In most cases it involved reassigning personnel to conduct interviews.
Part of her was tempted to reassign herself and get out of the building. The lack of windows in the room where the desks were located was starting to bother her. As important as chasing leads was, she wanted to see the town and get a sense of the local area. The one night she’d spent in a motel on the outskirts of Nighthawk Crossing hadn’t offered her much of an introduction; after all the miles she’d driven, she’d been too tired to do more than order room service and fall asleep early.
Instead, Ashlyn got up and stretched toward the ceiling, then braced her hands on the edge of the desk and extended her right leg, then left. When she straightened up again, she reached up from the side, first from one side, then the other. Her attempt to loosen the kink that had developed in her back during the long drive failed, but it still felt good to stand.
As she glanced at Tain’s desk, she thought back to the files she’d been reading that morning. That was the meat of the investigation. Although she hadn’t read it all, she’d skimmed through enough to know that the files on each of the missing girls whose disappearances were believed to be connected had been included, as well as all the leads that they’d followed up on, tips that had been eliminated, avenues of investigation that had been exhausted.
She wanted to see those files again.
Ashlyn replayed the scene from the morning and was fairly certain Tain had taken the key with him. Short of picking the lock, there was no way she was going to get a chance to see the copied documents.
The palm of her hand smacked against her forehead. Of course. They were copies. The originals had to be around somewhere, and as a member of the team, she had access. She didn’t need someone’s permission to review information pertinent to the case she’d been assigned.
When she’d looked around the desks earlier, she’d limited her survey to things clearly out in plain sight.
She’d almost forgotten the filing cabinets in the corner.
No matter how hard she’d tried to prepare herself for this transfer, Ashlyn realized she’d expected it to be different. In the past, a colleague had always shown her around, at least pointed out where things were kept. Other than the one prolonged assignment in plainclothes—a technicality, really, an exception made to help the locals feel more at ease with the police because of a history of problems in an area primarily populated by Aboriginals—she’d spent most of her time in smaller communities, where she’d worn a uniform and driven a patrol car.
The job had required her to get out and make contact with people.
This assignment was different. A long-term investigation that involved different tactics than the ones community policing emphasized. When she’d been reassigned, she’d been told she’d be working plainclothes for this assignment and that part of the reason they were sending in outsiders was to get a fresh perspective, as well as to show the community how seriously they were taking the investigation.
It was hard to know what to think about the team and what they were dealing with. So far, they had eleven cases that seemed to be connected, and the trail was already cold. They didn’t know if this was a murder investigation or if the girls had been lured into prostitution and were living on the streets in Vancouver, a fact that compounded their problems. Every possible sighting from Victoria to Halifax, from Edmonton to Vegas had to be considered.
This wasn’t meant to be a short-term investigation, where they got in and got out fast. Despite that, she’d been told this was a temporary transfer.
It didn’t make sense.
She thought about her fleeting introductions to the other half of the team. Two of the men were at least ten to fifteen years older than she was, with more experience, but she’d read about those members of the team from old
Part of her was tempted to reassign herself and get out of the building. The lack of windows in the room where the desks were located was starting to bother her. As important as chasing leads was, she wanted to see the town and get a sense of the local area. The one night she’d spent in a motel on the outskirts of Nighthawk Crossing hadn’t offered her much of an introduction; after all the miles she’d driven, she’d been too tired to do more than order room service and fall asleep early.
Instead, Ashlyn got up and stretched toward the ceiling, then braced her hands on the edge of the desk and extended her right leg, then left. When she straightened up again, she reached up from the side, first from one side, then the other. Her attempt to loosen the kink that had developed in her back during the long drive failed, but it still felt good to stand.
As she glanced at Tain’s desk, she thought back to the files she’d been reading that morning. That was the meat of the investigation. Although she hadn’t read it all, she’d skimmed through enough to know that the files on each of the missing girls whose disappearances were believed to be connected had been included, as well as all the leads that they’d followed up on, tips that had been eliminated, avenues of investigation that had been exhausted.
She wanted to see those files again.
Ashlyn replayed the scene from the morning and was fairly certain Tain had taken the key with him. Short of picking the lock, there was no way she was going to get a chance to see the copied documents.
The palm of her hand smacked against her forehead. Of course. They were copies. The originals had to be around somewhere, and as a member of the team, she had access. She didn’t need someone’s permission to review information pertinent to the case she’d been assigned.
When she’d looked around the desks earlier, she’d limited her survey to things clearly out in plain sight.
She’d almost forgotten the filing cabinets in the corner.
No matter how hard she’d tried to prepare herself for this transfer, Ashlyn realized she’d expected it to be different. In the past, a colleague had always shown her around, at least pointed out where things were kept. Other than the one prolonged assignment in plainclothes—a technicality, really, an exception made to help the locals feel more at ease with the police because of a history of problems in an area primarily populated by Aboriginals—she’d spent most of her time in smaller communities, where she’d worn a uniform and driven a patrol car.
The job had required her to get out and make contact with people.
This assignment was different. A long-term investigation that involved different tactics than the ones community policing emphasized. When she’d been reassigned, she’d been told she’d be working plainclothes for this assignment and that part of the reason they were sending in outsiders was to get a fresh perspective, as well as to show the community how seriously they were taking the investigation.
It was hard to know what to think about the team and what they were dealing with. So far, they had eleven cases that seemed to be connected, and the trail was already cold. They didn’t know if this was a murder investigation or if the girls had been lured into prostitution and were living on the streets in Vancouver, a fact that compounded their problems. Every possible sighting from Victoria to Halifax, from Edmonton to Vegas had to be considered.
This wasn’t meant to be a short-term investigation, where they got in and got out fast. Despite that, she’d been told this was a temporary transfer.
It didn’t make sense.
She thought about her fleeting introductions to the other half of the team. Two of the men were at least ten to fifteen years older than she was, with more experience, but she’d read about those members of the team from old
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