A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(57)

“What can you tell me about the blood trajectory?” she asked.

“We didn’t measure it yet,” Ahmed said. “But you see how the blood on the window is mostly on the top part of the window? Just one smear on the bottom. If I had to guess, our victim sat in the driver’s seat, and the window was lowered. The attacker stabbed him through the window. Victim raised his left hand to protect his throat, got those two defensive wounds on the left palm. But that’s not what I wanted to show you. Look here.” He pointed at the vehicle mat on the passenger’s side.

Abby leaned closer and saw what he was pointing at. Another partial muddy footprint.

“It matches the shoe we found under the seat. It seems like the kid who wore it stepped here before taking it off.”

Abby wasn’t convinced. “Or someone tossed the shoe here, and it later rolled under the seat.”

Ahmed shook his head. “See those? Don’t touch.” He pointed at the back of the passenger seat.

“What am I looking at?”

“Two hairs.”

She saw them. Two light-blond hairs, significantly below the headrest. As if a fair-haired child had sat in the seat. And left his footprint on the floor mat.

“You said the shoe was still soggy,” she said, becoming excited. “Was the mud fresh? Can you estimate—”

“I can’t estimate anything yet.” Ahmed smiled. “But it’s not likely they had a dead kid’s body sitting in the front passenger seat, right?”

“It would be unusual.”

“There’s the understatement of the year. Now that I got you all excited, I have to be the bearer of bad news. See those stains of blood?” He gestured underneath the two blond hairs. Abby squinted and saw them. Two dark blots. Blood.

“They could be from our unlucky guy back there.” Ahmed pointed toward the trunk. “He’s definitely spread a generous amount of blood everywhere.”

“But the trajectory doesn’t work.”

“Not really.”

The blots were round, not oval, which indicated the blood hadn’t come in a spurt from the side but rather that someone who was bleeding had leaned back on the seat.

“We’ll do some blood comparisons,” Ahmed said. “I’ll tell you as soon as I have more information. The blood doesn’t necessarily belong to whoever left those hairs there.”

Abby nodded, straightening. She knew forensics could sometimes mislead. Initial conclusions were often scrapped when new details emerged. But for now, it appeared that Nathan Fletcher had been in this car, sitting in the front passenger seat. And he’d been alive and bleeding.





CHAPTER 37


Eden was alone in a room in the police station. They’d told her to wait a few more minutes as they prepared the lineup. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited, wondering if she would recognize the man Abby had called Karl Adkins. A man from Otis Tillman’s community.

Who’d been stalking them.

She shivered and hugged herself. Waiting. Alone.

Even at home, she was alone. Well, not really. Gabrielle was home. And there was always an officer downstairs in the kitchen in case the kidnapper called.

But the initial connection that had formed between her and Gabrielle when the kidnapper had first called had dissipated. Her daughter had become that distant girl she’d been lately, spending her entire time shut in her room or downstairs being consoled by her friends or that guy Eric. And now Gabrielle was busy managing the donations site, sending thank-you notes to the donors, getting more interviews. Eden was relieved her daughter had taken control of this crisis, that she was doing all she could to get Nathan home. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Gabrielle despised her for not doing it herself.

And those officers in the kitchen, an interchangeable group of men. All of them armed. Eden hadn’t been this close to guns since her time in the Tillman community. Guns always made her uncomfortable. Cops always made her uncomfortable. The only one she trusted was Abihail. But now, whenever she talked to Abihail, her past came floating back.

And of course, there was a Nathan-shaped vacuum in her life. Every hug she didn’t get, every bedtime kiss she didn’t give, every moment she couldn’t ask him how his day was or what he wanted for dinner, they all cut into her. Drained her.

For the first time in years, Eden missed David. Just because he was another person she could talk to who would share the difficult moments with her. Another person she could hug.

She took out her phone and opened her chat with Isaac. He’d been a real lifesaver these past two days, encouraging her, giving her strength to keep on going. He’d told her he’d also joined the fundraising for the ransom, donating some of his savings, and had gotten his friends to donate as well.

It’s Nathan’s bedtime, she wrote.

The three dots indicator appeared almost instantly. Isaac took special care to be attentive to his chat since the kidnapping. I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.

His bedtime is the most difficult part of the day, she wrote. And it was. Because although Nathan was becoming more and more independent, at bedtime he needed her. He would go to sleep with his door open, verifying that she was downstairs and that she could hear him. Otherwise, he would get scared. It was the only time in the day he wanted her to kiss him. Any other time it was “Ew, Mom, cut it out.” But the bedtime kiss was important.