Everybody shook hands. “We talked to your boss on the way here. I think we’re up to speed, assuming nothing new has happened in the last ten minutes,” White said.

“Nope,” A.L. said. Other than he’d become pretty convinced that somebody was lying.

“We’ve got our canine unit en route. They’re about fifteen minutes behind us.”

“We’ve got a sweater of Emma Whitman’s from her classroom,” Rena said.

White nodded. “Good.”

Connell was looking around. “These the only two doors in the building?”

“Yes.”

“Parents have both checked their phones? What about a home phone?” Connell asked.

A.L. wanted to tell him that this wasn’t his first rodeo but he resisted. The FBI had resources that they were going to need. Their heat-signature-seeking drones might be very helpful. “No home phone. They are continually monitoring their cell phones.”

“Anybody been to their home, just in case the little girl somehow got back there?” White asked.

“Mother left here about ten minutes ago to sit tight there. Should arrive any minute. We’ve got an officer with her who will search the property,” A.L. said. “Same thing will happen at the grandmother’s house and at the day care teacher’s house.” He saw a white van pull up. “That belong to you?”

White nodded. “Our canine unit.”

“Unfortunately, we’re losing the daylight,” Connell said. “We’ve got about two hundred flashlights with us but at a certain point, it can simply get too dangerous to have volunteers searching in the dark.”

“Volunteers are gathering on the east side of the building,” Rena said, looking at her phone. “Detective Ferguson is in charge of that effort. I can walk you out there and introduce you.”

“That’s fine,” said White. “Bring the kid’s sweater.”

Three

Volunteers were continuing to pour into the makeshift check-in station that Ferguson had set up. From the big window in the main room, A.L. and Rena watched their fellow detective bring some order to the group. Older people. Teens. Middle-aged. Most of them had likely been getting dinner ready or were already eating when the Amber Alert had hit their phones. By the looks of it, that hadn’t slowed them down any. He could practically imagine the wheels churning in their heads. Things like this didn’t happen in Baywood. And they were going to do what they could to make it right.

They’d had to beach their cars at either end of the street and walk in because barricades closed the street to everybody but local traffic. On any other day that many people would generate some noise. Now nobody was talking. Just quietly following directions and waiting patiently to be told what to do. Disbelief etched on their faces.

A.L. knocked softly on the office door. Alice was behind her desk. Just sitting. Her hands folded and resting on the lacquered wood. “In my wildest dreams,” she said.