In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(13)

She read Nunzio’s summary.

The father, twenty-eight-year-old Bobby Chin, had been a Seattle police officer going through a nasty and violent divorce. He’d picked up his five-year-old daughter, Elle, following his watch and had taken her to a corn maze and pumpkin patch. In his interview, Chin was adamant his ex-wife and her boyfriend had snatched his daughter and intended to blame him and put him in jail. The wife, Chin said, was crazy and vindictive. The police had been called to the house several times, but not because of the wife. Chin had pled to a domestic violence charge.

Tracy sat back. Chin sounded like a guy rationalizing his bad behavior by blaming the wife. Anything was plausible. Of import, the little girl had never been found, and the file contained no updates. Tracy shuddered at the thought of losing Daniella.

She finished Nunzio’s case synopsis, stood, found the corresponding binder on the shelf—Nunzio had alphabetized them—and pulled it out to read the contents for herself.

It was a parent’s worst nightmare. Her worst nightmare. She noted significant dates and details. The case wasn’t as old as some of the others, but of the two detectives who had worked it, one had retired, and the other had moved to a police department in another county.

Tracy set aside the binder and looked for other recent case summaries. Two grabbed her attention, prostitutes who had disappeared along the Aurora strip within nine months of each other. Like the Chin case, neither case was old, but the investigating detectives had moved on and the cases had gone cold. It seemed far too soon for Tracy. She had spent months tracking a serial killer of prostitutes known as “the Cowboy” working the same strip of motels and hotels. A quick review of each file provided another reason the cases had gone cold. There was no DNA evidence. No witnesses. No evidence of any kind. The women had simply vanished. She pulled out the correlating binders from the shelves and put them with the Elle Chin binder.

Keys rattled in the door. She glanced up as it pushed open. Johnny Nolasco looked surprised to see her. “Crosswhite, how’d you get in here?”

“The door was unlocked.”

“The door is always supposed to be locked.”

She held up Nunzio’s key. She suspected from the key and the personal note that Nunzio had purposefully left the door unlocked, knowing she’d be back. The thought made her smile. You give a shit. “You could fire Nunzio,” she said.

Nolasco’s eyes roamed over the binders on the desk and the sheets of paper. “What are you doing?”

Tracy looked up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly two in the afternoon. “Going through files.”

“The cold case files aren’t for casual reviewing.”

“Nunzio left me a summary.”

“He left . . . Did you . . . Did you meet with Nunzio?”

“Yesterday. It was the only time he was available. Yesterday was his last day.”

Nolasco ignored the jab. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday you decided to take the position?”

“I didn’t make up my mind yesterday.”

“Then what are you doing in here now?”

Tracy looked around the office. “Making up my mind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ll take the position.”

Nolasco did his best to keep a straight face but she heard the surprise in his voice. “You will?”

“On one condition. A spot opens on the A Team, I get right of first refusal.”

“I can’t promise that.”

Tracy smiled. “Yeah, you can.”

Nolasco looked like he was biting his tongue. “There’s some paperwork—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Nolasco nodded. Now looking uncertain.

“Something else, Captain?”

Nolasco shook his head and left the office.





CHAPTER 8

Late in the afternoon, Tracy pulled into a parking lot of a one-story business park in Kirkland and found the Amazon warehouse. She’d spent the remainder of the afternoon going through the Elle Chin file, reading the missing person report, the police reports, the statements of witnesses, family members, friends, and portions of the massive police investigation that followed up on more than 2,000 tips that eventually came through a dedicated tip line. Chin was one of SPD’s own, and they’d spared nothing to find his daughter. Despite the police effort, the use of dogs, a search of the homes and the cars belonging to Chin, his wife, and the wife’s boyfriend, the little girl was never found.

The case had generated a significant amount of press because of the juicy circumstances: Chin being a Seattle police officer, and his wife alleging physical and verbal abuse that had led to a domestic violence arrest, a restraining order, and a custody hearing that had limited Chin’s contact with her and his daughter until he completed an anger-management course and community service. The newspaper articles and news reports on the TV had liberally quoted Jewel Chin after her daughter’s disappearance, and it was clear she had initiated a lot of the coverage to draw attention to her husband as the prime suspect and, in the process, make herself out to be a victim.

Neither was a new tactic. Tracy knew from experience that the husband and wife, especially in these circumstances, were always the prime suspects. The detectives handling the case had spoken to both Bobby and Jewel Chin and noted this. They wrote that both had become agitated when the detectives suggested they were responsible for their daughter’s disappearance. Each blamed the other. Tracy would have to tread lightly and strategically when she spoke to them. She might only get one chance, if they spoke to her at all. She had questions for others and hoped to educate herself fully before she took another shot at either Bobby or Jewel Chin.