“Are you sure they didn’t leave town?” Ramsey asked. “It’s not unusual.”
“Both women have children, which I know doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll stay. But both were making progress toward getting clean.”
“Easy to fall off the wagon,” Ramsey said. “Failure rate with addicts is high.”
“I’ve considered that. But I don’t think that’s the case. Something feels really off about this,” Reverend Beckett said.
“Do you have pictures of the missing women?” Ramsey asked.
“I do.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out two images printed onto computer paper. “I take a picture of every woman who enters the program here. It’s not only for identification purposes, but I also document it as their ‘before’ picture. You’d be amazed at some of the transformations.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Anyway, I also try to collect a full history, but they aren’t always forthcoming at first. And others tend to tell you what they believe you want to hear.”
Ramsey studied the unsmiling, drawn faces. Both women had shoulder-length dark hair and appeared to be in their early twenties. “Did any of the women mention the man in the van?”
“A few girls remembered seeing it two weeks ago. They all joked that he was a virgin, meaning he’s never paid for sex in the Bottom before. I didn’t even remember the van until Melina’s encounter with its driver,” she said. “All of them thought there was something off about the guy.”
Ramsey wondered how many of the women really remembered the van after Agent Shepard’s attack by the Key Killer. Memories were a tricky thing. They were easily suggestible and not wholly reliable. The women’s fear of a killer hunting women like them could easily inject itself into their subconscious and taint their recollections.
“And you think the missing girls got into that van?” he asked.
“I’m not entirely sure. I do know the usual girls on the streets are present and accounted for as of yesterday.”
That was because the killer did not have his van. It was his base of operations. Without it, he might be sidelined until he found another. That might have bought them a little time. “What did the girls say about the van?” Ramsey asked.
“Like I told Melina, it was driving around the Bottom. This van never stopped, but it passed by enough that it was noticed.”
“You said they considered him a virgin. Anyone get a look at the driver?” he asked.
Reverend Beckett lifted her cup to her lips. “They described a man with black hair.”
“The guy who came for me was wearing a blond wig,” Shepard said.
“Reasonable that he’s altering his appearance on a regular basis,” Ramsey said.
“Some thought he might have been a businessman or a ‘nice guy’ from the suburbs.” She made air quotes with her hands. “They get types like that. Men who want to try the forbidden fruit but haven’t quite summoned the nerve to cross the line.”
“The women have seen this behavior before. What bothered them about him?” Ramsey wanted specifics, which generally supported real memories.
Reverend Beckett cradled her cup. “He stared at them for a long time. Gave them the creeps,” she said.
“They’ve all been stared at before,” Ramsey said.
“My boss said the same thing. The ones who survive life on the streets develop a sixth sense. They know when something is off. Without it they don’t last long.”
“Can you clarify?” Ramsey asked.
“One girl said he was wearing gloves and sunglasses. It was hot and dark.”
“Did anyone see his face?” Ramsey knew he was likely repeating Jackson’s interview, but sometimes a day or two could jog something loose. Even if the memories were not wholly accurate, they could have enough elements of truth to lead to something more substantial.
“Not that I know. But I’ll keep asking.”
“Where did they see him?”
“Seven blocks from here. He was on Southside Avenue across from the tire store.”
A clatter from the other room had Reverend Beckett rising.
“I’ve got it,” Shepard said. “Be right back.”
“We’re mixing up the oils for the new line of hand soap,” Reverend Beckett said.
“How long has Agent Shepard volunteered here?” Ramsey asked.
“For a couple of years. Did she tell you we grew up in the same neighborhood?”
“She did.”
“Both our moms were teachers and both our dads cops. She’s genuine. She’d do anything for you, but she takes too many chances.”
“Does she say the same about you?” he countered.
Reverend Beckett grinned. “Two peas in a pod.”
“What are the names of the missing women?” Ramsey asked.
“Delia and Joy. Each uses the last name Smith, but I doubt it’s either of their real surnames.”
“Has anyone been by their residence?”
“Delia lives on the streets. Joy stays in a small room over her sister’s garage. I did contact Joy’s sister, but she’s not seen Joy in two weeks.”
“What’s the sister’s name?” he asked.
“Emily Ross. I can pull up her contact information for you.”
“That would be appreciated.”
Shepard reappeared. “It was Sadie. She dropped a tub of coconut oil. Some spillage. Sam is cleaning it up. I asked Sadie if she would talk to Agent Ramsey.”
“Sadie takes our mission work to the streets, literally. She’s out there almost nightly making sure the girls are eating and getting medical attention if they need it. She was out there the night Melina was attacked.”
Steps echoed in the hallway moments before a short, heavyset woman with short-cropped hair appeared. The woman appeared to be in her midthirties. She had blotchy skin, and discolored teeth indicated a prior meth habit. Her eyes were clear, but Ramsey had no way of knowing if she was totally clean or for how long.
As if reading his thoughts, Reverend Beckett said, “You can’t work in my shop if you’re using. I have mandatory random drug tests for everyone. If you pull a positive, then you have to leave until you can prove you’ve been clean for ninety days.”
Sadie tipped her chin up as she reached for a rumpled packet of cigarettes in her back pocket. “I’ve been clean for five years, two months, and seven days.”
“We’re very proud of her,” Reverend Beckett said.
“Why were you on the street with Agent Shepard?” Ramsey asked.
“My friend Fiona and me used to work the streets with the missing girls, and because we still know all the players well, we offered to stand on the street corner with Melina.”
“Did you see the van?” he asked.
“No, we left right before he approached her.”
“You left Agent Shepard alone.” An intended accusation rumbled under the statement.
Sadie shot Shepard a hard look that looked more sad than angry. “She said she had it under control.”
“I told them to leave,” Shepard said. “I just wanted a few more minutes out there. Like I said before, I had a feeling.”
“Describe it,” Ramsey said.
“There are nights when the vibe feels off. Like when the air shifts before a storm comes.”
“Not very scientific,” he said.
“You’ve never operated on a hunch?” Shepard asked.
Ramsey didn’t respond. “Facts, Agent Shepard.”
“Turns out I was right,” she said. “Only the storm wasn’t the one I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?”
“To see Joy or Delia, I guess. Maybe their pimp.”
“Reverend Beckett, did you see the van?” he asked.
“All I saw was the man trying to pull Melina into the van,” Reverend Beckett said. “I was too busy freaking out and blaring on the horn to get a good look at him.”
“Was this your first time out there alone, Agent Shepard?” Ramsey asked.
She shifted. Took a sip of coffee. “No, it was my third. I’d met up with the gals twice the week before, but we never saw the van.”
“Does Agent Jackson know this?”
“No,” she said.
Whether it was that last night or the week before, the killer had noticed Shepard. And Ramsey could see why she would be noticed. Despite her edgy street vibe, there was something about her that was hard to ignore.
“Have you seen any signs of a man loitering around since that time? Anything that felt off?” he asked.
“Not around here,” Sadie said. “Rev, what about you?”
Reverend Beckett’s brow furrowed. “I’ve seen no odd men, at least no more odd than usual.”
It had been seven days since the van driver had made his move. He was injured and without his van. He was likely feeling angry and frustrated over the failure.
All the prep in the van’s interior told Ramsey he had been challenged by women before. But instead of giving up, he had adapted and changed strategies—the handcuffs, the drugs he had ready for Shepard, and the bleach.