“No, ma’am. We assume he removed the battery or destroyed the phone,” the cop said.
“Have you found anything else?” Hannah couldn’t get the girl’s desperate eyes out of her head. Help me.
The cop tapped his pen on his notebook. “The club has surveillance cameras in the lot, but they don’t have a hundred percent coverage, and the section of the lot you were attacked in technically belongs to the motel. No camera coverage there, so we don’t have an image of your assailants. Surveillance cameras caught the black SUV on its way out of the parking lot, but the license plate was obscured, probably intentionally. We questioned the Carnival staff and did a sweep of the area. But the club borders on an industrial park. Most of the surrounding businesses are closed at night, and there isn’t much foot traffic.” He flipped the page. “The clerk at the motel denied that anyone fitting those descriptions checked in today. We did find another motel guest who thinks he saw a few other underage girls going into rooms, but he wasn’t close enough to be sure.” The cop closed his notebook. “Our fingerprint tech managed to lift several prints off the inside of the rental car.”
“But hundreds of people have been in that car. It’s a rental.”
“The prints are likely recent. Fingerprints evaporate, especially in this desert environment. I’d like to send our tech over to take your prints for comparison.”
“Of course,” Hannah said. “But I valet parked several times yesterday, with clients in the car.”
“It’s still our best lead.” He stacked the envelope of pictures with his notebook. “I have your cell number and address in New York. If we get a match on the fingerprints or I have more pictures for you to view, I’ll call you.”
“But you’re not hopeful?” she asked.
The cop was quiet for a few seconds. “My team specializes in investigating possible cases of human sex trafficking. From the scenario you described and what we’ve discovered at the hotel, we suspect she was being trafficked. One of the men with her could have been her pimp or her boyfriend.”
“She’s a child.” Even as she protested, Hannah saw the truth in his assessment. Outrage and sickness welled in her throat.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Our best bet is the fingerprints. If we’ve arrested either one of them previously, we’ll have their prints in the database. If the prints we lifted from the car aren’t theirs, then we might be out of luck. We’ll be watching the motel, but her pimp will probably move to a different location after tonight.”
Hannah’s mind spun. She moved her foot. An ache shot up her ankle. No doubt she’d discover more bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t care. Somewhere in the city, a young girl was being victimized, maybe killed, and the authorities were powerless.
“We appreciate your efforts, ma’am,” Douglas said. Despite his words, his eyes told Hannah he didn’t expect to find either the man or the girl.
“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” she asked. There must be something.
“I’ll check with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and the FBI’s National Crime Information Center for missing females who fit the basic description you provided. We’ll keep looking. The odds are against us, but sometimes we get lucky.”
“I understand,” Hannah said. “Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you. And take care, ma’am. Keep in mind that he stole your purse and phone. He has personal information about you. Have you canceled your credit cards?”
“Yes. I did that while I was in the ER.” She’d been carrying a small evening bag containing just the bare essentials, but her wallet had been inside.
“Be on the lookout for identity theft.”
Hannah nodded. The cop left, leaving her empty and hopeless.
“I’m sorry.” Royce moved to the bedside. He reached for her hand, then stopped with a frown. “I know you wanted to help that girl.”
“He was going to hurt her. Really hurt her. I could see it in his face.” The images were permanently branded into Hannah’s mind. The cold anger in the man’s eyes. The girl’s fear. Was she still alive?
“I’m sorry.” Royce shifted, glancing toward the door as if willing Grant to appear.
Grant . . .
Last night’s incident would disturb him. “Look, my brother doesn’t need to know all the details.”
Grant had suffered post-traumatic stress. He was doing better since he’d left the military, but crimes against kids were Grant’s weak spot. She didn’t want anything to disrupt the peace he’d found or impede his progress. Why should they both suffer?