“Are you Loyola Briggs?” Rick asked.
“Yeah. But I ain’t done nothing wrong. Ask my parole officer. I make my meetings.”
Rick reached for his phone and pulled up the picture of Heather Briggs. “Is this your daughter?”
Loyola didn’t look at the photo. She sniffed and shook her head. “I ain’t got no children.”
“Your mother says you have a daughter named Heather.”
Loyola met his gaze. “I don’t have no kids.”
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday, August 23, 11:30 P.M.
Rick’s grip on the phone tightened. “According to your mother, Ester Higgins, you do have a child. Her name is Heather.”
Loyola stopped her struggles and for a moment stared at him as if he were a ghost from the past. “What?”
“Heather,” Bishop said. “Your daughter was Heather.”
The woman shook her head and dropped her gaze. “No.”
Rick gripped his temper. “Where’s Heather?”
She sniffed and kept her gaze on the ground. For a moment her gaze turned vacant as if she traveled backward in time. “I gave her away.”
“Gave her away?” Rick asked.
“Yeah.” She shrugged her shoulders. “To a good family. That was a long time ago. Is she looking for me? I’ve seen stories on the television, you know, where kids come and find their real families.”
He wondered how many times she’d told herself this story over the years. “You think she’s looking for you?”
“Sure. That’s what adopted kids do. Like I said, I seen it on those movie channels before.”
Bishop muttered a curse. “You didn’t give Heather away.”
“Yes, I did.” She raised her gaze staring at him with vacant eyes. “I did. To a good family.”
“Who did you give her to?” Rick asked.
“A good family. A really good family.”
“I need a name,” Rick insisted.
She shook her head. “I don’t remember the name.”
Bishop sighed. “You gave your child to a family and you don’t have a name?”
“That happens with adoptions. I think they’re called closed adoptions.”
Bishop growled. “This is a waste of time. Tell her.”
Rick shook his head. “Loyola, we’ve found the body of a child. A girl. And we think it’s Heather.” He scrolled through his phone and found Jenna’s sketch. “We think this is Heather.”
Loyola didn’t look at the image. “No. That’s not Heather.”
“You haven’t looked at it,” Rick said.
She folded her arms, as if donning armor. “I don’t need to.”
“Do me the favor of looking at the picture.” No missing the order behind the soft tone.
Loyola’s gaze flickered to the image, but didn’t focus on it. “That’s not her.”
With deliberate slowness, Rick turned off the image and tucked the phone in his breast pocket. “Know how we came up with this picture?”
Loyola sniffed and glanced toward her feet. “I don’t care.”
Bishop twisted his pinky ring. “You aren’t the least bit curious?”
“I’ve got to get back to work. Please take these handcuffs off.” She moved as if to leave but Rick stepped in her path, blocking her escape.
“We found a skull, Loyola. In the Centennial Park.” He didn’t say exactly where in the park because he wanted to hear that from her. “Skull was wrapped in a plastic bag. Didn’t take the medical examiner long to tell us the skull belonged to a five-year-old girl.” The desire to back this woman up against a wall and demand a confession was powerful. But he kept it in check. The medical examiner had pulled DNA from the skull’s teeth. “We’ll match that DNA to yours, which is on file.”
Loyola chewed her bottom lip. “I gave her away. She’s living a good life now. And I ain’t giving my DNA to nobody.”
Rick’s grip on his pen tightened as he clicked the end over and over. Click. Click. Click. “She was your daughter. And you can’t tell me who has her now?”
“They wouldn’t tell me who was gonna get her.”
“They? Who are they, Loyola?”
“I don’t remember.”
A smile tipped the edge of his mouth. Click. Click. Click. “No more stories. Let’s talk about the truth. Did you kill your daughter, Loyola?”
“I didn’t . . .” She hesitated. “I’d never hurt Heather. I loved her.”
“She’s dead. Someone killed this child. We found her body.”
She squeezed her eyes closed. “I wouldn’t . . . couldn’t. You’ve made a mistake. You didn’t find my Heather.”
“If you didn’t . . .” He leaned a fraction closer as if they were conspirators. “Then you know who did. Who did you give her to?” She might have given the child away or sold her to people who enjoyed hurting children. He’d seen it before and it never failed to sicken him.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not going to cut it, Loyola.” Again, Rick kept his voice nonthreatening. He didn’t like this woman but he needed her to talk. Not for himself. But for Heather.
“Let’s haul her ass to jail.” Bishop’s anger rumbled like a growl that all but radiated from his body.
Loyola shook her head. “I ain’t going to jail. One more strike and I go to prison.”
“Too damn bad,” Bishop said. “Nothing would make my day better than watching them slam the door on your pathetic face.”
Rick stepped in front of Bishop as if to protect Loyola. “I need you to talk, Loyola. I just need the truth. I don’t want to se
e you go to prison.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head. “I loved Heather.”
“I know you did,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened. When was the last time you saw her?”
The tears flowed as she seemed to claw through the years to dark memories.
“What was she doing the last time you saw her?” Rick asked.
Loyola swiped away a tear. “She was crying.”
“Why was she crying?” he asked softly.
Bishop paced behind Rick as if he were a caged animal. Loyola’s gaze flickered to him and then quickly settled on Rick as if she’d fled to a safe harbor. “I don’t remember.”
“Was she hurt?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “She must’ve been sad. She loved me and didn’t want to go to the new family.”
“Was she hurt?” he repeated, as he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“I don’t remember.”
“I think you do.”
“Danny was there,” she whispered.
Bishop stopped pacing but glared at Loyola as if to tell her the threat of jail remained.
“Danny was Heather’s father,” Rick said.
“Yes.”
“What happened?” Rick had to be careful here. He didn’t want to put ideas in her head about what had happened. He wanted all the facts to come from her.
She picked at her sleeve. “Nothing happened. Danny loved Heather.”
Rick’s anger simmered under the surface even as he kept his hand on her shoulder. He was careful to keep his fingers relaxed. He wanted her to think of him as a friend. Getting a pound of flesh right now wouldn’t help Heather. “What happened?”
She squeezed her eyes closed as if the scene played right before her. “Nothing happened.”
Bishop hissed in a breath, his anger as thick as the humidity soaking the night air. Both cops knew Danny Briggs’s rap sheet went back thirty years and was littered with violence and drugs.
Loyola kept her gaze on Rick as if he had become her sole lifeline.
“Where’d you see Heather crying?”
“In her bed. Danny said we needed to find her a new home. And I knew he was right. He took her to the new home.”