A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

“It wasn’t there. The DNA report wasn’t in the file.” She is
phlegmatic. Her voice is flat. She stares at the henchman, then Dad,
unblinking.
“Maybe you missed it. Those papers have a tendency to stick
together. I can double-check, if you’d like, ma’am.”
“It wasn’t there. I didn’t miss it.” She’s pissed now, for two things:
one, that the report is missing, and two, that the henchman secondguessed
her in front of Dad and me.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
The henchman offers to pull up the report online. “I can do it
myself,” she says. We follow her to a desk. She sits at the computer,
fingers pecking away on the keyboard. Neither Dad nor I can see
what’s happening on the screen because we’re on the wrong side of
it.
She stops typing. Her fingers hover above the keyboard.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asks.
“I just...” she starts. “I forgot my password, that’s all. Just give me
a minute.” We do. It doesn’t help. A minute later she still can’t
remember her password to whatever software cops use.
“Let me try mine,” the henchman says, reaching past her for the
keyboard.
“Don’t,” she snaps at him. “Just don’t.” It’s loud enough that people
stare. Some other cop walks over and asks if everything is all right.
Detective Rowlings is the undemonstrative type. She’s seen
everything there is to see in her line of work. She’s become
desensitized to all things bad.
But still, you can see a tiny breach in her shell. It’s visible.
She looks at Dad. “We’ve been together from the very beginning,
Josh. All the ups and downs of this case. I’ve watched you cope with
the unbearable loss of your wife and child. I’ve seen firsthand your
hope and resilience every time you thought there was a lead as to
where Delilah might be. You never gave up on her.” Her voice
cracks. “You were hell-bent on searching until Delilah came home,
and I told myself long ago that I was in this for the long haul. If you
weren’t giving up, neither was I. I grew fond of you over the years,
Josh, and wanted more than anything to bring your little girl home to
you. This wasn’t just a case for me—it was personal. I should know