Maya sat alone in the interrogation room for twenty minutes before Detective Mills finally entered. He carried a folder thick with papers and set it on the table between them with a heavy thud.
“Sorry for the wait,” he said, settling into the chair across from her. “Can I get you some water? Coffee?”
“I just want to go home.” Maya’s voice was hollow.
“I understand. Just a few more questions and we’ll get you out of here.” Mills opened the folder and pulled out several sheets. “We’ve been going through all the tips that came in from the Amber Alert. Over three hundred calls.”
Maya’s heart jumped. “Did someone see her? Did someone—”
“No.” Mills’s expression was hard now, not sympathetic. “We followed up on every single one. Checked every lead. None of them panned out.”
The hope that ha
