Drained by E.H. Reinhard

mostly just sat at home, or if she did do something, shopping or whatever, it was with Andrea. Those two have been close since they were little.” She brought her tissue up to her nose and wiped. “Sorry, ‘had been’ close,” she added.
    Her husband rubbed her shoulder.
    I gave her a moment while I jotted down the details of the friendship in my notes.
    “Have you spoken to Andrea yet?” Mrs. Murphy asked.
    “No. But we plan to,” I said.
    I flipped open my folder with the driver’s-license photos of the other victims. I pulled the pages out and handed them to the couple. “Do any of these women or their names seem familiar to you?”
    The couple looked briefly and handed them back.
    “No,” Mr. Murphy said.
    Mrs. Murphy shook her head.
    I put the photos back into the folder. “You said your daughter was single. Was she actively dating different men?”
    “No. Not really. She saw a handful of different people occasionally. She’d mentioned the name Tom and another named Mark. They seemed to be passing things, so I didn’t keep up too much. If there was ever someone serious, she would have brought him over.”
    I wrote the names of the men down. “Last names for either man?” I asked.
    She shook her head.
    “These men, how did she meet them?” I asked.
    “She was on a dating website, I think. I couldn’t tell you which one, though,” Mrs. Murphy said.
    “Do you think there would be a way we could find out?” I asked.
    “We have her bank statements, honey,” Mr. Murphy said. “There might be something there.”
    The wife nodded.
    The man stood and walked from the kitchen.
    I didn’t know if I should tell the guy we already had her bank records sitting in a box in the car. I figured Beth would have said something if she didn’t need or want him to go and retrieve them.
    “We have all of her belongings from her apartment in the garage,” Mrs. Murphy said. “I haven’t brought myself to go through them yet.”
    I didn’t know how to respond, so I remained quiet.
    Beth reached out and touched the woman’s hand. “We’re going to do everything we can.”
    Mr. Murphy walked back in with three sheets of paper in his hand. He took a pair of reading glasses from the breast pocket of his shirt and put them on. Then he leaned against the kitchen counter facing the dining room where we sat as he flipped the pages. He ran his finger down the deposits and withdrawals. “I don’t see any dating services listed,” he said. Mr. Murphy looked at his wife. “You’re sure she never said what site she used?”
    Mrs. Murphy shook her head.
    The husband handed the sheets to me. I looked them over and glanced at the ending monthly balance of twenty-eight dollars. I thanked him and handed back the bank records.
    “Were those current-month records?” Beth asked.
    He looked at the sheets of paper and nodded. “Did you want me to make you a copy?” he asked.
    “Sure,” Beth said.
    “Just give me one minute.” The husband walked down a hall next to the dining room and turned into another room.
    I looked at Mrs. Murphy. “Did she have a computer?” I asked.
    “She had a laptop. It’s in the garage. I couldn’t tell you what the password is to access it, though,” Mrs. Murphy said. “Do you think that whoever did this maybe found her online somehow?”
    “There’s no way for us to tell at the moment, but we’d like to find out,” I said. “It may help to get whatever computers the victims, including your daughter, had in the hands of our tech-department guys. You never know—there may be something there that we can connect the dots with.”
    “Let me see what my husband says,” she said.
    Mr. Murphy walked back into the dining room and handed me copies of the bank records, which I slipped into my folder. “Says about what?” he asked.
    “They’d like Jasmine’s computer so their tech guys can go through it. They think there’s a chance they may be able to get some information from