Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Sunday, September 22

2:07 p.m.

Guilt ate at people.

Guilt for betraying a spouse.

Guilt for not being able to protect a child.

Guilt for losing your family's entire fortune to a blackmailer.

Wesley Portman had been murdered by his guilt.

The body was already on its way to the coroner's office. And Ava… She would need somewhere to stay tonight. Somewhere the nightmares couldn't touch her. If that was even possible.

Leigh cut through the seal securing the Portmans' beach house back door to its frame and crossed the threshold. To avoid the media parked out front. It was the same newswoman, the one who seemed to be everywhere at once and apprised of everyone else's secrets. Caroline. The second the news caught wind of Wesley Portman's suicide, judgment would be passed, but Leigh was almost positive he hadn't had anything to do with Elyse's disappearance. Because in the end, he really had loved his family most of all. He just hadn't been able to handle disappointing them.

A hint of staleness clogged the back of her throat. The crime scene technicians had shut off the air conditioning, letting the entire house stew under heat and humidity and traces of blood. The cleanup unit hadn't prioritized the scene. She breathed through her mouth as she had at others just like this. After the violence had already occurred and everything was quiet.

The hardwood creaked with the addition of her weight as she closed the door behind her. Gulf Shores PD had already been through every inch of the house, but there were still too many pieces to this puzzle that didn't fit. No body, for one. Units had scoured the beaches in the past twenty-four hours, going as far as to wade into the marshes and dunes. There was no sign of Elyse. No blood trail to follow or vehicle tread to tell Leigh she'd been transported elsewhere. The killer had been careful not to leave any trace behind.

The killer could've used a tarp. Had a vehicle waiting out front to dispose of the body, to ensure there wasn't a trail to follow. Then again, Ava had been in the house. She would've heard the struggle, right? Leigh had heard teens slept like the dead, but a mother's scream would certainly be enough to rouse the deepest sleeper. So why hadn't Ava walked in on her mother's attack? Leigh pulled up short of the stain of blood on the tile in the living room and gauged the layout of the house above. Directly beneath Ava's room. "If you were asleep upstairs, you would've heard the assault."

Which meant Ava's statement about her coming downstairs to find the blood had been a lie. But why? What would a fourteen-year-old girl have to gain from lying about when and how she nearly tripped over a crime scene? What was Ava trying to hide?

And if Ruby Davis and Poppy Slater's murders were committed by the same unsub—as the coroner's report suggested—was Elyse's disappearance connected? Leigh couldn't be sure. The difference in age, for one. Whoever'd murdered those girls obviously preferred victims on the younger side. Weaker. It was about dominance, manipulation. Control. The girls' remains had been recovered, on the beach and the marsh, and Elyse… Elyse's body was still missing.

But there was still a chance they could recover Saige Fuentes. She just needed something to chase. A phone call. A last text message or conversation. Detective Moore was working with Annalea Fuentes to log into Saige's social media accounts, but neither of them had gained any ground. All they had was a single photo connecting four girls who were targeted one by one.

Last she'd checked, there hadn't been any sign of Samuel Thornton at his home or place of work. The last anyone reported seeing him had been Thursday evening, at the end of his shift. As though he'd simply stopped existing. Here one moment. Gone the next. Finding him would consume Leigh's focus for the foreseeable future. Whether she was officially brought onto the case or not.

She took the stairs to the second floor, moving slower than she wanted. The sutures holding the surgical sites across her abdomen tightened and released in rhythm with her steps, but the pain had remained manageable today. Or maybe she hadn't let herself dwell on it. She wasn't sure. What she knew was that Ava would need a couple changes of clothes and toiletries for wherever she was going next. She was a minor. Minors didn't get to dictate where they ended up when they had nobody left in the world to watch out for them.

Leigh cut down the hallway, past the main bedroom with its unmade sheets and laundry piled in a basket by the door. To the lavender-painted bedroom across the hall. There was little decor, too much clothing, mismatched furniture and possessions. Exactly as her own room had been when she'd been Ava's age. At fourteen, she had no idea who she'd wanted to be. Her world had been safely constructed in her parents' shadows, dependent on their approval, with a few items of her very own. Burned music on blank CDs she'd downloaded from Napster—before it'd blown up—a jeweled troll doll here and there, and the violin she'd been gifted from her grandfather before he'd passed. Ava's room wasn't much different. It felt like more battleground than safe haven for a room only meant to be temporary on vacation. A fight between the child she'd been and the woman she was fated to become.

There was no way to tell which pieces of clothing on the floor were clean and which needed to go into the hamper, but Leigh wasn't here to pick up. She tugged a few shirts off hangers from the closet, added a good amount of underwear from the dresser, and grabbed a half-empty makeup bag. Deodorant, shampoo and conditioner, and body wash could be obtained from the grocery store or Target, so she wouldn't worry about them now. She wasn't sure how long it would be before Gulf Shores PD allowed Ava to step foot back in this house. Better to take more than she needed now.

Leigh circled the room. Looking for that blue box every teen needed when they neared Ava's age, then checked the bathroom. Elyse had had a hysterectomy after the cancer treatments and birth of her stillborn daughter. She wouldn't have needed to supply herself, but there was no way Elyse hadn't prepared for her daughter's time of the month during vacation. Then again, there were other methods—bought once and reusable—available today that hadn't been when Leigh had been fourteen. Or… "You haven't started yet."

Instinct had Leigh shifting the clothing to her opposite arm and reaching for her phone. She messaged Detective Moore. Had Ruby or Saige had their first periods? The detective responded in less than a minute:

Ruby, no. Saige: ???

She didn't want to get ahead of herself, but the question was digging deeper into her brain. Tapping out another message, she hit send.

What about Poppy?

There was no immediate answer. She'd give the detective time to find out. While the answer wouldn't be a be-all-end-all to these investigations, it could round out the victimology. Something they could use to identify the type of predator hurting these girls.

Leigh made her way back downstairs. The house itself was temporary. A lit beacon that provided safety from the dangers and monotony of real life. And yet, somehow Elyse had made it feel like a home. Clean, with a few accents. She'd even changed out the medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom from the look of the uneven installation.

Her phone vibrated with an incoming call as she hunted for a bag to carry Ava's clothes. Not bothering to look at the caller ID, she answered, expecting Detective Moore on the other line. "What did you find out?"

"That you canceled dinner without telling me." The distinctly male voice was more growl than human. Twenty years in prison changed a person, right down to a cellular level. Her father hadn't been immune.

"Dad." Leigh caught a glimpse of her reflection in the bathroom medicine cabinet from the hallway. Slightly angled. Switching the phone to her opposite hand, she tried to douse the flood of guilt heating her skin from the neck up. She was a grown woman, but that dad-voice had always left her shaking in her shoes. Even after all these years and so much history behind them. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I know we had plans, but I got called in on a case."

"You're a damn liar, Leigh Colette Brody, and not a very good one." Any version of Joel Brody—convicted murderer, fixer of scrapes after a fall, concerned father of a missing child, failed husband—shook her to her core when her middle name came out of his mouth. "Your medical leave isn't over for three more weeks. Now tell me why the hell you're not here in Quantico."

"Dad, I can't really talk right now." Leigh hit the light in the bathroom and approached the medicine cabinet, Ava's clothes still in one arm. There wasn't anything innately eye-catching about the cabinet apart from the odd angle of the mirror. It was hard to believe Elyse would've let a handyman or Wesley finish the job without making sure it was installed level first. It was like someone had moved it. She ran her hand over the sides, then across the top and bottom. Dust coated her fingertips.

"Listen, kiddo. I know you've had to go through a lot on your own since Troy—Chandler—disappeared. Hell, I'm never going to get used to calling him that." Her father laughed, trying to ease his way through the thick skin she'd had to wear nearly her whole life. Against friends who'd believed her father was guilty, against the detective accusing her of knowing what'd happened to her brother, against an entire town who hated her for sticking up for her family. "But you're not alone anymore. You have me. You have your brother. Even Elyse. When are you going to realize you have people who care about you? Who love you?"

She wanted to believe him. More than anything. But experience and loss had contorted her into something angry and defensive and aggressive. Leigh stared at her reflection in the medicine cabinet. Not entirely sure what to say. He made it sound so easy. Like shedding her skin as a cicada would. Leaving that neglected part of her behind as she moved into something new. But that inability to rely on others had gotten her to this point. To finding two killers and having her father's conviction overturned. It'd driven her to this house. Into this bathroom. And Elyse… Elyse wasn't here anymore. Her friend was missing—most likely dead—and the only way she could keep going was to find out what'd happened and make whoever was responsible pay. "I'm sorry about dinner, Dad. I'll make it up to you as soon as I'm back in town."

She ended the call quickly, catching a split second of protest before shoving the phone deep into her blazer pocket. Leigh set Ava's clothes on the countertop, careful to avoid the sink. What was it about this medicine cabinet that she couldn't walk away from? She popped the mirror open. New bottles of soap, sanitizer, bathroom spray, floss. Handling them one by one, she inspected the inner frame of the cabinet. Looking for… She didn't know. A break in the wood, a compartment. Something to tell her she wasn't imagining the gut feeling dictating her every move the past two days.

"Come on, Elyse. You wouldn't have gone quietly." Leigh set both hands at the bottom corners of the cabinet and hefted the weight away from the wall. The sutures in her abdomen screamed. The cabinet fell forward toward her face, and she stumbled back into the bathroom doorframe. Her shoulder caught the edge, and the cabinet fell from her grip. Glass, wood, and soap bottles burst across the tile with a hard thud. But all she could do was hold on to the doorframe for dear life. The pain arced over and over, stealing her breath. She'd faced killers, nearly drowned, and endured the hatred of thousands of people, but having a cancerous organ removed would finish her off. Sweat built on her upper lip. She swiped it free with her sleeve. Why hadn't the damn thing been anchored? "Son of a bitch, that hurts."

A piece of paper slipped free of the hole where the cabinet used to hang.

Leigh reached for the bathroom counter to keep herself upright and pulled a photo from the sink bowl. Of Ruby Davis. No dates printed on the back. Nothing to note when it'd been taken. Every photo center printer left a mark, which meant this had most likely come from a residential printer. Not just this one. A dozen photos had been stacked between two studs. Holes in the wood told her the cabinet had been hung properly at one point, but someone—Elyse?—had uninstalled it. To hide these.

She studied each photo in turn. Surveillance shots. Though the camera wasn't particularly good quality. Almost like they'd been taken with a phone. A baggie fell from the pile. Containing a long dark hair. Elyse's?

Because who else would've had access to this cabinet? Who else would've thought to use it as a hidden safe? Leigh set the photos aside and thrust her hand deeper into the cavity. Surfacing with a phone. She turned it over in her hand. It was an older model. Not Elyse's or Wesley's based on the models listed on their phone bill. His had been found in his slacks, and Ava was still equipped with hers. A sticky note fluttered to the sink. Six numbers written on the bright teal paper.

She hit the power button, and the phone came to life. Leigh angled the screen away from her face. She couldn't risk getting locked out by the facial recognition and tapped in the six-digit code from the sticky note.

It worked. The operating system automatically dropped her into the last opened app. Instagram. And into a profile Leigh didn't recognize. The young woman smiling back at her raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. "Who are you, Katie Rose, and why do you look so much like my friend?"