“As you told me yester—”
“She was stabbed, also just like Joyce,” she interrupted him and pointed to Shannon Fox.
“But I don’t know these women.”
“You know that we’ll get to the truth, Mr. Booth. You killed Joyce. In your words she was a slut. Ashley Lynch prostituted herself, but it wasn’t because she had a choice. She was coerced and beaten into doing so. She was only sixteen.” She could feel anxiety ratcheting in her chest. If Samuel had killed her, he deserved the heaviest sentence the law could give. “Did you see her as a slut, Mr. Booth? Is that why you killed her?”
He met her gaze, his eyes wide and wet.
She pushed on. “Did you kill Ms. Fox because she interfered in your plans?”
“You’re losing me now.”
Her heart was palpitating off rhythm. Maybe she was rather stubbornly latching onto Samuel being the killer because she wanted this case put to rest and get justice for two victims—one of which was only a young woman. She withdrew another photo from her folder. It was of Samuel’s mother, and he visibly recoiled. “Just as I thought. You hate your mother, Mr. Booth.”
“I, ah…” He rubbed his neck.
She was getting to the meat of what she’d uncovered. “She was a single parent, and she was a drunk all the time and slept around. She brought strange men into your house. Maybe some of them even liked little Sam—”
“I want a lawyer, now!”
Her heart was pounding wildly. She felt a little out of control. Maybe she had taken her hypothetical too far, but she got a telling reaction. Brandon had mentioned the possibility of their killer being abused as a child, and Samuel’s strong outburst just as much confirmed he had been. “The lawyer’s probably a good idea.” She got up and left with Trent. She faced him and said, “While he’s waiting on his attorney, you and I are going to Washington.”
“For?”
“We’re going to talk to Detective Robbins in person and see what he has to say about Crystal Foster and Ashley Lynch. Maybe Booth even came up in his investigations?”
“I don’t know about that…”
She could see her partner’s doubt all over his face, and his expression served as a mirror for self-examination. She was the one having a hard time keeping an open mind, but all she could think about was the branding tattoo on Ashley’s chest. That poor girl had lived in hell, and Amanda was determined to get her justice.
Thirty-Five
Amanda tried reaching Detective Robbins several times before leaving Central as Trent drove them to Washington, but she kept landing in his voicemail. When they arrived at Robbins’s police district station, they were told to wait in the seating area and that Detective Robbins would be out shortly.
“You looking for me?”
She raised her head to see a man with a stern demeanor bent down and waving a hand in front of her face. She’d hadn’t even heard him approach.
“If you’re Detective Robbins, we are,” she said.
“I am. Who’s asking?”
Amanda and Trent both stood. Chester Robbins was a giant of a man and had to be six four at least.
She was quite sure the person at the front desk would have told him who they were, but she’d play along. “Detectives Amanda Steele and Trent Stenson with the Prince William County PD.” They held up their badges, and Chester immediately turned to leave. “Uh… we need to talk to you, and we’re not leaving until we do. I left a message for you last night, and I’ve tried to reach you several times today.”
Chester mumbled something that resembled “come with me” and set off down a hall. She and Trent followed.
“Did you get my message?”
“Uh-huh.” He just kept walking.
She caught up to his side. “Okay, then you were going to call me back?”
Chester glanced over at her. “When I got a chance. I looked up the name. Ashley Lynch, right?”
“Uh-huh.”