The Missing Pattern

The Search Begins Part 2

Kitty and Calvin made their way to Kiara's neighborhood, a modest area marked by well-maintained houses and neatly trimmed lawns. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the street, where children played and neighbors chatted across picket fences, adding a sense of comfort to an otherwise tense situation. But as we parked, the underlying anxiety in the community was unmistakable.

We pulled up to Kiara's home—a quaint, two-story house with a white picket fence and a garden filled with roses in full bloom. I took a steadying breath, knowing the weight of what we were about to discuss. This wasn't going to be easy.

Kiara's mother, Sandra Richards, greeted us at the door with red-rimmed eyes and a quivering voice. "Thank you for coming, Agent Harper. We've been out of our minds with worry since Kiara went missing. The police think she might have run away," she glanced anxiously at Detective Wesley, "but I told them she would never just leave. Something happened to her. I just know it."

I gave her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease some of her distress. "I understand, Ms. Richards. That's why we're here. We're going to do everything we can to find Kiara. Can you tell us a bit about her routine? Did she mention anything out of the ordinary before she disappeared?"

Sandra wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "She just started high school and was really excited about it. Nothing seemed out of place. She mentioned she was going to meet a new friend after school, but she never came home."

"Do you know the name of the friend she was supposed to meet?" I asked gently, sensing that any detail, no matter how small, could be important.

Sandra shook her head. "I don't know. She just said the girl was nice and went to her school. Kiara was happy to make a friend—she's been trying to fit in."

I made a mental note of this information, feeling a ripple of concern. "Did she ever talk about any boys or mention someone who might have taken an interest in her?"

Sandra shook her head again. "No, she was more focused on her schoolwork and new friendships. She didn't talk much about boys."

"Was there anyone she seemed to avoid or anything that made her anxious recently?" I asked, watching Sandra closely.

"No one I can think of," she replied, voice thick with worry. "She was friendly with everyone. I don't understand how this happened."

We assured her that we would leave no stone unturned and promised to keep her informed. As we left, I could feel the weight of her hope and fear pressing down on me.

After leaving Kiara's home, we headed a few blocks over to Maria's house. The neighborhood was much the same—modest homes, children playing outside, and neighbors engaged in quiet conversations. As we approached Maria's home, a tidy house with a colorful garden out front, I readied myself for another difficult conversation.

Maria's father, Carlos Cruz, opened the door. His face was etched with lines of worry, and his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. "Agent Harper, thank you for coming. Detective Wesley told us the FBI would be involved, and that's given us some hope. We're desperate to find our daughter."

I nodded, offering a sympathetic look. "I understand, Mr. Cruz. We're doing everything we can. Could you tell us about the last time you saw Maria and if she mentioned anything unusual?"

Carlos led us into the living room, where Maria's mother, Rosa, sat on the couch, clutching a photograph of her daughter. The sight of the girl's bright smile in the photo was a painful reminder of the urgency of the case.

"Maria was on her way to school, like always," Carlos began, his voice shaky. "But then the school called and said she hadn't shown up. She's a good girl, Agent Harper. She always comes straight home after school. This isn't like her."

He exchanged a look with Rosa, who spoke up. "When Carlos told me she hadn't made it to school, we both left work to look for her. We've been out searching every day, passing out flyers and talking to neighbors. We can't just sit here waiting."

"Do you know if she had any close friends, or if there was someone she trusted or spoke about often?" I asked.

Carlos shook his head, his expression pained. "No, she mostly keeps to herself. She's quiet, and she's always been a little shy."

"Any recent changes in her behavior? Anything that would suggest she was anxious or worried?"

"No, nothing like that. I don't understand what happened. We just want our daughter back," Carlos replied, his voice breaking.

We promised the Cruz family that we'd do everything in our power to bring Maria home safely. As we left, I felt a sense of urgency pressing heavier on my shoulders. The fear and desperation in the parents' eyes haunted me.

Lastly, we made our way to Tameka Green's home in a more upscale neighborhood. The houses were larger, with perfectly manicured lawns and an air of quiet affluence. When we knocked, a well-dressed woman opened the door, her expression tense yet controlled.

"Hi, I'm Brittany Larson, Tameka's foster mother," she said, gesturing us inside. "Thank you for coming."

I gave a polite nod as we entered. I'd noticed her brief hesitation when she saw me—a reminder that Tameka was African American and Brittany was not. Brittany's eyes softened a bit, and she gestured for us to sit.

"I have two other foster children, but they're out with the nanny," Brittany explained, her voice trembling slightly. "When Tameka didn't come home on Sunday, I called the police immediately. She's a good kid—she follows the rules, helps with the younger kids. I've been her foster mother for three years now, and we're in the process of adopting her."

Her voice softened, almost breaking. "My husband's out of the country, but he's on his way back. Tameka may not be my biological daughter, but she's ours, and we're devastated. I just want her home."

I listened intently. "Do you know if Tameka mentioned any friends, or if there was anyone she was particularly close to?"

"She did say she was supposed to meet friends at the mall that Sunday. She was really excited—she's never really had friends before, and I was happy for her. I gave her some spending money and told her to be back by five. That was the last time I saw her."

"Do you recall if she mentioned anyone named Kiara or Maria?" I asked, looking for any connections between the girls.

"No, she never mentioned them," Brittany replied, frowning slightly. "But she keeps to herself mostly, so it's possible she had new friends she didn't tell me about."

With each conversation, the pieces felt incomplete, fragmented. As we left the house, the urgency of the situation became more acute. Three girls missing within days of each other. The sense of something larger brewing gnawed at me. Time was slipping away, and we had to find answers—before it was too late.