The Coldest Case
“Mothers don’t give up, Detective Samuels,” Doris Arnold steadfastly told me. She sadly looked into my eyes and bit her lower lip as she clenched and unclenched her fist. Moistness formed in the corner of her eyes.
I slowly nodded. There was nothing I could say.
Doris Arnold had come to the Metropolitan Police Department’s Second District office as she did every year on this date -- a non-celebratory anniversary -- to see if there was anything new on her daughter Stacey’s disappearance. It was 13 years before that her 16-year-old had vanished.
Doris Arnold’s hair was completely gray. Prematurely, I assumed. Her deep, blue eyes seemed to me to be almost lifeless at times.
“I’m told you’re the one handling my daughter’s case now.”