Free Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel by S.J. Harper

Clemons.
    She shows us down the hall to a closed door and stands aside so we can enter. She doesn’t wait for us to ask to be left alone. “I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”
    Hannah’s room is small but, like the rest of the house, clean and orderly. A twin bed sits along one wall with a dresser opposite, bookcases line a third. Under the window are a desk and chair. The walls have posters tacked up of some of the more popular movies and television shows:
The Vampire Diaries
,
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
,
Twilight
. One is a pinup of an actor who plays a werewolfin a brand-new television series, muscles bulging, smooth, bare chest gleaming. From the corner of my eye, I see Zack surreptitiously give him the once-over—and then shake his head, snapping his gloves on for emphasis. “Werewolf with a waxed chest,” he mutters under his breath. “Only in Hollywood.”
    He turns toward me. “You shouldn’t have told Mrs. Clemons we’d find her daughter.”
    I avoid his eyes, knowing he’s right. It was an unprofessional thing to do. Still, I can’t help but say, “I do believe we’ll find her.”
    He shakes his head. “What if we don’t?”
    I don’t answer and Zack doesn’t press me. He’s said his piece and moved on to the task at hand.
    His gaze sweeps the room. “I’ll take the dresser.”
    That leaves me the closet. Hannah’s wardrobe is arranged by item on the rod: one side holds skirts, blouses, dresses, and jeans. The other, her cheerleading outfits and school uniforms. All the clothes are neatly pressed and smell like fabric softener. I search all of her pockets, feel inside each shoe. Nothing. Nothing of interest in any boxes, nothing out of the ordinary on the shelves.
    Zack looks up from the floor where he’s stooped to look under the bed and dresser. “You got anything?”
    “Yeah, a whole lot of nothing.” I glance around the room. “I don’t think we’re going to get lucky twice.”
    I pass my hand between the mattress and box spring on the bed. Shake the pillows. I also check the few framed photos on the nightstand.
    Zip.
    “If she kept a checkbook at home, I’m beginning tothink it’s not in her room. And the police reports say the girls’ lockers at school had been searched.”
    Zack nods and climbs to his feet. His eyes go to the desk. It’s the only thing left and it’s just a flat surface with no drawers. A pile of books, pens, pencils, a backpack, and a notebook have been placed on top. “Johnson said the girls’ lockers at school had been emptied. After the local PD went through everything, they returned the items to the parents. I doubt we’ll find anything of value.” He tosses me the backpack. “You search the backpack and I’ll take the rest.”
    I plop myself on Hannah’s bed and empty the contents of the backpack. Nothing but what you’d expect a teenage girl to carry—lip gloss, mascara, a cell phone, earbuds, comb, brush, a pack of gum, and a schedule for cheerleading practice. I hold up the cell. “This has been dumped, right? I think I saw phone records in the police reports.”
    “Yep. All the girls’ cells have been dumped.”
    I put everything back. Look around the room again. “Zack? I don’t see a computer.”
    He looks around, too. “You’re right. What kid doesn’t have a computer these days?”
    “Maybe the police still have it.”
    I tug at the bedspread to straighten it, slip off my gloves, and shove them into the pocket of my jacket. “Let’s ask Mrs. Clemons.”
    When we go back to the living room, Mrs. Clemons is standing by the front window, looking out at the courtyard. She turns when she hears us approach. When she sees that we’re empty-handed, despair drags at thecorners of her eyes and mouth, a sad look of hopelessness that touches my heart.
    Softly, Zack asks her whether Hannah had a computer.
    “Yes,” she replies. Her back stiffens. Her expression becomes stern, as if answering the question strengthens her