The cars in front of him were quickly pulling off the road to let him pass until there was only one vehicle between Loeb and the truck. The car, driven by an oblivious young man, wasn’t slowing down, wasn’t pulling off to the side.
Loeb moved to the left lane to pass the car, and that’s when he realized his mistake. The driver of the truck yanked the steering wheel to the right, barely catching the exit.
There was no way Loeb was able to follow suit and he watched helplessly while the exit flew by. Cursing under his breath, Loeb slowed and at the next break in the median made a U-turn.
By the time Loeb made it to the exit ramp, the silver truck was long gone.
Agent Santos stood in the middle of Becky Allen’s small bedroom and tried to step into the mind of a thirteen-year-old. The room was messy, with an unmade bed and clothes tossed onto the floor. Tacked to the wood-paneled walls were posters of Christina Aguilera, Mandy Moore, and the Backstreet Boys.
She had looked through Becky’s drawers, beneath the bed, in the closet—all the obvious spots—but found nothing of particular interest. A new backpack with the tag still on it sat in the corner of the room next to two Walmart bags filled with supplies for the coming school year: notebooks, folders, binders, markers, pens, and pencils.
From what Santos could see, Becky listened to pop music, read books from the Goosebumps and The Baby-Sitters Club series, and from the crumpled-up wrappers beneath her bed, had an affinity for Laffy Taffy and caramel apple suckers. Nothing to indicate that Becky had a secret life. Still, she was missing along with a sixteen-year-old boy. The question was, did she go willingly?
Santos sat on the edge of Becky’s bed and lifted one of the Walmart bags from the floor. Inside were notebooks in a variety of colors and a package of fine-tipped markers that had been opened. Santos pulled out the stack of notebooks. She opened the one on top, and sure enough, Becky had written her name on the inside cover using fat, round bubble letters. She flipped through the empty pages until a flash of color caught her eye.
Santos examined the page crammed with doodles of flowers, hearts, stars, and random letters. Among the frenzy of color Santos’s eyes landed on a series of letters traced heavily in blue ink. BJA+ED. Becky Jean Allen. Ethan Doyle.
Maybe Becky had left willingly with Ethan. Young love gone rogue? Another Bonnie and Clyde or Charles Starkweather and Caril Fugate? Star-crossed lovers who went on deadly crime sprees. Santos had a few more questions for Margo and Kevin Allen.
Not relishing having this conversation with the Allens, Santos carried the notebook back to the kitchen. Elbows on the table, Margo was resting her head in her hands and Kevin was talking on the phone, his voice breaking with emotion.
Kevin quickly disconnected his call and, wiping his eyes, said, “My sister. I was telling her what was going on.”
“We need to keep the lines open,” Margo said sharply. “In case Becky calls.”
Kevin began to argue, but Santos interjected by holding up Becky’s notebook, opened to the page of doodles, then set it on the table in front of Margo. Kevin peered over Margo’s shoulder to get a better look.
“What?” Kevin asked. “It’s just a bunch of scribbles.”
Agent Santos tapped the initials with her finger. “BJA+ED. Did Becky and Ethan have any kind of relationship?” she asked.
“Relationship?” Margo repeated indignantly. “She’s barely thirteen! Thirteen-year-olds don’t have relationships. They have crushes.”
“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” Santos said. “Is there any chance that Ethan Doyle may have reciprocated? Felt the same way about Becky?”
“Ethan Doyle is what? Sixteen years old?” Kevin asked with disgust. “What sixteen-year-old wants to hang out with a kid going into the eighth grade?”
“They don’t,” Margo said, her voice shaking. “Not any normal sixteen-year-old. Are you saying that Ethan Doyle did this? That he murdered his parents and took Becky?”
“I’m not saying that at all,” Santos said. “But we have to look at all angles. All possibilities. I need to know if you have any knowledge of a relationship…any connections between Becky and Ethan beyond Ethan being her best friend’s brother.”
“No, nothing,” Kevin said immediately, but Santos was watching Margo. Her expression said something different.
“Mrs. Allen?” Santos prompted, but before she could respond, the deputy came into the room and pulled her aside.
“What?” Margo asked fearfully. “What is it?”