Chapter 2 - Flashing Blue Lights
The flashing red and blue lights of two Denver Police cruisers illuminated the falling snow outside our front window just after midnight.
Heavy footsteps crunched up the icy walkway before a sharp, authoritative knock rattled the heavy oak door.
My father answered immediately, pulling open the door to reveal two uniformed officers and a plainclothes detective wearing a heavy beige trench coat.
“I’m Detective Vance—no relation to the fake name this creep used,” the investigator said, flashing his gold badge as he stepped into the warmth of the hallway.
He was a tall, rugged man with sharp gray eyes that immediately scanned the chaotic spread of photographs covering our living room floor.
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with here, folks.”
David didn't waste a single second with polite introductions or small talk.
He thrust his smartphone into the detective’s hands, displaying the grainy 2001 newspaper clipping about his sister’s disappearance in Oregon.
“This is Gregory Alan Miller,” David said, his voice vibrating with suppressed, vengeful rage.
“The FBI questioned him for seventy-two hours after my seven-year-old sister vanished from the county fair in Portland, but they couldn't hold him without physical evidence.”
Detective Vance squinted at the screen, his jaw tightening as he read the details of the cold case.
“Okay, and how does this tie to your fiancé?” the detective asked, looking over at me where I sat shivering on the sofa.
I picked up the 2004 ambulance photograph and held it out with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking.
“Because three years after Chloe disappeared, I was taken from the Labor Day fair in Boulder, Colorado,” I explained, my voice cracking.
“My mom thought this man was Security Captain Vance, the volunteer coordinator who helped rescue me.”
The detective took the photograph by the very edge of the white border, careful not to smudge any potential old fingerprints.
He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his coat pocket and studied the face of the man standing near the ambulance doors.
The silence in the room stretched out, heavy and suffocating, as the seasoned investigator compared the digital clipping to the old Polaroid.
“Jesus Christ,” Detective Vance muttered under his breath, looking up at his uniformed partners with a dark, grim expression.
“It’s the exact same guy.”
He walked over to the coffee table and began systematically examining the other three photographs we had laid out in chronological order.
He saw Miller at the roller rink in 2007, at the middle school graduation in 2011, and at the high school homecoming dance in 2015.
“He didn't just target you as a random crime of opportunity, Ms. Jenkins,” the detective said quietly, pulling a digital recorder from his pocket.
“This is long-term stalking by a highly organized, predatory offender who has flown under the radar for over two decades.”
“You need to arrest him tonight,” David demanded, taking a step toward the detective with clenched fists.
May you like
“We don't know where he is right now, son,” Detective Vance replied calmly, meeting David’s angry gaze with professional restraint.
“But as of this very second, this home is an active crime scene, and we are going to trace every single shadow this bastard ever stepped in.”
