Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

It had been only two years, and given the media attention at the time… Tessa waited patiently.

Neil swung his attention to D.D. “You let her in? Without asking me? If I’d done that when you were in charge, you would’ve skinned me alive with a rusty razor, then gotten out a shaker of salt.”

“I made her promise not to touch anything,” D.D. said mildly.

“I only want the computers,” Tessa interjected. “And I won’t even take them. Just need to check something first. You can watch. But”—she shot a glance at D.D. just for sport—“your turn to promise not to touch.”

Neil scowled at both of them. “This is a time-sensitive investigation!”

“Yes.”

“Not to mention a highly complex crime scene!”

“How many perpetrators do you think?” Tessa asked him.

“At least two. Taser guy. Boot guy. Wait. I don’t have to share any information with you.”

“True, but Denbe Construction would appreciate your cooperation, which in turn will help you later, when no doubt you’re going to need information from them.”

Neil scowled again, then pursed his lips, considering. Tessa wasn’t touching anything, and they would need help from Justin’s construction firm, with requests to view corporate financials and personnel files being on the top of any good detective’s next-steps list.

“I think there were three to four guys,” Neil said, more considerate now. “But I can’t pinpoint exactly why. That’s what I’m doing now. Staring at the walls and willing them to talk.”

Tessa understood. Police work often felt exactly like that. And sometimes, the walls did talk, at least forensically speaking.

Now she gestured to a collection of evidence placards, which seemed to mark a trail of water drops. “What spilled?”

“Urine.” Neil pointed toward a doorway at the end of the hall. “Girl’s bathroom. Looks like they surprised her in there. Must’ve made a noise, I don’t know. But she was peeing, as there’s also urine in the toilet, but no toilet paper.”

“Sure it wasn’t a guy?” D.D. asked.

“Well, not being a total idiot, I thought we’d test it to be sure,” Neil drawled, obviously still cranky with his mentor. “But most logical scenario: Ashlyn Denbe was peeing. They made a noise. Scared her. Startled her. Something. Either way, she didn’t take the time to flush, but grabbed hair spray and launched a counterattack.”

“Really?” Tessa was intrigued. “Can I see?”

“Look, don’t touch.”

Tessa took that to be a yes. She walked down the hall, D.D. behind her now. She passed a double door that appeared to lead to the master suite, then a single door that led to a study, currently occupied by an older detective who was already sitting at the computer she wanted. Next up, on the left, came an obviously female room, bright pink walls covered in rock star posters, while the plush-carpeted floor was covered in clothes. Three detectives stood in there, probably how many it took to determine which items were evidence and which items were everyday teenage mess.

She arrived at the bathroom. Keeping with the theme from the rest of the house, it was a luxurious, double-sinked affair, featuring miles of earthy Italian tile, a walk-in glass shower and a bunch of brushed-nickel fixtures Tessa had once seen in a TV commercial. If memory served, the shower fixture alone cost about as much as a small automobile.

If Tessa was impressed, apparently, Ashlyn Denbe could’ve cared less. Rather than revel in her gold-veined granite countertop, she’d buried it beneath piles of cosmetic must-haves. Hair scrunchies, brushes, lotions, sprays, makeup kits, acne solutions. You name it, Ashlyn Denbe had it piled across her long, double-sinked countertop. Countertop finally gave way to the toilet, the back of which was equally cluttered.

Now Tessa stared at the toilet, stared at the countertop, then turned and stared at the open door.

“Lights on or off?” she asked Neil.

“Technically?”

“Okay,” she dragged out, unsure what technically could mean.

“Technically,” he repeated briskly, “it appears the intruders tripped the circuit breakers in the master electrical panel, meaning that the entire downstairs was lights-off. We found a light switch flipped to the on position in the foyer, however, which I’m assuming is from when the parents first entered the home. You know, walk in, turn on a light.”

Tessa digested that. Made sense. First, that one of the Denbes would try to turn on a light. Second, that if the intruders were smart enough to override a state-of-the-art security system and come armed with Tasers, of course they’d killed the lights. “And up here?”

“Circuit was still working. Maybe they realized the girl was on this level and to suddenly plunge her into darkness might spook her. She’d call her father or something.”

“Got it. So, on this level then, hallway light on or off?”

“On.”

“Bathroom light?”

“Off.”

“Female point of view?” Tessa offered. “Ashlyn hadn’t closed the door. She was alone, her parents out, right? Ashlyn was all tucked in for the night. Probably not asleep, given we’re thinking ten P.M. on a Friday night. But wearing comfy clothes, all holed up in her bedroom. Then she had to pee. Pads in here, sits to do her thing. The kidnapper appeared. That’s what scared the crap out of her. She’s sitting here, peeing in the dark, then looks up, and there’s a guy standing in the doorway.”

“That would do it,” D.D. muttered.

“She grabbed the hair spray from the edge of the counter,” Tessa continued. “See this one empty spot? Bet it sat right there. Ashlyn grabbed it, jumped up and started spraying. Kidnapper, grown man, probably not expecting resistance from a kid, takes it in the face. He stumbles back, and she starts to run.”

Neil studied her, nodding thoughtfully. “She ran for the master bedroom,” he murmured.

Tessa felt a little catch in her throat, couldn’t quite stop the sigh. Fifteen years old, scared out of her mind, the kid had run automatically for her parents. Forgetting in the moment that they weren’t home, couldn’t help her, couldn’t, in fact, do a damn thing to save her.

She followed Neil out of the bathroom, down the hall into the master suite. If the girl’s room had looked like a refugee camp, the master suite, in soothing shades of rich beige and chocolate brown, was a calm oasis. Huge king-size bed bearing some kind of leather-studded headboard. Dramatic floor-to-ceiling drapes, a chaise longue situated perfectly in front of a master fireplace, framed with yet more Italian marble.

The massive desk in the left corner held the first signs of fight or flight. The overstuffed executive chair had been toppled, wheels now pointing sideways. A heavy gold desk lamp had fallen to the floor. She could see where a drawer had been pulled out, quickly rifled.

“Letter opener,” Neil said. “Girl was a quick thinker, I’ll give her that. She grabbed the brass letter opener and went back at him.”

“Blood?”

“Not that we’ve found, but it was enough to get her by him again. Next, she headed for her room.”

Back into the hallway they went, a somber trio. No urine drops leading to the girl’s room, which explained how Neil had known that Ashlyn had run for the master bedroom first. By now, clothing back in place, bladder recovered, the girl was shifting gears from initial panic to fledgling strategy.

Tessa stopped in the hall, considering. “Why her bedroom? Why not go for the stairs?”

“When we find her, I’ll ask her,” Neil said. “For the moment, my best guess is she went for her phone.”

Tessa nodded. “Of course, lifeline for any teenager. First instinct is parents. Second instinct is phone a friend. When in doubt, text.”