound low.
Quincy turned it up loud enough that the other cops scowled at him and left the room. Sophia and Quincy ignored them. Evelyn gave them rueful nods and stepped out of the way.
There, standing in front of a big white colonial in well-tailored dress pants and a bright blue sweater, was a middle-aged woman with dark blond hair and sad blue eyes. Microphones were pointed at her from all directions, as though she’d called a news conference.
“Linda Varner,” Sophia said unnecessarily. Haley’s name had been a staple on the morning news for a month, but it had been a while since Evelyn had seen her mom in front of a camera.
“Where’s the husband?” Evelyn wondered. The first few days after Haley’s disappearance, she’d gotten used to seeing Linda Varner speaking into the microphones, with Pete Varner standing slightly behind her, silently holding her hand. Always playing the part of the dutiful husband, and yet Evelyn had gotten the feeling it was for show. “What’s going on? Do they still camp out at her house or did she call them?”
Sophia shook her head, but it seemed to be at the TV rather than any response to Evelyn’s question. “Don’t do it, Linda.”
“My daughter left behind a note,” Linda said, her voice strong and clear.
“Damn it,” Sophia snapped. “What the hell is she thinking?”
“She must have called the press,” Evelyn said softly. What a disaster.
“What did the note say?” one reporter asked.
“When did you get it?” another called.
“I found the note last night,” Haley’s mother said in the same steady, even voice, almost as if she was reading from a script. “It said...” Her voice suddenly broke, and her chin dropped to her chest before she tipped her head back, looking determined. “It said she feared for her life.”
“Well, not exactly,” Sophia noted. “I can’t believe she’s doing this. She knows better.”
“It said she knew someone was coming after her.” Suddenly, Linda was staring directly, unnervingly, into the camera. The shot zoomed in close on her face. “My daughter suspected someone was stalking her. That person grabbed her. But I know she’s still out there. I know she wants to come home. So,
