Page 16 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

FIFTEEN

Harborwood Police Station was a whirl of activity.

In the two days since Zoe had arrived, she’d quickly realized this level of chaos wasn’t normal.

The phones rang off the hook, with concerned residents eager for updates, curious callers fishing for details, and amateur sleuths offering their latest theories.

Local reporters, starved for a story more compelling than the ongoing mayoral race, had finally found something to sink their teeth into.

As Zoe and Aiden approached the entrance, she noticed a “Vote for Me” poster for Regina Warner stapled haphazardly to the wooden siding.

She’d heard snippets of conversation hinting at something brewing, but nothing concrete.

A patrol officer passed by, tearing the poster down with a quick, practiced motion.

Catching Zoe’s eye, he muttered something about keeping the station a politics-free zone.

As if any place truly was.

“Do you think it’s a coincidence that something so out of character has happened in this town in the run-up to the elections?” she asked Aiden.

“It’s a drastic step.”

“Did you come across any new visitor or passersby?”

“We had two leads but none of them have any history and both have alibis.” His face fell. “It looks more likely to be a townie.”

They made their way to a small room just ahead of the lock-up that was their assigned working space.

The room was cramped and sparsely furnished, with a single, old desk cluttered with files and a flickering computer monitor that cast a dim, uneven light across the space.

The air was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the faint mustiness of papers left untouched for too long.

Her mind was still absorbed by thoughts of Lily.

She had stayed up all night going through Violent Criminal Apprehension Program and N-Dex for any similarities between Lily’s case and any other. But she found nothing.

“Hey.” Scott came up in a crinkled suit. “Jesus, it’s so bright in here. I got this toy from the evidence locker.” He placed the bagged teddy bear on the table between them. “I sent a picture to Lily’s parents. They confirmed it’s not hers.”

Zoe picked it up and turned it around. The fabric was worn, with threads fraying and one of its glass eyes cracked. “This is really old,” she murmured, her brow furrowing. “Could it belong to the killer?”

“Or he picked it up from some donation site or the dumpster.” Scott blinked forcefully and fished for something in his coat. He took out a bottle of eye drops and squirted some in his eyes.

“Either way, it means something to the killer,” Aiden added.

“Did you find anything on your end?” Scott asked.

“Nothing on ViCAP or N-Dex. But we got more reports from the coroner.” She powered up her laptop. “No DNA under her fingernails. And we can definitely rule out assault.”

“The crime lab will be slower because of the backlog. Can you make some calls?”

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” Zoe said, her tone measured as she studied him with a pointed look. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, and there was a sluggishness in his movements that hadn’t been there before.

He hadn’t slept.

He shifted under her gaze, running a hand through his hair. “If there were no ligature marks on Lily anywhere, does that mean she was drugged throughout her ordeal?”

“It’s possible…” Zoe skimmed through the reports, trying to catch anything relevant. “But a child that age being drugged for four days would do some damage. Wouldn’t it?”

“The kidneys were mildly damaged. Evidence of tubular necrosis and interstitial nephritis,” Scott read from the report. “Suggestive of exposure to some nephrotoxin.”

“What about her stomach contents? Her body weight hadn’t changed significantly so she was being fed well.” Aiden drummed a pen on the table, digesting the information. “Food was found in her stomach which means she ate two to four hours before she was killed. But something isn’t adding up.”

“What do you mean?”

Zoe’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the chromatograms included in the report. The detailed chemical analysis of the stomach contents had been included as an appendix, raw data that required a careful eye to interpret.

Scott straightened up, noticing her shift in focus. “What is it?”

She pointed to a series of peaks on the chromatogram. “These spikes here? They indicate the presence of certain organic compounds—vanillin, among others.”

“Vanillin?” Scott repeated, leaning in closer. “Like vanilla?”

“Exactly.” She was on the cusp of discovering something that could help; she could feel it in her fingertips.

“But look at the concentration. It’s unusually high, and there’s something else…

see this minor peak here? This isn’t just any vanilla.

It’s a much purer form, almost certainly from natural sources, and not the synthetic stuff. ”

Scott frowned, trying to piece it all together. “So, what are we saying? This isn’t just any chocolate—this is high-end, gourmet stuff.”

“That’s what I’m thinking! The presence of natural vanillin, in this concentration, suggests it came from something rare, like a high-quality ingredient. This could very well be Tahitian vanilla bean.”

Aiden took a sip of his coffee, as he reflected. “And how many chocolatiers around here are likely to use something that specific?”

“Not many,” Zoe said, flipping back to the summary in the report.

“The ME found remnants of chocolate truffle in her stomach, but they didn’t go into detail about the ingredients.

It could be in that truffle.” She glanced back at the chromatogram, her mind working through the possibilities, her heart beginning to race as a path forward became clearer and more defined.

“I think we need to check with some local high-end chocolatiers, the ones who might source rare ingredients. If this is Tahitian vanilla, it could lead us straight to the person who gave her that truffle.”

“I’ll start compiling a list. We can hit up the boutiques, see if anyone’s been buying truffles like this recently,” Scott said.

Zoe glanced up as he headed for the door. “Also, Detective Cohen… take care yourself.”

Scott stopped, catching the implication in her words. He lingered at the doorway, turning red.

“Sugar solves most problems,” she said.

He gave her a brief, tight-lipped smile, but didn’t say anything. “Thanks. Also… call me Scott.”