I shrug off my coat and sit down to go over the file. Noah disappears from the room and comes back with coffee.

  “I’m going to order breakfast.”

  I nod, barely acknowledging what he said. I am too invested in reading through the details of Haley’s case. I don’t remember hearing about this murder, and that surprises me. It feels like something that should have gotten more coverage. A teenage girl found strangled and bludgeoned in a dumpster is sensational enough that I would expect it to be all over the country’s headlines. Instead, it looks like they did the investigation, and when it didn’t come up with anything, the case just went cold.

  “There are definite similarities between Haley and Brianna,” I tell Noah when he comes back into the room after making the breakfast order. “Their ages are close, obviously. They don’t look alike, necessarily, but they are of similar build. It says she was out for the night and then just disappeared. Like Brianna.”

  As I’m reading through the accounts of her last known movements, something jumps out at me.

  “Fallout Zone. It says here that Haley was going there that night. That’s a nightclub Brianna went to. I have pictures of her there, and Samantha identified it. I don’t know when she was there, but she definitely went to it.”

  It’s obviously far too early in the morning to contact anybody at the nightclub, so I eat breakfast and spend the rest of the morning and afternoon reaching out to the family and friends who were involved in the investigation of Haley’s disappearance and eventual murder.

  They aren’t local. Her family lives in North Carolina. Haley was in town attending college and had been living on her own for more than a year at the time she disappeared. She was found a few days later. That means I can’t just meet up with the family and friends to talk, but I ask for a video call, and soon I’m sitting in front of a computer with her mother’s face on the screen in front of me.

  Even the years that have separated her daughter’s murder from today haven’t done anything to soften the impact of hearing from me. She’s clearly shaken up, but there’s also an edge of hope in her voice. It’s the first time there’s been even a hint of development in Haley’s case since the initial investigation.

  “I just couldn’t believe that even though they had DNA, they couldn’t find who did it. I always thought that if they had that kind of evidence, it was just a matter of time before they could pinpoint the guy responsible,” Melinda Young says.

  “In most situations, it is just a matter of time,” I say. “Unfortunately, that time can be long. Without a universal database of everybody’s DNA, we have to wait for the person to get caught for a crime and have their DNA collected so that it can be matched. It’s already a really important step that we’ve found this connection with Brianna. I’m hoping that it will let me get answers for Haley too. I just need you to tell me everything you can about her and what you know about the night she disappeared.”

  I listen as Melinda tells me about her daughter. She isn’t overly flowery with her language, but it’s obvious how much she loves her. A single mother to four children, she is devoted to each of them, and that didn’t stop with the loss of her oldest daughter.

  “I know she was going out partying on the weekends. It wasn’t something that I loved. I wanted her to focus on her studies and sports, but she was on her own. She had gotten enough scholarships and worked hard during the last couple of years of high school saving up money so she could be independent when she went to school. She didn’t even live in the dorm. She had her own apartment, and it was her pride and joy. I talked to her about not getting wrapped up with the wrong crowd or doing things that could compromise her future. I wanted her to have so much more than I ever did.

  “I never had any really serious trouble with her. Like I said, I knew that she was doing some partying, but she’d never been arrested or ended up in the hospital or anything like that. That’s a lot more than I can say for some of the kids she knew from high school. More than one of her old friends had ended up with alcohol poisoning or in car accidents because they were acting stupid when they were at school. That never happened to Haley.

  “But then one day she was just gone. She texted me earlier in the day to check in and said she would be seeing some friends for a birthday. That was it. I didn’t hear from her again. It wasn’t until the next day that I found out she’d never found those friends and no one knew where she was. Three days later, they found her body.

  “I find out that it was a miscommunication that led to Haley never catching up with the friends she was supposed to be with the night she disappeared. They had all planned to go to Fallout Zone, and Haley got in, but two of the friends with the group weren’t allowed into the club. They decided to go to a different place and messaged Haley, but they didn’t get a response from her.”

  “And she made it inside?”

  She nods. “The police were able to confirm she was inside the club for at least an hour after her friends were trying to get in touch with her. She finally messaged them later and said that she was on the way, but she never made it. She said she was lost and got turned around, but was on her way.”

  “And she never made it,” I whisper.

  Melinda nods through silent tears.

  I have the information from Melinda in my mind later when I go to the bar. Like a lot of places, it’s open as a pseudo-restaurant in the evening, so they are prepping when I arrive. The door is locked, but a man in a tight, black T-shirt, with an apron slung around his hips, looks out at me when I knock.

  “We’re not open yet. You’ll have to come back later.”

  I show him my shield. “I’m not here to get a drink. Emma Griffin, FBI. I need to talk to the manager.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” he says, pushing the door further open. “Come in, I’m Darren Walsh. I own this place.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I step inside and look around. This is not a quaint little neighborhood bar. It’s huge, spreading out into a honeycomb of alcoves and spaces. A sunken area holds the biggest dance floor, and an exposed spiral metal staircase leads up to a loft that overlooks the rest of the space. I wasn’t expecting something this large and elaborate. I can imagine it is dizzying at night with the lights on and the music playing.

  “Can I get you a coffee or tea or anything?”

  “No, I’m all right, thank you. I just need to ask you a few questions. I’m investigating a missing person. Did you see on the news that there is a girl missing in the area?” I ask.

  “I did see that,” he says, walking around the back of the long, winding bar to keep setting up glasses. “A kid from campus?”

  “No, actually. She’s in high school.” I show him the picture. “Does she look familiar to you?”

  He leans across the bar to get a closer look at my phone screen. His head tilts slightly to the side, but he shakes it.

  “Not really. Honestly, I see so many people all the time, they all sort of blend together.”

  “What is your age policy here?” I ask.

  “Twenty-one and up,” he says.

  “Okay. Can you explain to me why I have statements and other evidence of at least three girls under that age being here? Possibly on multiple occasions?”

  “It happens. I know that’s not much of an answer, but it’s the best I can give you. It doesn’t matter where you are, kids will figure out how to get around rules if there’s something they want to do. Fake IDs. Sneaking in with a group. There are ways that we end up with underage kids in here sometimes. It doesn’t happen much. And I have security that goes around throughout the night. If they see somebody they think might be too young, they ask for IDs and kick them out if they aren’t twenty-one. It’s the best I can do,” he says with a shrug.

  “Have you owned this place since it opened?” I ask.

  “Yep. Opened it almost eight years ago.”

  “Do you remember Haley Young?”

  Darren immediately looks uncomfortable. His face hardens, and he stops cleaning the glasses.

  “Yeah, I remember that. It still really gets to me. Just to think that she was here that night. I don’t remember actually seeing her, but they had pictures and videos of her here. I found out the reason she left was because she was supposed to be meeting some people here, and two of them were underage.”

  “So was she,” I point out.

  “She had a fake ID. And I’m sure you know as well as I do that back then, there weren’t as many safeguards and things on ID cards that make it easier to spot.”

  “You said that there was video. I haven’t gone through all the evidence yet, so I didn’t see any video. Do you remember what was on it?” I ask.

  “Just her talking to some people at a table. She dances for a while, checks her phone a couple of times, then leaves.”

  “Alone?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Even though she was talking to those people, it didn’t seem like she was there with them, if that makes sense. She came in alone, spent some time by herself, ended up talking to those people, danced by herself, then she left. She didn’t pick anybody up or anything.”

  “Do you know if she walked away or got in a car?”

  “She walked away. We have a camera on the front door, and it covers almost the whole block. She walked out and headed further away from campus,” he says.

  The door to the kitchen opens, and a girl comes out. She looks familiar. She pauses, looks at me for a second, and flashes me a wide smile.

  “You were in my history class yesterday,” she says.

  It takes a beat for me to realize it’s the girl who came in late.

  “Yeah, I think I caused a little bit of a disruption.”

  She laughs. “It was kind of amazing. He thinks he’s such a hard-ass. It was good to see somebody put him in his place.”

  “I hope I didn’t make anything worse for the rest of you.”

  “No, he was actually better than he usually is. Not nice. But I think he was in shock,” she says.

  “Well, I guess that’s something.”

  “I heard you saying that you’re investigating a missing person,” she says.

  “Brianna Wright. She went missing last Friday.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about it. I don’t really keep up with the news. What happened to her?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. She was at a concert Friday night. She left without her friends and hasn’t been heard from since. I’ve traced her to campus, but we’re still looking. I know she’s been here in the past, so I thought it was possible she came back that night,” I tell her.

  “Do you have a picture?” she asks.

  I show her the image I’ve been showing everyone.

  “She doesn’t really look familiar, but I can look through the pictures I took that night. I maintain the social media, so I’m constantly taking pictures and videos. I can go through them.”

  “That would be great.” I look at Darren. “If you could do the same for the security cameras.”

  “Absolutely.”

  I give them each a business card. “Get in touch if you find anything.”

  Noah and I order dinner so we can keep pushing through the evening.

  “Haley was murdered six years ago. Brianna would have only been twelve at the time, so I don’t see any sort of connection that they could have had. And if you look at the circumstances of their disappearances, they are only somewhat similar. I mean, they were in the same general area and both presumably alone, but that’s pretty much where the similarities end. As far as I can tell, Haley wasn’t going through anything in her personal life when she went missing. There was no recent break-up. She wasn’t in a fight with any of her friends. Everything was going well in her life. She was getting good grades. She had just secured another scholarship with a writing piece she had done. The only thing that really connects them is this DNA.”

  We look over the other cases that are connected by the same DNA.

  “Three assaults,” Noah says. “When you look at those in the context of Brianna and Haley, there are more similarities. All within a four-year age range. Girls who were out on their own.”

  “That pretty much sums up the vast majority of assaults and murders against young women. It isn’t significant. And those three assaults happened in other towns. This guy traveled.”

  “But they did happen on or near college campuses. Which could mean that he was a student who changed schools after committing the crimes. Or possibly a faculty member.”

  “Why were the assaults never connected to Haley?” I ask.

  “The DNA was never compared with other jurisdictions.”

  “I need the information on those cases. One of the victims might have given a description of her attacker that we could use.”

  It takes until the next morning to get the information about the assaults, and when I do, I’m disappointed by what they produce. None of the victims of the assaults gave a clear description of the attacker. They all said in their initial statements that they were sure it was a man. There was no sexual assault. But that’s as far as it got. The overall consensus is that it seemed he was trying to take them somewhere. Rather than just being a basic assault, it was an attempted abduction. That does correspond with the fact that both Haley and Brianna went missing, but Haley’s murder stands apart.

  “I don’t think these are the only victims. The chances of DNA being found on every one of the victims of a serial offender and each of those being found are next to nothing. These three victims came after Haley’s murder. That is extremely unusual. It’s really unlikely that somebody would go straight to murder and then go backward and only assault people. Or that he could abduct and murder somebody, be unable to follow through with three victims, then suddenly be successful again. Especially not over such a long stretch of time,” I say.

  “So you think that there are other victims out there. People who haven’t reported attacks?” Noah asks.

  “I can almost guarantee you there are victims who didn’t report what happened to them. If there are other survivors, there’s somebody who decided not to say anything. But I also think it’s just as likely that there are others who didn’t have a chance to make the report. Particularly because this guy moved around and yet came back here. I need to see all the missing persons reports from the area and anything from near where the attacks happened as well.”

  Going through the years of missing persons’ reports and narrowing them down to what could be useful takes a while. We have to sift out all the people reported missing and then were found as well as the ones that didn’t fit the obvious demographic of the case. People who were far too young and far too old are eliminated as outliers, and we continue to narrow the list down until we have four cases.

  Of them, three are young men.

  “Do we just eliminate them?” Noah asks. “So far the only victims we’ve identified are female.”

  “That’s true, but that’s all that we were looking at. We know of Haley and Brianna, and the DNA showed up on three female victims. But look at the circumstances. All three of these guys are right around the same age. The same as the other victims. They were in the area. And this one in particular. Walker Harrison. He was reported missing two days after Haley. No link was ever made between the cases because he’s male, but there’s no update to his case.”

  “You think there’s a possibility that he could be connected?” Noah asks.

  “I think at this point we can’t overlook anything.”

  “This is all the evidence from Walker’s disappearance?” I ask, looking over the meager collection.

  There’s a file of statements taken from people in his life, the expected financial and phone records, his social media, a shoe, and a piece of chewed gum.

  “There definitely isn’t much. He wasn’t a student. That makes him different than the other victims. I know Brianna was in high school, but she was still hanging around campus acting like she was a student at the university. Apparently, Walker left high school and had been working ever since. Little to no contact with his family. Even his social media hadn’t been updated in a couple of weeks before he went missing.”

  I pick up the bag with the piece of chewed gum. It’s an odd piece of evidence, but not the first time I’ve seen something like it. I look at the paper describing the evidence.

  “Apparently, this was collected at his apartment. That’s the last place he was seen. It was near the shoe, which had a few spots of blood on it. But that blood ended up being his. No testing was ever done to the gum.”

  “It was probably his. I don’t know why they would even pick it up,” Noah says.

  “That’s the thing. Probably, but not absolutely. There is a very distinct tooth impression on this gum, and since it was chewed, there’s likely DNA.”

  “From six years ago?”

  I nod. “Should be no problem to get. They both need to be tested. When this was picked up, it was because Walker was missing. The investigators collected everything that they could, which obviously wasn’t very much. But there were signs of a struggle. The blood on the shoe. And apparently a scuff mark on a wall. It isn’t much, but it’s something. This piece of gum could have come from the attacker. It’s really important that it be handled carefully though. We need to make sure to gather whichever evidence is the safest to collect. We don’t want to risk destroying one to collect another and not come up with anything useful.”

  There’s a very specific case on my mind as I’m saying this. It’s not one that I investigated. But I studied it when I was in school. An indescribably horrific murder had no evidence except for a single piece of chewed gum found near the victim. There was no trace evidence on the body or in the area. There was nothing for investigators to go on. All they had was that piece of gum that a very smart crime scene investigator decided to collect. The tooth impressions on that piece of gum eventually led to the conviction of the woman’s killer.