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“Yes.” My voice tentative, I sat down on the edge of the bed as he continued.
“According to the Los Angeles Police Department, she was not in possession of an official ID—like a passport or driver’s license. So routinely, in such cases, we take a photograph of the victim and do a DNA swab…”
“And?”
“Our system is backlogged, and her DNA test got lost, but we just found out from the LAPD that both her photo and DNA match that of a missing young woman in our data bank. Her name is Bree Walker.”
“That’s preposterous! I know for a fact she comes from a very fine family that resides in London. She speaks with a lovely British accent and has been a delightful family guest.”
“Mrs. Merritt, have you ever had contact with her father or mother?”
“No. Her mother is deceased, and her father travels a lot. He’s a diplomat.”
“I see. Perhaps someone else?”
“No. She’s an only child. I’m not sure if she has other family. She’s never mentioned any relatives.” Nor did I ever ask, I added silently.
“Have you ever seen her passport?”
“No. And she recently lost it.”
“Mrs. Merritt, this young woman who’s been staying with you doesn’t have a passport. She’s never been out of the country.”
“I don’t believe you. I found her via a legitimate student exchange program.”
“Mrs. Merritt, I know this is hard for you, but it’s important you hear me out. I’ve texted you a photo of Bree Walker. I want you to take a look at it and then tell me if this is the young woman who’s been residing with you.”
“Hold on, please.” I went to my messages. My eyes widened as I stared at the photo. The girl’s hair was shorter and darker, her face fuller, but it was unmistakably Tanya. The same exact features. The same almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, full lips, and dimpled chin. And those distinct onyx eyebrows.
Shakily, I returned to the call. “It’s not possible, but it is.”
“Listen carefully, Mrs. Merritt, to what I’m about to tell you.”
I sucked in a lungful of air. My silence a signal for him to continue.
“Bree Walker is mentally unstable. She was abandoned when she was an infant at a church outside Palm Springs.”
My stomach lurched and my chest tightened as bile filled my throat. I clasped my left hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t interrupt him. Or throw up.
“She was found on the doorstep by a nun and ended up being put into the system. Going from one foster home to another. From an early age, she manifested extremely aggressive behavior both with her foster families and at school—from stabbing foster parents and siblings with kitchen knives to assaulting students and teachers with scissors, pencils, and other sharp objects. She even tried to poison someone. Taken into custody, she was evaluated by a child psychiatrist and diagnosed as a sociopath with schizophrenic tendencies. And severe borderline personality disorder.”
My head was spinning. My mouth was paralyzed. I couldn’t get a word out if I tried so I let him go on.
“Deemed a danger to society, she was committed last year to a psychiatric hospital in Redlands, but in late August, after flinging grapefruit juice at an attendant and gouging his eye with a plastic fork, she stole his scrubs and some medications and escaped. She has been on the run ever since, squatting and using various aliases. Somehow, we’re not sure how yet, she figured out a way to get to Los Angeles and worm herself into your household. Why she chose your family is not clear to us.”
It was crystal clear to me. So crystal clear my brain pinged like a sparkling glass in a dishwasher detergent commercial.
The detective’s somber voice brought me back to the moment. “Mrs. Merritt, we believe you and your family may be in grave danger. Without her medications, her behavior can be highly erratic. There’s also a possibility she’s armed and dangerous. Your lives are at risk. The LAPD is on their way to your house to apprehend her.”
“We’re not home,” I faltered. “We’re away. At the Lake Arrowhead Resort and Spa.”
A brief silence on the other end, then…“Stay put. Due to the hazardous weather conditions in your area, we may not be able to get there until tomorrow. In the meantime, do not let her know of our conversation under any circumstances. Keep your family close to you. Understood?”
“Y-yes, Detective, thank you. I’ve got to go.” I abruptly ended the call and speed-dialed Paige.
The phone rang and rang and rang.
Please, Paige, pick up! PICK UP! I shouted silently as the call went to her voicemail. And then, to my utter horror, I heard…
