Page 8 of Stolen Daughters (Detective Amanda Steele)

“You ever see anyone go into the house or aro

und it?”

She shook her head. “No reason. I mean, we don’t live on this street.”

“And you, Simon?”

“Nope.”

“All right, then. Before I leave, I’ll just need your full names and a number to reach you in case I have any more questions.”

“Sure.” Cindy provided the information, and Amanda recorded it in her notepad.

She left the young couple and went on to interview several more in the crowd. Most weren’t that interesting. Everyone was curious. One or two waxed philosophical on how all humankind was connected and thereby affected by the loss of anyone—stranger, friend, or foe.

When two uniformed officers arrived to assume responsibility for interviewing those in the crowd, Trent came over to her.

“I want to go speak with the immediate neighbors,” she said to him. “I want to hear firsthand if any of them witnessed any activity around that house.”

“You got it.”

She led the way to number 534, the house next to their crime scene, and knocked on the door.

“Hey!” a man called out.

Amanda and Trent turned, and a forty-something man with a bad comb-over was headed toward them. They held up their badges, and the man groaned.

“Detectives Steele and Stenson with the Prince William County PD,” Amanda said. “And you are?”

“Ted Dixon.”

“You live here, Mr. Dixon?” She jacked a thumb over her shoulder.

“Uh-huh.” He chewed on his bottom lip, and she expected to see blood drawn.

He was clearly uncomfortable, and she’d get to the root of why that was, but first she had some procedural questions to ask. “How long have you lived here?”

“Ah, five years.”

“Did you know your neighbors next door?”

“Not by name. But they’ve been gone a while now.”

Between the boarded windows and now this, she was really leaning toward the likelihood the bank had repossessed the property. “Was it a family or a couple or…?”

“Just a couple. Say, in their forties. No kids that I saw.”

“And when did they leave?”

“Several months ago.”

That surprised her. Amanda had expected it would have been longer ago than that given the boarded windows. It would seem something kept it from going on the market. She scribbled in her notepad, Why not for sale?

“Hey, whatcha writing there?” Ted jabbed a finger toward the page, and Amanda held it toward her chest to take it out of his view.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” She offered him a small smile.

“Okay,” he said, not that he sounded convinced.