Brighter Horizons was next to a building that housed community offices for municipal services such as water and electrical, dog registration, driver licensing, and financial aid for war veterans.
Amanda rang the shelter’s doorbell early on Friday morning.
“Hello? Do you have an appointment?” The voice was coming over an intercom.
“We’re detectives with the Prince William County PD,” she replied, wondering how far that would get her.
“You may enter, but the other detective needs to stay outside.”
Amanda turned to Trent and understood. As a man, he might make the residents uneasy. But if men weren’t allowed in the shelter, how could it be the hinge point where the killer encountered his victims?
“Understood,” Amanda said, and the door buzzed. She said to Trent, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t rush on my account.”
Amanda signed a registry before they buzzed her through another set of doors. Inside, a woman even taller than Sergeant Graves greeted her; she must have been over six feet.
“Detective…?” The woman fished for Amanda’s name.
“Steele. I have some questions about a woman and her daughter I believe you may have helped here.”
“Whatever I can do to help. I’m Sadie Kerr, the administrator here. If you’d like to come with me.”
Amanda followed Sadie into a modest office with a few visitor chairs positioned across from a desk.
“Make yourself comfortable. Who is it you have questions about?” Sadie leaned forward and clasped her hands.
“Are the names Jill or Charlotte Archer familiar to you?” Amanda was banking on visitors’ names being put in the system. Considering the security measures she had just jumped through, she figured there was a good chance.
“Off the top, no.” She clicked on a keyboard and squinted at the screen. “Hmm. Well, neither name is in our system.” Sadie narrowed her eyes and angled her head.
“Mrs. Archer apparently looked at the facilities, but didn’t check in. That type of thing isn’t documented?”
“We don’t track people who don’t check in so as not to violate anyone’s confidentiality. We want to encourage a haven of trust, which in this case means anonymity.”
Amanda wasn’t sure she backed that policy given the purpose of the shelter. The more this investigation wore on, it felt increasingly like these abused women and children were just out there, flitting about on their own. She pulled up a photograph of Jill and Charlotte Archer and showed it to the administrator. “Ever see them around?”
“They do look familiar, and I believe they looked around.” She drew back, settling into her chair.
“Any idea when?”
“About two, maybe three weeks ago.”
The Riggs would have already been dead at that point. Still, she asked about them. “Do the names Connie and Jodi Riggs mean anything to you?”
“Connie and her daughter stayed here a few days. Then she was off. Don’t know if she followed through but she spoke a lot about heading out to the east coast. She never shared what was drawing her there besides getting far away from her husband. Did something happen to them?” Sadie’s bottom lip quivered just subtly, as she was visibly fighting for dominance over her emotions.
There would be no more putting it off. “Unfortunately, they were murdered. As were Jill and Charlotte Archer.”
“Oh my goodness. Do you know who could have done this? I’m guessing you’re not looking at the husbands.” A pinch in her forehead had her skin veeing down between her eyes.
“It’s an open investigation. When did you last see Connie and Jodi?”
“As I said they only stayed a few days, and that was about a month ago.”
The Archers and the Riggs had the shelter in common, but the timeline made it impossible for the women to cross paths here. “And I assume at that point, Connie Riggs checked out?”
Sadie’s face became shadowed. “She just wasn’t here one day.”
Amanda stiffened. “Did you call the police or report them missing?”
A gentle shake of her head. “Women up and leave all the time around here. Some go back to their abusive mates, justifying that course of action in all sorts of ways. We try to help these women discover their inner power. We offer programs for building self-esteem along with others that teach skills for returning to the workplace. Many of these women haven’t worked in many years. Sadly, all our training and best intentions don’t always stick.”
“But when children are involved, they are at risk. Do you report such cases to Child Protective Services?”
“We do, but what’s done after that is with them.”
Amanda was sickened by how society failed women and children in abusive homes. The buck of responsibility kept getting pushed down the line.
Sadie said, “I know this will sound like a lame excuse, but we’re doing all we can.”
Amanda’s fight wasn’t with the administrator but the system in general. There were too many holes for victims to fall through. “They have to want to help themselves,” she parroted what she’d heard repeated too many times in this case. And though she realized the truthfulness of the statement, it didn’t make it sting less.
“Sad, but true. When it boils down, we’re not a jail and can’t force them to stay.”
Amanda wondered how often the administrator chanted that before bed so she could sleep. “Have you recently had any mothers with a young daughter up and leave?”
“Connie and Jodi were the last, but a few months before that, we had an Abigail Cohen and her six-year-old daughter, Mia.”
A labor shortage and bureaucratic red tape might limit Sadie’s actions, but she obviously cared about the women and children who stayed at the shelter. She didn’t even look at her computer. “You just remember them off the top?”
“I had an extra soft spot for Abigail. She came here with a fresh black eye and a broken rib. Her husband used her as a punching bag because he didn’t get the promotion he wanted at work. Her injuries were bad enough that, at least, he brought her to the hospital in Manassas. A nurse there—heaven-sent—got Abigail alone. From there, she arranged for Abigail and her daughter to ditch him and get in here.”
This nurse did sound like an angel on earth. “But Abigail didn’t stay?”
Sadie shook her head. “Nope.”
“You said this happened a few months ago?”
“About four, but that’s right.”
“Do you know if she went back to her husband?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
“Would you know the nurse’s name who referred her here?” She might not factor into the investigation, but it was always better to be armed with more than not enough.
“Summer Freeman. She’s incredible. She’s gotten a lot of women in here actually. She saves lives at the hospital and outside of it too.”
“Was she, by chance, who brought Connie and Jodi Riggs here?”
“No. Connie came from Washington if I remember right.”
“Thank you for your help.” Amanda gave the woman her card and added, “Please call if you think of any other mothers and daughters who left here in recent months. Also if any more suddenly do.”
Sadie nodded and took Amanda’s card. “I will, Detective.”
“Thank you.”
Amanda saw herself out and found Trent in the car listening to country music—and singing along. It wasn’t the first time she’d busted him belting out some tune.
He stopped singing and turned the radio off when she slipped into the passenger seat.
“Don’t stop on my account.” She tried to smile, but the expression failed. Being in that building had been depressing. While they helped abuse victims, the need for the shelter’s existence prickled. That, and the fact these women were really on their own.
“What did you find out?”
“Got a lead. Another mother and daughter to follow up on.”
“Oh, no.”
“An Abigail and Mia Cohen. They stayed for a while four months ago but were just gone one day. Guess it happens here.”
“Huh.”
“That basically sums up how I feel about it. It was never confirmed that they returned home, and the parameters fit. Six-year-old daughter and the mother was abused. She’d checked into Brighter Horizons with a black eye and a broken rib. A nurse at the medical center in Manassas, a Summer Freeman, brought her in. Apparently she does this sometimes.”
“Hopefully, she didn’t go back to that bastard.”
“Let’s hope mother and daughter are both safe and alive.”
“We can call around the family home, see if they’re there.”
“I think we should. Also, I’d like to talk to that nurse.”
“All right. Well, I’m not without leads either. I received an email while you were in there. The footage from Dumfries Elementary is in.”
“Okay, we’ll look, hopefully get a clear view of Mystery Man’s face. We don’t recognize him, we’ll be able to run it through facial rec databases.”
“Yep, and we’ll have a face to show and ask around about. Speaking of, we still need to return to Prince Park and see what we might be able to find from people there.”
“One hundred percent.” While Amanda was pleased that they had next steps, she was left with a bittersweet taste in her mouth. How often did this abusive cycle repeat every day in America, in the world?