“The FBI database? Why?”
“The playing cards found with the victim are distinctive. The handwritten word Loser on each is a signature.”
He cursed under his breath. “Don’t make this more than it is.”
Gripping the wheel, she pulled herself up a little straighter. “I disagree. They have a distinctive look. I bet they’re custom made. It’s worth a shot.”
“Anything federal amounts to a shit-ton of paperwork.”
“I’ll do it.”
He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “You don’t want to deal with the feds.”
“You don’t like the feds?”
“We’ve crossed swords before.”
“But it’s the only hard evidence we have at the moment,” she coaxed. “You’ve got to admit the cards are different.”
He tensed as she sped up to merge into highway traffic. “The cards are unique.”
“Like I said, I can help.”
He glanced at her, eyebrow raised as if searching. “What aren’t you telling me?”
If a lead didn’t pop with ViCAP, she would tell him the truth. But right now she was betting the database could give him more than she could. “I know the cards are the key.”
“I’ll look into ViCAP. Right now, I want to talk to the victim’s parents.”
She loosened her grip on the wheel. “Sure.”
Thirty minutes later GPS directed them to a tree-lined street in western Chesterfield County. The acre lots were large for the county and the houses at least three thousand square feet, both indicators that this area was definitely upper middle class.
She parked in front of the tall brick colonial with neatly trimmed hedges in a freshly mulched bed out front. The driveway was aggregate, the landscaping professional.
“Does the dog need walking?”
“He’s good for now, but we’ll hit a rest stop on the way home.”
She left the SUV on, the engine and air-conditioning running. “What do I do?”
He grunted. “When we get inside, don’t say a word. Let me do the talking,” Sharp said. “No offense, Trooper, but without your uniform we look like ‘take your daughter to work’ day.”
“We don’t.”
“You do look young.”
As they got out, a man dressed in a dark suit stepped out the front door. Grinning, he had a cell phone pressed to his ear and a briefcase in hand. Smooth white teeth flashed as his polished wing tips caught the morning sun. He paused midstride when he saw them approach. The smile vanished as he spoke into the phone before hanging up.
If Dakota Sharp’s haircut and stance didn’t give him away as a cop, the dark suit did.
Sharp reached for his badge while maintaining eye contact. “Richard Gilbert?”
The man stopped, jangling his car keys in his hand. A thick aftershave scent wafted around him as if he’d just slapped it on his cheeks. “That’s right.”
“My name is Agent Dakota Sharp, and this is Trooper Riley Tatum. We’d like to talk to you about your daughter, Vicky.”
The man studied Sharp’s badge. “What has Vicky done? Has she stolen again?” Manicured fingers closed around the keys.
“No, sir, we don’t believe she’s stolen anything,” Sharp said as he hooked the badge back on his belt. “When’s the last time you saw her?”
“It’s been a month since she took off. She was mad at her mother and me when we grounded her after her last brush with the law. She’s living with one of her friends.”
“Friend got a name?” Sharp asked.
“I don’t remember.”
Riley fished her notebook from her back pocket. “By the looks of her, I’d say she’s been living on the streets during that time.”
Sharp cast a sideways glance toward Riley, but he let the comment slide. Neither mentioned homicide because people usually clammed up when they heard the h word.
When Mr. Gilbert did not answer, Sharp reached in his pocket for a stick of gum as if he had all the time in the world. “Is pinning down the date you last saw Vicky a tough question?”
“No. It’s not. Let me go inside and get my wife. Bonnie knows our daughter better than I do.”
Mr. Gilbert opened the front door, and the three of them entered the foyer. “Bonnie! Can you come downstairs?”
“What do you want?” she shouted back from an unseen room on the second floor.
“There are a couple of cops here who have questions about Vicky.”
“Vicky?” Footsteps hurried across the upstairs hallway.
Mrs. Gilbert rounded the corner. Heavyset, she wore jeans and a sweatshirt and her hair pulled up in a ponytail. Despite the puffy contours of her face, there were hints of a resemblance to Vicky.
Bonnie wiped her hands on a rag as she descended the stairs, pausing several steps short of the bottom. “What’s this about?”
“Wasn’t it last week when we saw her?” Gilbert offered.
Riley’s bullshit meter always worked well. Some of the officers in patrol called it her superpower. The human lie detector, others said. But it didn’t take a superpower or much police work to know Mr. Gilbert was lying.
Mrs. Gilbert kept wiping her hands as if she would never really be able to get them clean. “Is she okay? I’m worried about her.”
“When did Vicky run away?” Sharp asked.
“Hold on,” Mr. Gilbert said. “I never used the words run away. She became upset with us and moved in with a friend to cool off.”
“That’s running away, Mr. Gilbert,” Riley said.
“You have to be underage to run away,” Mr. Gilbert countered. “She turned eighteen a week ago.”
“That absolves you of a legal responsibility, but what about a moral obligation?” Riley couldn’t hide the annoyance burning under her tone.
Mr. Gilbert advanced a step, but Sharp edged forward, blocking his path. “Mrs. Gilbert, when did Vicky move out?”
“She didn’t run away. She went to stay with friends. She texted me several times a week and checked in. I knew where she was staying.”
“How long has she been gone?” Sharp asked.
“I’m not sure. But not long.”
“You don’t know?”
“Not exactly. No.”
Sharp studied the slightly frayed tip of his red tie before locking his gaze on her. “Who was she staying with last?”
“I’m not sure,” Bonnie said. “She has many friends and it’s hard to keep up. But she and Rebecca are very close.”
“When did she start staying with friends, Mrs. Gilbert?”
The woman hesitated. “About five weeks ago.”
Mr. Gilbert expelled a breath, cursing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Vicky didn’t like the house rules. She wanted to do what she wanted. She wasn’t interested in school. And then she was arrested for stealing.”
“She’s a senior in high school?” Riley asked.
“She was supposed to start her senior year, but the first days of school didn’t go well,” her mother offered.