They were retelling Riley’s life, she thought. “Did you only fight about school or the arrest?”
“She was upset,” Mrs. Gilbert said, glancing at her husband. Tears welled in her eyes. “She gets very upset sometimes. We took her to doctors, trying to figure out why she became anxious. It was exhausting. When she left, it was nice to have peace in the house.”
“Was she on medication?” Riley asked.
“Mood stabilizers,” Mr. Gilbert said. “But she never stayed on them long enough for the drugs to really work. She didn’t like feeling fuzzy, as she put it.”
“Where’s my daughter?” Mrs. Gilbert asked. “I want to see her. She’s gotten into trouble again, hasn’t she?”
Riley glanced at Sharp, and when he nodded she kept her voice steady. “Mrs. Gilbert, your daughter is dead. She was found along I-95 north of here.”
Chapped hands rose to the woman’s lips as she stifled a cry. “There must be some kind of mistake.”
“We identified her using fingerprints on file with the Chesterfield Police Department.”
Sharp watched them both carefully, his expression showing no signs of emotion. “There’s no mistake.”
Mr. Gilbert sucked in a breath like a boxer who’d taken a shot to the gut. “How did she die?”
“You’ve made a mistake,” Mrs. Gilbert said again. She made no move toward her husband. “Vicky isn’t dead. She’s staying with friends.”
As much as Riley believed this murder was connected to a bigger case, she couldn’t rule out that someone who knew the girl well had killed her. In over 70 percent of homicide cases involving a female victim, the killer was a loved one.
“We found her about fifty miles north of here,” Riley said. In the middle of the night, without traffic, the trip would’ve taken less than an hour. Maybe her father had a chance to win big money in a poker game. Maybe he was tired of Vicky’s outbursts.
“Vicky isn’t dead,” Mrs. Gilbert said. “I texted her two days ago.”
“Two days?” Riley noted the time in her book. Mrs. Gilbert might have received a text from Vicky’s phone, but that didn’t mean Vicky had sent it.
“Maybe it was four days. But she told me she was fine. She told me she had a lead on a good job.”
“What kind of job?”
“In a bar.”
“Did she give you a name of the bar, a boss, or a coworker?” Sharp asked.
“No,” Mr. Gilbert said. “I think I need to call our attorney.”
“Mr. Gilbert, there’s no need for an attorney now,” Sharp said. “We’re simply gathering as many facts as we can so we can solve your daughter’s murder. No one is going to get busted today for a kid running away or working in a bar.”
Mr. Gilbert’s grip tightened on his cell. “I’m calling our lawyer.”
“Richard. Please.” Mrs. Gilbert’s voice cracked. “This is Vicky.”
“Who has once again pulled us into a mess.” He turned from them all and dialed a number.
As her husband spoke into the phone, Mrs. Gilbert said to Riley, “She said it was good, honest work. I worried about the drinking, but she said that wouldn’t be a problem. She said they were sending her to get her hair and nails done. She was going to be a greeter. She was really excited.”
Vicky’s nails and hair were done, meaning the kid wove the lies with some truth. “Did she say where they were taking her to get fixed up?”
“A beauty salon, I guess. She didn’t say where.”
“And that was the last time you had contact with her?” Riley asked.
“Yes. That was the last time she responded back to me.” Tears welled in her eyes as if the news had finally taken root. “I text her every day. I’m always checking up on her. Sometimes she answers and sometimes she doesn’t.”
Riley kept her voice soft as if they were two friends having a chat. “What can you tell me about her life? Did the texts give you a clue?”
“She said she and her friends went to parties.”
“Friends have names.”
“Jo-Jo was one name she mentioned. Another was Cassie. She said they were all pals. Looked out for each other.”
Riley glanced at Sharp, who was paying close attention. “Did your daughter have any tattoos?”
“A butterfly and a star.” She dropped her voice a notch. “When she showed them to me, I told her not to tell her dad.”
“What about the initials JC on the back of her neck?”
“She didn’t have a tattoo like that.” Hope glistened. “Do you think you’ve made a mistake because my Vicky didn’t have a JC tattoo on her neck?”
“We have it right, ma’am,” she said. “The tattoo is new. Did she have a boyfriend?”
“She dated a boy named Jax. Do you think it was his initials?”
“I think JC was her pimp,” Riley said. “I think he marked her as his own.”
Mrs. Gilbert wiped away a tear from her cheek as it spilled. “That’s not my daughter. She wouldn’t have sold herself like that.”
“Our daughter,” Mr. Gilbert said, shutting off his phone, “was a free spirit. She did as she pleased. If you have questions, you should talk to her boyfriend. Jax Carter.”
“He works in Richmond tending bar,” Mrs. Gilbert said. “I have his phone number.” She moved into a side room where she retrieved her phone from her purse. She scrolled through the numbers, and when she found Jax’s, she rattled off the number. “He’s older than her, but Vicky really liked him. And he wouldn’t put her on the streets like you said.”
“Is he the friend she was living with?” Sharp asked.
“Sometimes. But not all the time. They fought from time to time.”
Sharp’s jaw clenched. “How did Vicky break her arm?”
Mrs. Gilbert twisted her fingers around her wrist as she looked at her husband.
“The fracture is a spiral shape,” Riley said. “You get those kind of breaks when someone twists your arm.”
“I never hurt her,” Mr. Gilbert said.
“No one said you did,” Sharp countered while continuing to study Mrs. Gilbert’s face.
“Ask her boyfriend,” Mr. Gilbert said.
“How long have they been dating?” Riley looked at the mother.
She glanced at her husband and then tipped her chin up a notch. “About six months.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“He must have.”
“Well, this break goes back a few years,” Sharp said in a calm tone. “She would’ve been about fourteen when it occurred.”
Mr. Gilbert drew in a breath. Bonnie stood beside him but kept distance between them. “She was an active kid. She fell a lot. That doesn’t mean we hurt her. And that’s all I’m going to say. We aren’t answering any more questions until our attorney calls us back.”
Riley closed her book as she glanced at Sharp.
Slowly, Sharp pulled a card from his pocket and held it out to Mr. Gilbert. He didn’t take it. Sharp laid it on an entry table. “This is only the beginning, Mr. Gilbert.”
“We won’t be talking to you again unless our attorney is present,” he said.
“Well, sir, that’s your choice, but I can promise if I find out you’re responsible in any way, I won’t be nice next time,” Sharp said.