“On Massachusetts gun laws.”
“But to take out her entire family, including two younger siblings . . . I don’t buy it. Not the Roxanna I knew. No way.”
“Except according to you, you’d only just met her. Meaning you didn’t really know the girl at all.”
“The Amber Alert said to be on the lookout for a girl walking two dogs. Doesn’t that imply she was gone at the time of the shooting?”
“According to a neighbor, she’d left with the dogs. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t double back.”
Flora frowned again, shook her head. She didn’t speak right away. D.D. used the opportunity to attack her bagel.
“Our group is small,” Flora said finally. “And not stupid. You go through the situations we went through, plus navigate everything afterward—the reporters who pretend to be your best friend, only because they want exclusive rights to your story; the people who suddenly love you, but only really want to bask in the reflected glow of your celebrity . . . You learn to be a good judge of people. We don’t allow many in, and everyone has to come with a personal recommendation. Roxy got that blessing. She convinced at least one pretty savvy woman that she was desperately in need.”
“Maybe.” D.D. shrugged, chewed more bagel. “But according to you, she always talked about a friend, which everyone knew was a lie. So, you believed her fear was genuine, even as she lied to you?”
“We believed she lied because she was afraid.”
“Tricky proposition. She reveal anything personal? Trust you guys with any intimate details of her life? Hell, the name of this alleged best friend? Or, better yet, biggest enemy?”
“Not yet. But she was new to the group. Sharing takes time and trust.”
D.D. rolled her eyes. “In other words, you know nothing. And have spent the past twenty minutes telling us nothing. Thanks a lot.”
“We didn’t know much about her current home life,” Flora said abruptly. “But I know she was once in foster care.”
D.D. paused mid-bite, remembering what Hector had told them, about the year when Juanita’s drinking had caught up with her and she’d lost custody of the kids. “What makes you say that?”
“She referred once to her CASA advocate. Advice she’d received from the woman on how to handle uncomfortable situations. Basically, threat-assessment skills for a foster kid entering a new home environment. Clearly, Roxanna had some experience.”
“What else?”
“You tell me. When Roxy went for her walk, did she take anything with her? Say, a backpack.”
“Maybe.”
Flora nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “Bugout bag. She was preparing. Keeping the essentials with her at all times. Something foster kids learn to do.”
“Except Roxy’s been back home with her mother and siblings for years now. Seems like a strange time to suddenly expect a social worker or CASA volunteer to show up again.”
“Or that’s what had Roxy on edge: Something had changed recently in the home. Roxy recognized the signs from before, and that’s what had her on edge.”
D.D. frowned. It was an interesting theory, and yet she had no way of evaluating how interesting, because when it came to the Boyd-Baez family, they simply didn’t know enough yet.
“I assume your little band of misfits gave advice on proper stocking of a bugout bag?” D.D. asked.
“We’re big fans of cash, bear spray, nondescript clothes, and duct tape,” Flora said.
“What about advice on purchasing street weapons?”
“Like I said, I don’t recommend firearms for these situations.”
“Except what’s the situation?” D.D. asked in exasperation.
“Someone fearing for her life.”
“From whom? Because if she was afraid of her mother’s boyfriend, then he should be dead on her bedroom floor while she claims self-defense. But what the hell justifies the shooting of her entire family?”
“Just proves an outsider did it. Maybe someone who was there to hunt Roxy. Or, failing that, wanted to leave her alone and vulnerable.”
“Have you or anyone else in your group heard from her? Lie to me, and I’ll arrest you. All of you.”
“We’ve had no contact.”
“But you’ll tell me the minute you do.”
Flora remained mute.
“Are you helping us, or are you helping us?” D.D. asked tensely.
“We’re helping her.”
“Great. Tell me where she’d go under stress. Maybe a location your group has identified just for these circumstances.”
“If you fear you’re being followed, I recommend going someplace public. With plenty of witnesses.”
D.D. growled low in her throat.
“Roxanna is a big reader. You might consider the library.”
Less of a growl.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Flora said. “I really don’t. But I’m worried for her. I doubt Roxy’s a killer. I think she’s a victim.”
“Based on quality time together in a chat room that no longer exists?”
“Yes.”
“You know what I get from all of this?” D.D. lifted the transcript pages. “I get I have a missing sixteen-year-old girl who’s been asking questions about firearms. Which makes me believe that somewhere in that backpack of hers, she may very well have a gun. And has done her research on how to use it.”
Flora leaned forward. “She took care of her dogs. Tied them under a tree, in the shade, with plenty of water. Does a heartless girl do that? A stone-cold killer? She made every effort to keep them safe. Maybe, if she’d been home when the killer came, she would’ve kept her family safe, too.”
“Because that’s what you’d do? She’s not you, Flora. In fact, we don’t know who she is at all. Once again, if she contacts you . . .”
“I’ll be the first to help her.”
“So help me God—”
But Flora was already pushing away from the table. Once more D.D.’s gaze went to the bloody bandage on her left hand.
“You do what you need to do, Detective, and I’ll do what I need to do. And maybe if we’re both lucky, Roxanna Baez will turn up safe and sound. Then you can catch the person who murdered her family while I help her with the aftermath.”
“It’s not gonna be that simple.”
“It’s never simple.”
“Flora—”
“If I learn anything interesting, I’ll let you know. Which is a good deal, because we both know you won’t do the same.”
Flora turned, walked away. D.D. and Phil watched till she disappeared into the crowd.
“Don’t trust that girl,” Phil said.
“You think?”
He picked up the copies of the transcript.
“Anything there you can use?” D.D. asked, as Phil was their squad’s self-appointed geek.
“There’s always something. Just don’t know what yet.”
“But you have an idea?” D.D. asked hopefully.
Phil nodded slowly. “Flora might have sanitized things from her end, but we have Roxy’s computer, remember? And the thing about computers is that they love data. Even stuff a user thinks she’s deleted, it’s all stashed on the hard drive somewhere. I say give the transcripts to the real experts and let them go fishing. If they can match these lines with anything in the computer’s browser history, temporary download file, especially, say, if Roxy copied anything from the group’s forum for future reference . . .”
“Great idea! And thank God. Because, Phil . . .”
“We’re running out of time,” he finished for her.
“Yeah. And with a sixteen-year-old girl running around Brighton, possibly with a handgun in her backpack . . .”
“Was the shooting this morning the end or just the beginning?”
“Exactly.”
Chapter 11