I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. It sounded like even Savannah’s mom believed that her boyfriend, Tim, had taken her daughter. And what could be more damning than your own girlfriend believing that you were the bad guy?
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that my dad and the other cops were taking all the puzzle pieces and forcing them together.
If Tim had taken Savannah, then it had to be because of their fight, because she had made him mad. In other words, the reason would be personal, rooted in their relationship. But if that was so, why would Tim also be following girls he didn’t know? I’d read about serial killers who started with a family member and then moved on to the wider world, but this was the opposite situation.
And there was something else. Someone else. Jenny Dowd, the girl who had disappeared from Island Tan in Beaverton ten months ago. One of the people I’d texted had reminded me about her. When I looked her up online, it turned out she looked like Savannah. And so did Courtney and Sara. It sounded like the girls at the middle school also had a similar look. All of them with long dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.
My dad had said that the totaled van with the license plate SVT 759 had ended up at All Autos salvage yard. Giving up on sleep, I got up and googled it. The pictures online showed hundreds of cars and trucks. Some looked new, others were stripped husks.
The Google reviews gave it an average of two and a half stars. It seemed like people loved the selection and hated the owner.
“This is not one of those places where you can pull your own parts. You can’t even go look at the vehicles you want parts from. The place was dead. Why couldn’t the guy at the counter have walked me back to see the condition of the vehicle that the part was coming off of? Possibly a company policy, but I didn’t see it stated anywhere. It’s a very small thing, but I won’t do business again there because of it.”
“While the selection was good, the owner … not so much. If I could rate it negative stars I would.”
“Owner was a real jerk. I wanted to go out and look at the vehicle, and he started screaming at me that it was his property and I needed to get off of it.”
Next to the last review was a photo of a man standing in front of a cinder-block building. One hand was raised in a fist, and the other was pointing at the viewer. He appeared to have been photographed in midrant. Just some middle-aged white guy with a bald head.
Even though the reviews didn’t give his name, suddenly I knew who he was.
A guy who did not want anyone on his property. A guy who would have access to all different kinds of beater cars. Who could probably fix cars even after they had been declared a total loss.
The guy who had been following girls.
The guy who had taken Savannah.
What if I woke my dad? Would he believe me if I tried to explain my thinking? He already seemed certain he knew the answer. And even if it was possible to convince him otherwise, how long would that take? It had been more than forty-eight hours since Savannah was taken.
So even if she was still alive, how long would that be true?
If Savannah was to have any kind of chance at all, it felt like I had to be the one to give it to her. I could go out there, look for the white van. Look for her. Even look for signs of a grave. If I didn’t find Savannah, I still might be able to find evidence to convince my dad.
My parents were in bed. But they always left their keys on hooks near the front door.
Moving through the house on tiptoe, I grabbed a flashlight and then the keys to my mom’s car.