Amanda hated hospitals for the reason they rarely brought good news. While she’d given birth to Lindsey in one, she’d faced far more heartbreak than celebration within their walls.
She breathed shallow, as if by not inhaling the smells intrinsic with a hospital, she’d be guarded from the emotional repercussions. No such luck. Not only did the corridors bring back the loss of her family, but her memory of being told Scott Malone had a brain tumor. For a minute or two there, it had been touch and go as to whether he’d survive.
At the nurses’ station, she asked for Summer Freeman.
“What’s this regarding?”
Amanda showed her badge. “Police business.”
The woman hesitated, reaching for the phone, drawing her hand back. Eventually she picked up the receiver and paged Nurse Freeman. “I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as she can.”
“Thank you.” Amanda tucked her badge away and did her best to block out anyone who wasn’t Trent. If she let her gaze wander past him, she took in the sick—those being pushed around in wheelchairs or walking with portable IV machines. In the one corner, a couple sat hugging, and the woman was crying.
Amanda turned away. She’d lived through enough heartbreak and grief to feel their pain. Either someone they loved had died or faced the near possibility of death.
“Yes? You paged me?” A woman of solid build with a buzz cut and arms the size of Amanda’s calves tapped the front counter. She had directed what she’d said to her colleague there.
“Police.” The station nurse bobbed her head toward Amanda and Trent.
“Summer Freeman?” Amanda asked.
“I am. And you are?” Summer crossed her arms.
“Detective Amanda Steele, and this is Detective Trent Stenson. We’d like to ask you about a patient of yours.” Technically Abigail was a former patient, but Amanda figured going with the present tense might elicit more urgency.
“What about them?”
“We’re trying to locate her.”
It seemed with the mention of her, any defensive guard surrounding the nurse dropped. “Her name?”
“Abigail Cohen. She came here about four months ago seeking treatment for a black eye and a broken rib.”
Summer’s mouth set in a thin, straight line, as she glanced at the nurse at the desk. “I remember Abigail well. Why are you trying to find her?” Summer briefly let her gaze travel over to Trent, but returned her focus to Amanda. “Is she in trouble?”
“We honestly don’t know, but you may have heard on the news about the shallow graves found at Prince Park?” Amanda asked.
“I read about it online.” Her voice was leery, hesitant.
“Abigail and her daughter were not victims,” Amanda rushed to say, thinking it was best to ease the nurse’s concern. “But the ones who were came from similar home conditions.” Amanda had probably said too much now. Shockingly, the media hadn’t yet caught wind the graves held mothers and daughters, and she didn’t want to be the reason they did.
“Oh.” Summer walked across the area and dropped into a chair.
Amanda sat next to her, Trent beside Amanda.
Summer rubbed her forehead. “I get so many women in here who are abused. The husbands break their bones and then bring them in for treatment. They try to pass it off as—”
“A fall down the stairs,” Trent cut in. “Or tell you that the women are clumsy. It’s always the woman’s fault…”
Summer narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s right. And I sense you’re familiar with the scenario. You know someone who is abused?”
“My aunt.”
“Sorry to hear that. You’ve probably tried all you can.”
Trent nodded, and Amanda sensed his pain, empathizing how hard it would be to accept his hands were tied.
Summer continued. “These guys hover over their wives for fear if they let them out of sight for a minute, someone will talk sense into them.”
“Which you do,” Trent said softly.
Summer met his gaze and nodded. “I try. Lord knows, every single time, I try. On rare occasions my efforts pay off. I’ve just treated so many women and many have been here repeatedly. Each time, they tell me they lost their footing or some other such rubbish. You know the husband pushed them or hit them. I do my best to help these women find the courage to use their voice, but I can’t make them. And you know as the police you can’t charge the men unless the women push for it.”
Amanda nodded, thinking that law should be changed.
“Now, that’s different when we’re talking about children who are abused. We have the immediate right to call in Child Protective Services. But then it’s a matter of what they do from there.”
“You were able to get Abigail and her daughter into Brighter Horizons,” Amanda said.
A slight smile. “Guessing you’ve been talking with Sadie Kerr?”
“I did.”
“Then you probably also know that Abigail left the shelter.”
“One reason we’re here talking to you,” Amanda began. “Do you have a current address for her or a way to reach her?”
Summer turned away, rubbed her arms.
“Please, if you know…”
“I gave her some money and told her to use it to get out of town.”
Amanda thought back on Sadie’s description of the nurse being heaven-sent. She agreed. Gifting cash from her own pocket was above and beyond.
“Did she have a car?” Trent asked.
“If you want to call it that. It was a jalopy, but she assured me it would get her and Mia from point A to B.”
Amanda hoped they had made it to point B. “Do you know where she went?” She’d try again.
“She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask. Best that I don’t know anyway in case that lunatic of a husband ever comes after me.”
Amanda didn’t say as much, but she didn’t think the nurse needed to worry about Jeremy Cohen. He seemed resolved to his wife and daughter being out of his life. “Do you have a way of reaching Abigail or are you still in contact?” Amanda would be crossing fingers and toes—if it altered the result.
“I gave her a burner phone. Ya know, for in case of emergencies. I haven’t heard from her.”
“You ever try to reach her?” Trent asked.
“Sure, but never got through. And that’s fine, really. As I said, it’s best I don’t know where they went.”
Mother and daughter could be perfectly fine and happy somewhere, but the opposite was equally possible. “Would you give us her number? I assure you we won’t share it with anyone.”
“Certainly not her husband,” Trent interjected with force.
“I’m not sure if I should…”
Amanda let silence fill the space between them, hoping that Summer would feel the need to volunteer the number.
“I’ll give it to you.” Summer rattled off the digits from memory, as Trent scribbled them in his notepad.
“If you reach her, tell her to call me, just quick.”
“We will. Just a few more questions, and we’ll be out of your way. Did you ever treat a Jill Archer?”
“Hmm. The name rings a bell. I can check patient registration.”
“We’d appreciate that.” The Cohens and Archers had the shelter in common, but did they also have Nurse Freeman? And while the administrator at the shelter didn’t think the nurse treated the Riggs, it didn’t hurt to ask the source. “And what about a Connie Riggs?”
“One minute.” Summer headed to the station desk and dropped into a chair next to the other nurse. She pulled a set of glasses from a pocket in her shirt and slipped them on before clicking on a keyboard. A few moments later, she said, “No Connie Riggs, but Jill Archer?”
“That’s right.”
“She came in with a broken arm six months ago… Actually, I remember her now. Wasn’t her husband a cop? I seem to remember a uniform.”
“He was with the Dumfries PD,” Trent said. “I’m pleased to say he isn’t anymore.”
“I see.” Summer perched her glasses on her head.
“There’s something I’d like to show you.” Amanda took her phone out and brought up the image of the mystery man. She held her screen toward the nurse. “Do you recognize him?”
She reached out for Amanda’s phone. “Could I?”
“Sure.”
Summer pulled her glasses down and studied the picture. “He looks kind of familiar. Why or where from, I can’t say.” She gave Amanda her phone back. “Then again, he is rather nondescript, isn’t he? Could be anyone.”
“Well, if it comes back to you who he is or where you saw him, call us.” Amanda gave the nurse her card.
She and Trent were a few steps away when Summer called them back.
“Who is he? I mean, it’s obvious you don’t have a name, but why are the police interested in him?”
“I’m sorry, but we can’t say.” Amanda turned to leave again.
“You said that Abigail fit the profile of the victims found in that park…?”
The lingering question had Amanda returning to Summer. “That’s right.” She could be misreading the nurse, but she sensed Summer’s motivation wasn’t to poke her nose into the investigation but rather that she had something to contribute.
“These women came from abusive homes. Did they have children?”
“Young daughters.” Amanda felt safe in admitting that. She wasn’t saying the children were in the grave with their mothers.
“Huh. Like Mia?”
“That’s right.”
Summer paled. “In that case,” she said, “there’s someone I’m worried about.”
The skin tightened on the back of Amanda’s neck. “Who and why?” She best not get ahead of herself.
“Her name’s Leanne Reilly. She’s early thirties and has a daughter named Gracie.”
“And why are you worried about them?” Trent stood next to Amanda, inadvertently bumping her elbow and drawing back with a mumbled apology.
“She came in here a few days ago with a sprained ankle. Monday, I believe. Said she twisted it on an uneven rug but that was a clear lie. Her husband was hovering and wouldn’t let go of the daughter’s hand. I got the mother alone, and she admitted her husband had caused her injury. She was afraid he might hurt Gracie if she didn’t leave him. Before she checked out, she seemed real determined to leave him but kept saying the timing wasn’t right. I called to talk to her yesterday, and her deadbeat man answered the phone. He said Leanne and Gracie were gone. He actually added ‘good riddance.’”
“It sounds like she built up the courage to leave him.” Amanda wanted to believe that, but there was this niggling starting in her gut.
Summer was shaking her head. “I don’t think so. As I told you I’ve treated a lot of women who were beaten by their husbands. You get to know the ones who are ready to claim their power, and the ones who are afraid to just yet. Leanne wasn’t giving me any signs she was ready to leave him. But he told me that Leanne had ditched her car, and it was going to cost him a fortune to get it out of the impound lot. Why would she have done that? The car would have been their best shot of getting away from here.”
“And a means the husband could use to track her.” Amanda hoped that was the explanation.
“Maybe, but I don’t know. Just a feeling right here.” Summer put a fist over her gut. “You will follow up on this and talk to the husband?”
Amanda glanced at Trent, and his body language and energy said he was ready to move on it. “We will. If you have her address, phone number, to give us, that would be a big help.”
“Sure.” Summer gave both to them and said, “Hopefully I’m wrong and they’re fine.”
“Hopefully,” Amanda parroted, and Summer excused herself saying she needed to get back to work.
“We can’t ignore the similarities,” Trent said. “The abusive households, the fact Jill Archer was also treated by Nurse Freeman, even if months apart. And where are Abigail and Mia Cohen?”
“We’ll try to reach her using the burner.”
“And Leanne’s car was impounded. Did she ditch it to shake her husband? He’d just need to report it stolen, and she could have been dragged back to him.”
“I think you and I both know we need to follow this up. We pop by, check in, and go from there.” Amanda was ready for some good news, but she feared she’d be waiting a while longer.