But he would. She knew that without a doubt. She was more worried that he’d take chances. He seemed to view himself as more dispensable than other people.
“It’s you I’m worried about,” she said. “You’ll be alone.”
“No need. I’m durable.” With a quick glance to make sure no one was in sight, he gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll call you.” Mac turned and left.
Stella returned to the conference room.
Lance was on his way out. “Come with me. We have a woman filing a missing persons report for her teenage daughter. The missing girl’s name is Janelle Hall.”
He led the way to an interview room. The woman was slumped at the table and didn’t look old enough to have a teenager. As they walked in, she jumped to her feet. Sniffing, she wiped bloodshot eyes and shook her red bob out of her face. “Do you know where she is?”
“Mrs. Hall?” Stella held out her hand. “I’m Detective Dane. How can I help?”
“I’m not married. You can call me Tonya,” the woman said. “My daughter is missing. She’s seventeen. She’s run off before, but she always comes back.”
Stella steered her back to a chair. “Has she ever been in trouble?”
Tonya sniffed. “Yeah. She got picked up for smoking pot in school before she dropped out. The judge let her off with some community service.”
A drug user. Strike one.
“What does Janelle look like?”
Tonya fished a photo out of her purse and handed it to Stella. Janelle was a slim girl with dark hair that fell to her shoulders.
Both Dena and Missy had dark hair. Strike two.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Stella asked.
“We had a fight Friday night. She walked out. I haven’t seen her since.” She patted her pockets as if looking for a pack of cigarettes. “She always comes back in the morning.”
Friday night. Strike three.
Stella softened her voice. “What did you fight about?”
“She’s dating another loser,” Tonya sniffed. “I don’t want her to end up like me. I had her at fifteen.”
“We’re going to take all your personal information and get copies of this picture out to our officers on patrol. We’ll need names and numbers of Janelle’s friends, places she likes to hang out, that sort of thing.” Stella rose. “I’ll get you some paper.”
Nodding, Tonya wiped her red nose on her sleeve.
Stella and Lance retreated to the hallway. Stella paced the length of the corridor and back. “Hopefully this kid hasn’t returned because she’s angry, but Janelle went missing the night after we found Dena.”
“You know how many people go missing,” Lance said. “Chances are, this kid’s case isn’t related. She’s probably pissed at her mother.”
“You’re right.” But Stella hated to think of another young girl out on the street while a predator hunted.
“Same thing with your informant. Are you sure Gianna is missing?” Lance asked. “Maybe she knocked over a lamp by accident. Maybe she’s avoiding you.”
Stella chewed on her lip “But not showing up for dialysis would be suicide.”
“You’ve said before that the kid has it rough.”
Stella didn’t doubt that Gianna was depressed. Her life was out of her control and full of physical misery. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t rule out the possibility that Gianna was suicidal. They didn’t even know for certain that the killer had taken another woman.
“I have to catch up with Brody.”
Lance nodded. “I’ll get the paperwork started with Ms. Hall.”
“Thanks,” Stella headed for her cubicle where her blazer lay draped over the back of her chair. A yellow clasp envelope sat in her inbox. Her name and the station’s address were printed on the front.
She knew it was from him. Donning gloves, she used a letter opener to slit the top.
A sheet of paper slid out. A single sentence was typed in the center of the eight by ten white sheet.
I HAVE NUMBER 3.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“What is the purpose of the notes?” Stella climbed the Spivaks’ front stoop.
Next to her, Brody scanned the street. “He’s taunting you like he did in the interview.”
She pictured Spivak’s smug leer and shivered.
“God, I hope they know where to find him.” Stella rang the doorbell. Another girl’s life depended on it. But did he have Gianna or Janelle?
“Even if they do, they might not be willing to share.” Brody said. “We’re trying to put their son in prison.”
The senior Mr. Spivak was a tall and tidy man. He wore his plaid, short-sleeved shirt tucked in, and a sharp crease bisected the exact center of his jeans. The shriveled woman who stood next to him was colorless, gray from her hair to her eyes to her washed-out housedress.