that was true, they werenât going to say squat on the air.
âWe have no reason to believe that at this time,â Roberge answers. âThe search team is following routine protocol by combing the surrounding area.â
âDid anyone see her at the bus stop?â an Associated Press reporter asks. âAnd where is the stop?â
Uh-Âoh. Thatâs going to narrow down where she lived. I was hoping Iâd be the only reporter with the address.
âWe are trying to determine whether she made it to the bus stopâÂat the corner of Summit and Fourth StreetâÂthe morning she disappeared. Some downtown regulars think they may have seen her there.â
â Visit bus stop, â I write in my notebook and circle it.
While other reporters continue asking questions, I squeeze my way to the front of the crowd. It takes a while before I get my question answered. Every time I start to speak, a TV reporter interrupts me. Two female reporters keep subtly blocking my way as I try to poke my head around their big teased hair. Iâm starting to elbow a few of them back when finally Roberge notices me.
âAre you considering this a kidnapping?â I ask, thinking about how Lopez heard it was a possible 207 on the scanner.
âWe have no reason to believe that at this time,â Roberge recites like a robot.
Black clears his throat. âYou said police were contacting convicted sex offenders in the area. Do you think the girl came into contact with one of them?â he asks.
âWe are not releasing that information at this time.â
Just like politicians, cops are good at answering a lot of questions without saying anything. After the press conference, I dial Kellogg and give him a summary. Iâm about to hang up when he says my name. I wait.
âEvans was on the rampage this morning when she saw the Trib story on the missing kid. I told her what happened, that we had the same tip about the missing kid but couldnât nail it down.â
Not good. Evans already hates my guts. I wonder if Kellogg told the executive editor it was his decision not to run with it. I doubt it. I donât know what she has over him. I hang up, trying not to worry about Evans.
Black catches up to us as we walk to Lopezâs car. âYou guys sticking around Rosarito today?â
âNo, are you?â I lie without an ounce of guilt.
âNo, Iâll probably head back to the office.â
âYeah, me too.â
Lopez bobs his head in agreement.
Â
Chapter 5
T HE DECREPIT LIGHT blue Victorian is squished between two apartment buildings right smack in downtown Rosarito. I check the address Moretti gave me. Yep, this is where Jasmine livesâÂclose to where Main Street dead-Âends at the harbor. This area was once a thriving shopping district but now is home to seedy bridal shops, abandoned businesses, and bars.
Pressing my face against the buildingâs glass front door, I smoosh all the door buzzers at once. As we wait, a man on the sidewalk below stops in his tracks and stares at me. Lopez gives him a look, and the man walks on. The once-Âelegant house is now home to apartments. The view through the glass front door shows a hallway with about eight doors leading to apartments. After a moment, a little girl comes out of Apt. 2. She looks about four years old.
âHoney, can you open the door?â I say it loudly, so she can hear me through the glass. She pushes the door open and leans against the wall, gazing at her bare feet. She wears a faded, too-Âshort flowered dress, and her hair is tangled.
âDoes a little girl named Jasmine Baker live here?â She points to an apartment door at the end of the hall on the right-Âhand side. Jackpot. âShe lives in that apartment?â
The little girl nods and starts sucking on her two middle fingers.
âAre her mom and dad home?â
The girl looks away. She twists her ankle around