Sawyer stared at the three names: Cora O’Neal, Carly Butler, and now Danielle Woods. She jotted Paige Owens’s name at the bottom of the list and then logged in to the Sacramento Independent’s website and searched the archives for Rene Owens. The file, including the police report, popped up. She wrote the address next to Paige Owens’s name and was about to print the report when her phone buzzed. A text from Palmer read: A twelve-year-old girl has been missing since yesterday. Come to my office.
Sawyer’s heart skipped a beat. A twelve-year-old girl missing? The timing was bizarre. She grabbed pen and paper and headed that way.
Through Palmer’s open door she saw his feet propped on the corner of his desk and his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared at the TV mounted on the wall in the corner. “Shut the door,” he said.
She did as he asked, then took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk and watched along with him. The anchor on Channel 10 was talking about a twelve-year-old girl named Riley Addison, who had gone missing Sunday night.
The picture switched to a local reporter talking to a music teacher who had given Riley piano lessons on the day she disappeared. The man said after they were done, just as she’d done every Sunday for the past year, Riley went outside and took a seat on the front stoop to wait for her mother.
The interview concluded, and a commercial came on. Palmer picked up the remote and clicked the television off. He dropped his feet to the floor. “Earlier it was reported that the girl’s mother was on her way to pick up her daughter when another car ran a red light and hit her vehicle. Her car swerved, then rolled down an embankment. She’s at Sutter General Hospital.”
Every part of Sawyer tingled at the thought of another girl being snatched off the streets in and around Sacramento. “Did you get the mother’s name?”
“Vicki Addison.”
“Want me to drive to the hospital and see what I can find out?”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“Have you heard anything more about the bones found earlier today?” she asked.
Palmer shook his head. “It’ll be a while before we know more.”
Sawyer placed her notepad on Palmer’s desk and slid it closer to him.
He read through the names, then looked at her. “What is this?”
“I’ve only scratched the surface and already found two girls between the ages of ten and twelve who went missing in the past five years. There could also be a third female, Danielle Woods. She’s currently listed as a runaway, but I talked to Mitch DeMattei—he says hello, by the way—and he doesn’t believe Danielle ran away from home.” She shrugged. “So I added her to my list. The name I highlighted,” she said, pointing at her notes, “is a fourth female who was nearly abducted, but who managed to escape unharmed. She’s sixteen now.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “All in Sacramento?”
“No. Carmichael, Elk Grove, and Sacramento.” After a short pause, Sawyer said, “Riley Addison needs to be added to the list.”
When Palmer failed to respond, Sawyer placed her hands, palms down, on his desk and leaned closer. “We could have an epidemic of kidnappings on our hands.”
“If there were that many young girls taken within a few short years, not only would media be all over it, citizens would be waving their pitchforks in front of the capitol.”
“Sadly, I don’t believe that’s true. Thousands of people go missing every year, many of those are children. The majority of missing children are either taken by a relative or they’re runaways. And then you have children who are considered ‘thrown-aways’ because they were told by their parents or guardians to leave the house.” Sawyer sighed. “Only two of those girls are listed in the national database. Nobody knows much about the girl who got away because her mother won’t talk about what happened. If all four of those girls were, in fact, abducted by a stranger, nobody would be the wiser.”
“What are you proposing?”
“Let me dig deeper,” Sawyer said. “Let me see if there are other girls aged nine to twelve who have gone missing in Sacramento and bordering cities in the past five to seven years.”
“And then?”
“And then I need to find out if they were ever found and if they are dead or alive. Once that has been established, I will talk to family members and learn all I can about these girls.” She gestured toward the TV screen, referring to the report they had just listened to. “I would like to make a list of character traits to try to learn their likes and dislikes. Did they take piano lessons or swim lessons? What were they doing when they went missing?”
“You’re looking for some sort of connection between these missing girls?” Palmer asked.
“Yes, although I’m not insinuating that the same person took all of them. I’m just curious to know if particular girls are being taken. If so, I think our readers would be interested to know more.”
Palmer tugged lightly on his beard as he talked. “Riley Addison, the newest missing girl, is close to my granddaughter’s age.”
Thinking he might say more about his granddaughter, Sawyer was surprised when he pushed her list back toward her and said, “You have a lot on your plate already.”
She picked up the notepad and wiggled it. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be writing an update on the vigilante group the media is calling the Black Wigs, and I have a few other stories that won’t take much time.” When their gazes met, she said, “I can do this.”
“You know the drill,” Palmer said. “We can only do so much.”
“What if I do most of the research on my own time?” she asked.
“Isn’t that what you do already?”
“A little girl is missing,” she reminded him. “It’s not too late for her. Give me a week to find out what I can. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I’m feeling déjà vu coming on.”
He was referring to her time spent in River Rock last month when a young girl was found murdered and Sawyer had asked for more time to investigate. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“Famous last words. Go ahead. Dig a little deeper. See what you can learn.”
“Thank you.” She left his office before he changed his mind. As she walked back to her desk, she caught sight of Derek Coleman at the end of the hallway, making his way toward the exit. Derek was a thirty-five-year-old widower and, before her promotion, her former boss. She and Derek had been seeing each other for the past month. She’d called him yesterday to talk about the managing editor’s retirement and never heard back. Rushing to his side, she caught up to him as he was exiting the building. “Hey, did you get my message?”
He kept walking. Not one word.
“Where are you off to?” she asked.
Outside, before stepping off the curb toward the parking lot, he stopped and turned to face her. “What do you want, Sawyer?”
Gobsmacked, she frowned. He wasn’t a moody person. In fact, he was the nicest guy she’d ever met, and she couldn’t remember one single time that he’d been rude to her. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.”