In my office, I took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of my own clothes against my body instead of the borrowed clothes I had worn for nearly three days. Jeans never felt so good. My blue shirt fit me instead of drowning my body. I slipped my leather jacket on. Sitting at my desk, eating my breakfast burrito, I pulled out my mother’s file again. The deep blue file was faded, and already the seam was ripping on the top.
Once again, I opened it while reading my mother’s cold case again. The autopsy report, the police report led to nothing, not even a lead. There were scrapes along the ground as if there was a fight. But no handprints, no blood, no evidence to give them an idea how to move forward.
I needed to find the reported missing girls.
Malcolm knocked and opened the door. He paus
