White Space Season 2

number 15? Or the fourth missing child? Or might it be a missing child from somewhere else? The body was found on his island — and was, for the moment, another of his cases to close, or leave open for God knew how long, hoping for resolution. That word again, hope.
    He’d questioned the “asshole on the schooner,” a man named Ron Ellison, enough to figure the guy didn’t know anything about a dead child, let alone play a role in the girl’s murder. Ellison was cousin to one of Brady’s friends, Bob Westcott, and Westcott confirmed what Brady suspected — the man might be an asshole, but he wasn’t a killer. Just another drunk, dumb dickface, on an island full of them, with too much time and the money to match.
    At the moment, Brady had no other suspects. His only evidence was whatever DNA — if there was anyone else’s in the girl’s nails or inside her body, if raped — Holstrum found during his examination, all which would be filed on the network.
    But Brady was limited in his investigation until after he heard from Holstrum. Anything else, such as requesting surveillance feeds from Paladin, would alert them that he’d found a body. For now, just in case this was his girl, he didn’t want them fucking his case up. If the body was Christina’s, he wanted to make sure that the killer saw justice — and not the legal kind.
    No, Brady would find and kill whoever was responsible.
    But that meant keeping things quiet as long as he could. Brady sighed, sipping his coffee — gone from frigid to cold to icy in the hour he’d been sitting numb at his desk. He hit save on his computer and logged off. The expense reports would wait. He needed to get out of the office, interact with others before going stir crazy.
    He said goodbye to Judy, at the front desk. “I’m headed out for some coffee.”
    “OK, Chief,” Judy said, waving goodbye and returning her attention to Earl, an old man who stopped by the station every day to chat her up with island gossip. Brady wondered if that’s how he would be when old, hanging around in public places, or worse, at the station — assuming it was still around and not completely taken over by Paladin — hoping to feel part of something he wasn’t. With the way things were going with Molly, it was easy to picture himself as exactly that sort of lonely, old man.
    Brady hopped in his car and was about to pull out of the parking lot, when his phone rang: Holstrum.
    He braced himself, then said, Brady.”
    “Hey, Kevin. I’ve got the dental.”
    As Holstrum spoke, Brady felt his breath catch, waiting.
    “It’s not Christina. I’m extracting DNA from the girl’s molars. We’ll enter her into the database, see what comes up. But we know enough to rule her out. It’s not your daughter.”
    Brady allowed himself a breath, and chased it with a sigh. “Thank you, Nick.”
    “We’re making this an official, open case, though, so I’ll need you to fill out a report and send it over, soon as you can.”
    “I’ll get right on it. Thanks again for doing this, and keeping it between us. I really didn’t want Molly thinking … well, you know.”
    “Yeah, I know. No problem, Kevin. I’ll call you when we get more info.” Holstrum sounded like he was going to add something more — perhaps an “I’m sorry” since he knew —as much as it was good news that Christina might still be out there, it was also bad, because they had no answers, and were again left with nothing but hope.
    Brady killed the call and stared at the screen. It was a minute before he felt the tears.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 3 — Milo Anderson

    Milo threw on his black hoodie, about to head out the door when his father came home.
    “Dad, what are you doing home so early?” Milo asked, hoping not to highlight his anxiety. He was about to head out on his way to meet Don and Houser, and didn’t expect to find himself stumbling through a sudden explanation. His father almost never came home in the middle of the day. Milo wondered if something was wrong.
    Maybe with Bea?
    “I came home to have lunch with you, is that OK?” Dad asked, setting his briefcase on the couch and pulling his son into a hug.
    While Milo’s father was making an effort to be present, and more open to Milo since Bea plowed into Jordy’s, it still felt weird when they hugged. Almost fake, as if they were trying to overcompensate for years of neglect. It felt forced, too fast, like an historically inattentive guy suddenly