Chapter 5 - THE GIRLS IN BLUE
Detective Ortiz would not allow me to keep the photograph.
I understood why. It was evidence.
Still, I memorized every face before she sealed it inside a bag.
Emily stood second from the left, her hands folded in front of her, a nervous smile on her face. She appeared younger—probably seven. The other girls looked between six and ten.
One child had red hair and freckles.
One wore glasses.
The smallest girl stared directly into the camera without smiling.
“Do you recognize them?” Ortiz asked.
Emily studied the photograph.
“The red-haired girl is Chloe.”
“What’s her last name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“At Grandma’s house.”
“How many times?”
“A lot.”
The child advocacy specialist gently interrupted.
“We should save detailed questions for the formal interview.”
Ortiz nodded.
Daniel was transported to the emergency room for stitches. Before he left, he asked to speak with me privately.
I refused.
The attacker had targeted him, which suggested he knew more than he admitted. It did not erase the money, the lies, or his choice to defend Patricia while Emily sat terrified in a police station.
By morning, investigators had identified three girls from the photograph.
Chloe Mercer, age nine.
Samantha Reed, age eight.
Olivia Hart, age seven.
All had connections to Patricia’s charity projects.
Chloe’s mother attended Patricia’s church. Samantha’s aunt served on the fundraising committee. Olivia’s father owned the printing company that produced Patricia’s charity brochures.
The remaining two girls were still unidentified.
Ortiz arranged for their parents to be contacted carefully.
At ten o’clock, Emily completed her forensic interview.
I watched from another room beside Ortiz and a county prosecutor. Emily sat on a small couch while Marissa asked open, simple questions.
Emily explained that Patricia had been taking photographs of her for more than a year. Sometimes she wore dresses. Sometimes costumes. Patricia said the pictures helped clothing companies decide what children liked.
Warren operated the camera.
He gave Emily juice, candy, and small gifts.
Once, he became angry because she would not change clothes quickly enough.
“Did he ever touch you?” Marissa asked.
Emily shook her head.
“No.”
Relief struck me so hard I nearly cried.
Then Emily added, “Grandma helped me change.”
My relief vanished.
Marissa remained calm.
“Tell me about that.”
“Sometimes she said I was too slow. She locked the door so nobody would interrupt.”
“Were there cameras in the changing room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever feel uncomfortable?”
Emily nodded.
“I told Grandma I didn’t want to do pictures anymore.”
“What did she say?”
“She said Daddy needed money.”
I turned toward Ortiz.
The detective’s expression had become perfectly still.
“When did she say that?” Marissa asked.
“Before Christmas.”
“What else did she say?”
“She said if I helped, Daddy’s company wouldn’t close and we wouldn’t lose our house.”
Tears filled Emily’s eyes.
“I didn’t want us to be homeless.”
Behind the observation glass, I pressed both hands against my mouth.
My daughter had carried that fear for months.
Daniel had often complained about money in front of her. I had told him to stop, but he dismissed my concern. He said children needed to understand that life was not free.
Patricia had taken those adult worries and turned them into a weapon.
The interview continued.
Emily described seeing other girls. She remembered blue dresses, bright lights, and a silver suitcase Warren always carried.
“Did Grandma ever give Warren anything?” Marissa asked.
“Envelopes.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Warren give Grandma anything?”
“Once he gave her a box.”
“What kind of box?”
“A green box with gold writing.”
“Do you remember the words?”
Emily thought carefully.
“Bellamy.”
Ortiz wrote it down.
Bellamy was a luxury jewelry store in Columbus.
After the interview, Ortiz requested records from the store. A manager confirmed Patricia had collected a diamond bracelet worth almost twenty thousand dollars eight months earlier.
The bracelet had been purchased by a shell company connected to WCS Technical Services.
Patricia had not been paying Warren.
Warren had been paying Patricia.
When Daniel was discharged from the hospital, Ortiz confronted him with Emily’s statement.
He broke.
Not completely.
But enough.
He admitted that Patricia approached him the previous year and offered to connect his renovation company with wealthy clients. In exchange, she wanted him to remodel the basement.
“She said it was for portrait photography,” Daniel insisted.
“Did you install the changing room?” Ortiz asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you install electrical outlets behind the mirrors?”
“Warren gave me the plans.”
“Did you ask why?”
“He said they were for lighting.”
“Did you see the girls being photographed?”
“Once.”
“Was Emily there?”
Daniel looked at the floor.
“Yes.”
I felt as if someone had driven a blade beneath my ribs.
“You saw her?”
“It looked normal.”
“She told investigators she didn’t want to be there.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I trusted my mother.”
“You trusted her more than your own daughter.”
Daniel’s eyes filled with tears.
“I made a mistake.”
“No,” I said. “You made choices.”
Ortiz continued questioning him.
Daniel claimed Warren began threatening him three months earlier. Warren sent photographs of the basement and warned that Daniel’s company would be blamed if anyone discovered the equipment.
Instead of going to the police, Daniel transferred money through Patricia.
“Why would Warren blackmail you if he was paying Patricia?” Ortiz asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re still lying,” I said.
Daniel looked at me.
Then he whispered, “Because I found one of the storage drives.”
The room fell silent.
Ortiz leaned forward.
“Where?”
“Inside a wall during the remodel. It was hidden behind insulation.”
“What was on it?”
“I didn’t look at everything.”
“What did you see?”
“Folders. Names. Dates. Videos.”
“Of children?”
Daniel covered his face.
“Yes.”
“Where is the drive now?”
“I gave it to my mother.”
I stood so quickly my chair struck the wall.
“You found evidence that children were being secretly recorded, and you gave it back?”
“She said she would handle it.”
“You believed her?”
“She was terrified.”
“So was Emily!”
An officer entered before I could say more.
“Detective, we identified the last two girls.”
Ortiz took the paper.
Her face changed as she read it.
“What?” I demanded.
“One is Madison Cole, age ten.”
“And the other?”
Ortiz looked toward Daniel.
“Her name was Grace Whitmore.”
I stared at her.
“Whitmore?”
Daniel lowered his hands.
All the color left his face.
Ortiz placed the photograph on the table and pointed to the smallest girl.
“Daniel, is this your daughter?”
I could not understand the question.
Emily was our only child.
Then Daniel began to cry.
May you like
And I realized there was another secret inside our marriage.
One even older than the cameras.
