There were six files in all, and according to a note from Detective Rivers, the women had gone missing in the last two months. Two were Hispanic, which she immediately set aside based on Dr. McIntyre’s physical assessment of the victims. Of the remaining four, one was African American, which she also set aside. She looked at the three remaining profiles: Susan Wallace, Tammy Fox, and Rhonda Simms. The first two missing women were nineteen and twenty. Rhonda Simms was thirty-nine, short, and heavyset. She did not fit the profile of Jordan’s two Jane Does.

She thumbed through Susan “Susie” Wallace’s missing person report. She had last been seen in downtown Austin near Sixth Street. No known history of sex work. Had moved to Austin from Houston and failed to come home one night after she and her roommate went barhopping. The roommate, Sonya Jefferson, had filed the report eight weeks ago.

Tammy Fox’s profile was almost identical. She lived close to Susie and had last been seen leaving her job as a waitress at a local bar, the Saloon, on Seventh Street last Friday. Her report had been called in by her boss.

Jordan flipped through the files and looked at the pictures of the missing women. Susie had red hair, but she could have dyed her hair blond like Jane Doe #1 or #2. Tammy’s hair was blond, like both Jane Does, but given the timeline of her disappearance, she could only be the second victim.

When Jordan had been assigned to patrol, she had worked the downtown district near Sixth or Seventh Streets. On any Saturday night, it was flooded with tourists, students, and businesspeople looking for a good time. And there were plenty of drug dealers and sex workers to help them enjoy whatever pleasures they sought.

She keyed in on the bar where Tammy had worked. She remembered the Saloon well. Once she had dragged an underage Avery out of there. Her sister had argued that she was fine and had screamed that Jordan had embarrassed her. Five seconds later, Avery had puked in the alley.

Those had been tough days with Avery. Jordan had been in over her head. In her late twenties, she was not prepared to parent a troubled, defiant teenager. One of Avery’s counselors had recommended that Jordan see a therapist herself. She had laughed at first but relented when too many sleepless nights were eating away at her. The therapist, Dr. Rogan Malone, had been a pretty chill guy and was an expert in substance abuse. He had been a sounding board and had offered advice when asked. She had visited him almost weekly for four years. As she learned in sessions, Avery’s problems were a symptom of something bigger. The loss of their mother had marked them both. Jordan coped by working too much, whereas Avery abused substances. Both sisters had no close relationships, and both had a habit of choosing unavailable men.