Ivy and Chrome PbP Forums

Dane leads them over to the terminal and lets Mosley do the talking, partly because Mosley is already excited and partly because Dane is suddenly too aware of everyone looking at him again. While Mosley clicks through the restored files, Dane steps off to the side, finds a scrap of paper, and writes down the possible hideouts. By the time Mosley finishes, Dane is already holding the note out toward the sheriff. "Mosley mentioned a few places that seemed worth checking," he says, then hesitates, wondering if that came out sounding too much like instruction instead of suggestion. "If you haven't already, I mean."

Dane leads them over to the terminal and lets Mosley do the talking, partly because Mosley is already excited and partly because Dane is suddenly too aware of everyone looking at him again.

"Okay, so with his super fast, responsive tablet, we were able to scan the documents at snap of a finger speeds."

While Mosley clicks through the restored files, Dane steps off to the side, finds a scrap of paper, and writes down the possible hideouts.

"And that, my fellow law enforcers, is all of them! Think the chief will be pleased?" Mosley beams with pride.

"Uh... yeah. Unbelievable, but yeah. Great job boys!" the sheriff sputters.

By the time Mosley finishes, Dane is already holding the note out toward the sheriff. "Mosley mentioned a few places that seemed worth checking," he says, then hesitates, wondering if that came out sounding too much like instruction instead of suggestion. "If you haven't already, I mean."

The sheriff hesitantly takes the note, still stunned by the sheer speed of the data restore, "Yeah... Why don't you two come with us?" he glances at George, "Seems you two, working together, process information and evidence like lightning. But you listen to us and touch nothing if we happen upon a crime scene. Understood?"

"Bit out of our jurisdiction, aren't we, Joe?" Dane's dad asks.

"They asked for our help and are paying us, so let's give em their money's worth."

"Yes, sir." Dane answers, and can't quite keep the enthusiasm out of his voice at the prospect of getting out and actually investigating with his dad. Real investigation, not just terminals and missing files. He pulls the satchel a little closer against his side and follows them out the door before he can say anything that makes him sound too eager.

"Yes, sir." Dane answers, and can't quite keep the enthusiasm out of his voice at the prospect of getting out and actually investigating with his dad. Real investigation, not just terminals and missing files. He pulls the satchel a little closer against his side and follows them out the door before he can say anything that makes him sound too eager.

“Now,” the sheriff says, leaning his shoulder into the wall like he’s settling in for a long story. He pours himself some coffee, steals one of Mosley’s cookies with no shame. “The Millers were good people. Their girl, Violet, like the report says, headed out to go piddle around town with her friends. Never showed. Folks saw her headed that direction, plain as day, but she up and vanished inside a two‑block patch ‘bout half a mile from the falls.”

He taps the town map with a knuckle, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Ain’t a busy area. Cameras only caught five vehicles comin’ and goin’. So we’re lookin’ at two hovercycles, one motorbike” the freeze‑frame shows Steve Campbell riding it, helmet crooked like always, “a big ol’ windowless white van," George shakes his head like that detail’s some private joke he wishes he didn’t know, “and this beat‑to‑hell sedan that drives that loop every damn day.”

The sheriff takes a bite of the cookie, stops mid‑chew, eyebrows lifting. “Well, I’ll be… that’s good.” Mosley finally realizes what happened, but the sheriff keeps right on talking. “So. Either she’s still tucked somewhere in that neighborhood, she ran off and managed to dodge every camera in creation, or the van or the car are our hot leads.”

He unfolds a stack of dispatch papers, the edges soft from handling. “Van belongs to a local repair outfit that home fixes, wiring, plumbing, all that. Car belongs to a family on that block.” He jerks his chin toward Mosley. “And we got those hideouts Mosley mentioned earlier.” He looks between everyone, eyes narrowing just a hair. “So. Which one y’all reckon we oughta poke first?”

Dane frowns and sits back down, cookie in hand. "I've got a question first." He glances at the map, then back at the sheriff. "What does Violet's disappearance have to do with the breach? I thought we were tracking the vehicle from last night, not every missing girl named Violet." He pauses, realizing that came out a little sharper than intended. "I mean... unless there's an actual link I missed. Or context I don't have yet." He looks to the sheriff, waiting for him to fill in the gap.

Dane frowns and sits back down, cookie in hand. "I've got a question first." He glances at the map, then back at the sheriff. "What does Violet's disappearance have to do with the breach? I thought we were tracking the vehicle from last night, not every missing girl named Violet." He pauses, realizing that came out a little sharper than intended. "I mean... unless there's an actual link I missed. Or context I don't have yet." He looks to the sheriff, waiting for him to fill in the gap.

“Alrighty then…” The sheriff drops back into a chair, already reaching for another cookie. Mosley snatches the tub away like he’s guarding gold, then slides the smallest, saddest cookie toward him. The sheriff eyes it, unimpressed, but takes it anyway. “I’m tellin’ ya,” he continues, tapping the case file with two fingers, “I’m damn certain Violet left with Dusty. I’d wager my spot in the next sheriff election on it.” He nods at the folder like it’s gospel. “Ain’t but one other teenybopper named Violet in this whole stretch of county, and she turns up missin’ the same year? Call it a gut feelin’, but somethin’ in my bones says it’s tied together. I just ain't caught on how.”

Dane feels the lie before he fully understands it... only it isn't coming from the sheriff. It’s coming from his father. George won’t meet anyone’s gaze, just stares at the table like the wood grain’s suddenly become fascinating.

Dane's brows furrow as he tries to figure out what he's missing. .oO Dad's hiding something, which probably means Joe knows more than he's saying. Oo. He looks back and forth between the two men, then decides the fastest way to get answers might be to get them alone.

He deliberately brightens his tone as he turns toward Mosley. "Hey, I just had a thought. If you took photos and maybe a cast of one of the tracks out in the alley, we could compare that to anything else we find later, right? That'd help narrow down whether we're looking at the same vehicle or just the same type."

.oO If I can get Mosley away for a bit, maybe Dad and the sheriff will stop dancing around whatever this is. Oo.

Dane's brows furrow as he tries to figure out what he's missing. oO(Dad's hiding something, which probably means Joe knows more than he's saying)Oo He looks back and forth between the two men, then decides the fastest way to get answers might be to get them alone.

He deliberately brightens his tone as he turns toward Mosley. "Hey, I just had a thought. If you took photos and maybe a cast of one of the tracks out in the alley, we could compare that to anything else we find later, right? That'd help narrow down whether we're looking at the same vehicle or just the same type."

Joe’s eyebrow lifts as George snaps back to attention. “Good idea, kid!”

oO(If I can get Mosley out of the room for a bit, maybe Dad and the sheriff will finally stop dancing around whatever this is)Oo

Mosley says, “I can pull a tread pattern from the alley‑cam, but the snow wiped out the tracks and a few cars have driven through since. Including you guys.” He pauses, thinking. “But I did notice something earlier. The tires on that thing were enormous. So if we start looking for APCs with that kind of footprint, it shouldn’t be hard to narrow down.”

He glances over and sees the sheriff and George both yawning, nursing their coffees. “Alright,” Mosley sighs, “I’ll get to work sketching out the treads.”

"Perfect," Joe sighs, "Well, you two ready to go sleuthing?"

"Yep, I'm ready," Dane says, snagging another cookie before following them out.

Once they're in the truck and away from prying ears, he looks between the two of them. "So... who's going to fill me in on what I'm missing?" He shifts the cookie in his hand, then adds, "I'm smart enough to have connected a lot of the dots already. If there's more to all of this, wouldn't it help to loop me in so I know what I'm actually looking for?"

"Yep, I'm ready," Dane says, snagging another cookie before following them out. Once they're in the truck and away from prying ears, he looks between the two of them. "So... who's going to fill me in on what I'm missing?" He shifts the cookie in his hand, then adds, "I'm smart enough to have connected a lot of the dots already. If there's more to all of this, wouldn't it help to loop me in so I know what I'm actually looking for?"

The sheriff squints like he’s tryin’ to read a menu written in smoke. “Far as I can tell, we’re fixin’ to go jaw with the folks who own that sedan. If that don’t lead nowhere, we’ll mosey on over to that little repair outfit and rattle their cage a bit. By then Mosley oughta be done drawin' his tread picture, so... we can go sniff around them hidin’ spots.” He drops into the driver’s seat, gives the ignition a single twist, and that old truck fires up like it’s been waiting on him all morning.

George stares out the window, deep in his own thoughts.