Her Silent Cry (Detective Josie Quinn Book 6)(18)

“What’s her name?” Josie asked.

“Renita Walsh,” Amy said. “Although if she got married, it may have changed.”

“Younger or older than you?”

“Two years older.”

“Have you ever tried to contact her?” Josie continued.

Amy shook her head. “No. Like I said, once Mom was gone, there was no reason for us to keep in touch. I went to New York City. I don’t know what happened to her after that. Colin has a brother, but he’s a bigwig at some company in Hong Kong. We see him once a year, if that.”

“What about Lucy’s friends? Does she have many friends at school?” Josie asked.

“She has a couple of girls that she really likes,” Amy answered. “I can give you their names.” She took out her phone. “I can give you their mothers’ names and numbers as well.”

Josie nodded toward Mettner who walked over to Amy with his own phone, pulling up his note-taking app so he could take down the information.

“Why are you asking this?” Colin said. “You think someone we know took Lucy?”

“Not necessarily,” Josie said. “I think she saw someone as the ride ended and that she was in a hurry to get to that person. I’m wondering who it was and if they saw anything suspicious or strange—if they realized that Lucy was running toward them at all.”

“We’ll make a list,” Colin answered. “Everyone we know. Everyone Lucy knows. You can investigate all of them.”

Gretchen said, “That’s not a bad idea.”

Both parents brightened at having something useful to do. They sat at a table with Mettner and Noah, and Noah began making a list on a legal pad while Mettner tapped notes into his phone.

Again, Josie returned to the photos and footage from the day before. She replayed the video of Lucy running around the center column of the carousel and that dark square jutting out as she ran around the left side. The door. The door had opened, but no one remembered seeing it open. Gretchen had told her that every parent she talked to said the same thing: they didn’t even know the door was there. Gretchen had asked the parents to speak to their children to see if any of them remembered seeing the door open. No one did. How was it that the carousel had been at capacity and no one noticed the column door open? It happened the same way that no one noticed Lucy exiting the carousel, Josie realized. All those parents were only concerned with getting their children off the ride, and the children were likely focused on whatever was next—the swings, the slide, perhaps ice cream. But surely if Lucy had gone inside the column, someone would have noticed that.

It still bothered Josie that no one they questioned remembered seeing Lucy after the carousel shut down. She’d been wearing that bright pink shirt and colorful butterfly backpack. It was impossible to miss. Lucy hadn’t discarded it because no one had found it. She had to have left the park wearing it. But then why wasn’t she in any of the photos taken in the play area by parents during or after the carousel ride?

Misty’s words from the night before floated back to her in pieces. What was it she had said while Josie was drifting off to sleep? Something about bad guys not looking like bad guys. Something about…

“Disguises,” Josie muttered to herself.

“What’s that?” Gretchen asked.

“We showed everyone a photo of Lucy wearing that pink shirt and the butterfly backpack,” Josie said. “Nobody saw her.”

“Right,” Gretchen said. “But we know she didn’t leave her backpack behind because no one has found it.”

“But maybe people are all looking for that backpack and not really Lucy,” Josie said.

“What are you talking about?” Amy asked.

Josie looked up from the laptop, realizing she now had the attention of the entire room. Her gaze zeroed in on Amy. She beckoned the woman over and motioned for her to sit in the folding chair beside her.

Once seated, Josie said, “You’d know your child anywhere, wouldn’t you? I mean if you were trying to find Lucy in a group of children, what would you look for? Not what she was wearing—that changes every day—but maybe you’d look for her blonde hair or for the size of her frame.”

“It’s the way she walks,” Amy answered, understanding what Josie meant. “She breaks out into skipping all the time. She’ll go a few steps and then start skipping, and I have to tell her to stop and slow down. Now she does it without me even telling her. It’s like she hears me in her own head telling her to stop skipping.” Amy let out a little laugh which quickly turned into a sob. Her hand flew to her mouth, and Josie could see her fighting to hold it down. Josie reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to play this video again. Tell me what you see.”

She replayed the video. They watched the footage that was now forever burned into both their consciousness; Lucy hurrying down off her horse, running from the right side of the carousel platform to the left and around the column. They watched the sharp edge of the door open. Then Lucy was gone, the door closed. “Keep watching,” Josie said. “Tell me what you see.”

Just seconds later, Amy let out a gasp. She shot up from her chair and it toppled behind her. “Oh my God. Oh my God. It’s her. That’s her!”