Page 7 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

SIX

“If you had the chance to hurt them without any consequences, would you?” Aiden asked.

Another dreadful day with the shrink and Zoe was striving hard to maintain her professionalism. “Them?”

“The people you were undercover with. They did horrible things and you had to pretend to be a part of their group. What would you have done if there were no laws?”

She leaned forward. “I’m supposed to say that I wouldn’t hurt them, right? So that you don’t mark me down as some red flag?”

“Now, I’ll know that you’re lying.”

She chewed her lips, thinking hard. “I would have. And I think most people would.”

“So you think it’s fear of punishment that makes people do the right thing?”

“Why is hurting killers and drug peddlers the wrong thing?”

“So you believe in vigilante justice?”

Zoe could feel the irritation climbing up her skin like an itchy blanket. These sessions were going to be brutal. And Dr. Wesley had no idea what kind of justice Zoe believed in.

“Yes, I’m Batman,” she growled.

Aiden smirked.

The next morning, when Zoe arrived at Harborwood Police Station, she wasn’t sure if it was the right address. But the faded sign hanging above the door confirmed it.

The station’s entrance was flanked by two lantern-style lights, their soft glow barely penetrating the fog that often rolled in from the coast. A narrow gravel path led to the front steps.

The scent of pine and damp earth hung in the air, mixing with the salty tang of the ocean.

She carried a tray of coffee she’d bought from the local shop on the way.

Too used to big buildings made of steel and glass, the sight before her was jarring.

A large wooden desk dominated the reception area, behind which a wall of outdated filing cabinets stood in neat rows, each drawer labeled with handwritten tags.

The walls were paneled in knotty pine. A few framed photos of the town in its earlier days hung crookedly on the walls, alongside a faded map of the surrounding forest. A small cluster of desks occupied the center of the room, each one cluttered with papers, radio equipment, and personal items—mugs, photos, and old police memorabilia.

A narrow hallway led to the back, where the cells were located—two small holding rooms with thick metal bars. The back door opened out onto a small clearing in the forest, where the patrol cars were parked under a makeshift carport, their roofs often covered in a layer of pine needles.

“Special Agent Zoe Storm?” a voice said from behind her. A man with thick hair, a thick mustache, and a thick belly. “Travis Hunter.”

“Chief!” She did a little salute. “Coffee?” she said, holding out the tray.

He paused and blinked. “S-sure.” He took a cup. “Your partner is here already.”

Behind him, Aiden was leaning against a doorway, his ankles crossed and his face screaming boredom. When he saw her, his eyes twinkled and he waggled his fingers in a wave. She gave him a forced smile.

“How was your first day?”

“It was great .” Then backtracked. “I mean… upsetting, of course. Which reminds me, where is Detective Cohen? I got something for him.”

“Let’s take this to my office.”

As they walked through the station, Zoe drew a lot of attention. Curious eyes, even hesitant ones, flocked to her. She smiled brightly and waved at them, introducing herself to some passing patrol officers. When they reached his office, Scott was already present, thumbing his phone.

“Good morning, Detective Cohen!” She held out a cup of coffee. “Two milks and no sugar, just how you like it.”

He stared at the cup before taking it. “How did you know?”

“I saw it scribbled on your empty coffee cup yesterday in the car.”

“Christ, you’re scary.”

“You have no idea,” she whispered under her breath.

“Based on my discussion with Dr. Wesley yesterday, we have started looking into any new arrivals or tourists,” Travis said. “You have something for us? Scott was telling me about the video.”

“I do. My tech guy got back to me early this morning. The license plate of the black car is registered to an Andy McMaster. Do you know him?”

Scott and Travis immediately locked eyes.

“Who is he?” Zoe said, intrigued.

“He works with Lily’s dad at the fish processing plant. He’s his supervisor,” Scott said.

“Did you interview him?” she asked.

He shook his head. “There was no reason to. His name didn’t come up when we talked to the parents and teachers.”

“Then how do you know who he is?”

“It’s Harborwood. Everyone knows everyone.” Travis sighed. “Okay, go talk to him. I’ll see if he has any priors. Dr. Wesley and I will continue digging at our end.”

“Has this guy ever been in trouble?” she asked Scott as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Nope. No one really gets into trouble in this town. Until now.”

The building was a large, industrial structure with corrugated metal walls streaked with rust and patches of peeling paint.

The faint hum of machinery emanated from within, mingling with the distant cries of seagulls that circled above, hoping to scavenge scraps.

As they stepped out of the car, the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocky shore echoed in the distance.

Zoe plugged her nose as the smell of fish overwhelmed her.

“How’s your motel?” Scott asked.

She shrugged. “I’ve had better… and worse. How long have you been a detective for?”

“Four years. It’s just me and two other guys. One of them is close to retirement. We never felt the need for more. Until now.”

They made their way to the entrance, passing rows of stacked crates filled with freshly caught fish, still glistening with seawater. Workers in rubber boots hauled crates, loaded trucks, and tended to the conveyor belts that carried the fish into the plant.

Zoe shuddered at the sudden drop in temperature inside—necessary to preserve the catch—and the smell of disinfectant and chemicals, laced with fish.

They were directed to the supervisor’s office where a burly man in his fifties, wearing a stained apron and a baseball cap, was leaning over a desk cluttered with paperwork and charts. A multitude of schedules and safety notices were pinned to a bulletin board behind him.

“That him?” she asked.

Scott nodded and knocked the doorframe. “Andy McMaster?”

The man looked up, his face lined and hands calloused. “Yes?”

“We have some questions for you. This is Special Agent Zoe Storm from the FBI.”

He glanced at the clock behind him. “What is this about?”

“Lily Baker,” Scott said. “You know her father, Tim Baker?”

“He’s a good worker,” he replied in a gruff voice. “I promoted him to manager last year. He’s on leave right now… understandably.”

Zoe read the safety protocols on the board behind him and studied his minimalistic office. Andy seemed comfortable talking to the police. It didn’t seem like he had anything to hide.

“We have you on tape talking to Lily at the playground the day she disappeared. In fact, technically, you’re the last person she was seen with.”

Andy’s stiff expression crumbled. He unfolded his arms, his eyes bouncing from Zoe to Scott. “What?”

“We have your car on video,” Scott said. “So don’t deny it.”

He looked around at his messy desk as if searching for something. “I… I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, then why didn’t you come forward?” Scott retorted.

“I didn’t think… it was so brief. I was just driving by and saw her and she recognized me from the times Tim would bring her to work… I just wanted to say hello. Please believe me. I didn’t hurt her. I wouldn’t do that. I got kids of my own!”

As if that ever stopped anyone , thought Zoe. She sat down and swung one leg over the other, invested more in the confrontation.

“You got problems with Tim?” Scott asked.

Andy’s mouth fell open. “I just told you I promoted him. He’s a solid guy. Very dependable. Come on, man!”

“What did you and Lily talk about?” Zoe asked.

He fumbled for words, scratching the back of his neck. “I… I don’t know. I just said hi and asked if she was feeling better. I asked her who she was with, she said her sister, and I told her to say hi to her parents from me. That was it.”

“She was sick?” Zoe didn’t recall seeing anything about that in the statements from the family.

“Tim said she’d been throwing up a few days before. Food poisoning, I suppose. But it was just chitchat.”

“And where did Lily go from there? Which direction?”

He gave it some thought. “She said something about how he’s calling her so she has to go and say hi.”

A zing of surprise pulsed through Zoe. She jerked upright and drew a sharp breath, her eyes catching Scott’s.

“ He ?” Scott arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I didn’t see. She just ran off and there were so many people?—”

“You didn’t see who she met?” Zoe pressed.

“No! I thought she was referring to a friend. It was a sunny day. We don’t get many of those here, and the park was teeming with people.”

“So which direction did she run off in?”

“The opposite direction to the one she came from. I had to get home so I thought nothing of it and drove away…” Andy licked his lips. “Am I in trouble? Should I have done something else?”

They didn’t answer. Zoe was preoccupied trying to trap the gloom that was cresting inside of her.

He . Could be a boy. But could just as likely be a man.

Lily must know him and that’s why she went to say hi to him.

Unfortunately, Zoe had come across one too many cases of children being groomed and lured by adults.

And the possibility of worst-case scenarios skyrocketed when the adult was a male.

After asking him for his alibi, they emerged from the building to a windy day. Zoe’s curls whipped around in all directions in a frenzy and she almost slipped on the weathered boards slick with rain and sea spray.

“This doesn’t bode well,” Scott finally said, huddling further into his coat. “If a man took her. Literally calls her over and then she goes missing for five days.”

Zoe’s gaze drifted to the boats moored along the sides, bobbing gently on the waves, their hulls scuffed and battered.

“Okay, we should confirm Andy’s alibi and do a preliminary dig into his financials.

Maybe spare a patrol officer or two to interview the coworkers to confirm that Andy and Tim weren’t on bad terms.”

Scott nodded. “Already on it.”

She tried to focus on the sound of water slapping against the dock piles. The likelihood of the grim outcome they dreaded lay quietly between them.