“Do you keep an extra key anywhere inside or outside of the house?”
“Yes. When we first moved in, Natalie put a key under the gnome in the planter box.”
Colin made notes. Getting in and out of the house without being noticed or leaving any trace evidence had similarities to the Heartless Killer’s MO. And yet it was way too early to make assumptions. One of the reasons the Heartless Killer had not been caught was that absolutely no one was safe. There was no connection to race, gender, or age that would indicate any one particular target. He’d taken people from their homes, bicyclists from the street, and kids from bus stops.
Colin looked up from his notepad and asked, “Is the planter box at the front of the house or the back?”
“Right outside the front door. I’ll show you.”
They followed him outside. The planter was filled with flowers.
Bailey picked up the gnome.
There was nothing there.
“It’s gone,” he said.
FIFTEEN
Jessie had been at the office for a while when she looked at the time and saw that it was already ten thirty. Looked like Ben Morrison was a no-show. She would give him until noon before she went to check on Higgins.
Her phone rang. It was Adelind Rain. “Sorry I had to run off yesterday,” she said without prelude.
“No problem.”
“I’m calling to let you know I quit my job. My parents are worried, and so am I. I’m moving back to Seattle.”
“Did something happen since I saw you?”
Adelind hesitated before saying, “I got a call in the middle of the night. Heavy breathing. Are you sure Parker Koontz is still in the hospital?”
“I was told he’s in a coma, but I’ll call the hospital to see if there has been any change.”
“If it’s not him, who would be calling me? It makes no sense, and yet it can’t be a coincidence.”
Jessie didn’t have an answer for her.
There was a long pause before Adelind said, “If you could let me know what I owe you, I can get that taken care of before I leave.”
Jessie tapped her pencil against her desk. “You might be subpoenaed when I’m brought to court.”
“I understand.” Adelind proceeded to give Jessie her parents’ address and phone number.
“Is there anything else I should know?” Jessie asked.
“Just be careful.”
The call was disconnected.
As Jessie stared absently ahead, thinking about the Koontz problem, a short and extremely pale man entered her office. He marched right in and took a seat in the chair in front of her desk. His gray hair was messy, his jaw unshaven. The dark shadows under his eyes made him look as if he might be sick.
Without bothering to introduce himself, he reached for a tissue and used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The only person she’d been expecting was Ben Morrison, the crime reporter. And this man was definitely not him.
But something was seriously wrong. Jessie stood. “Do you need help?”
“Are you Jessie Cole, the private investigator?”
“I am.”
“Then yes. I need help.”
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“No,” he answered sharply, his shoulders tense. “My daughter disappeared five days ago, and the police won’t do anything about it. I am not all right.”
Jessie kept a close eye on him as she slowly sank back down into her chair. He looked a bit unhinged, making her wonder if he was on drugs. She knew the best thing she could do was remain calm. “Did you fill out a missing person’s report?”
“Of course I did.”
“What makes you think the police aren’t doing anything?”
“Because they said as much,” he said, his shoulders relaxing some. “Zee has disappeared before. Many times, in fact. She has problems. Don’t we all? But she’s a good person—kind and compassionate. The sort of person who would never harm a flea.”
In a matter of seconds, his anger had changed to hopelessness. A part of her wanted to reach across her desk, place her hands on his, and tell him to take a breath. The other part wondered if the pepper spray was still in the drawer in front of her. “Exactly what sort of problems does your daughter have?”
“She’s been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. She suffers from depression, hallucinations, and delirium, which sometimes happens when she overmedicates by mistake.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“You said she’s disappeared before. Where does she usually go?”
His shoulders fell. “I have no idea. I work for a software company, and there were a couple of times I came home and she wasn’t there. But she’s also left the house in the middle of the night when I’m sleeping, so I’ve never had the chance to follow her. She’s usually home within twenty-four hours.” He looked down at his lap. “Until now.”
“Was she left alone during the day?”
“The last caregiver quit within hours and didn’t bother telling me until I called her looking for Zee.”
“Is Zee her nickname?”
“It’s short for Zinnia. Her mother named her after the flower. Is that important?”
“No,” she said. “It’s not. Has Zee ever told you anything about where she goes when she runs off?”
He shook his head. “She’s usually disoriented and confused when she returns. That’s what happens when she doesn’t take her pills.”
“I see.”
“Do you really?” he asked, his face pinched. “Or are you saying that because you think I’m crazy?”
“Why would I think you were crazy?”
“Because of the way I look. I hear what people say behind my back. I’m not deaf.” He huffed. “I’m as pale as a ghost. My head is way too big for my body. And throughout grade school my nickname was Dumbo, thanks to my enormous ears.” His tone sharpened. “I’ve heard whispers about Zee running off because I’m so hideously ugly.”
People’s cruelty had no bounds. “You’re not ugly.”
“So why did you practically jump out of your skin when I took a seat?”
“Because you are unusually pale, just as you said. And between the dark circles and sheen of sweat on your brow, I thought you might be having a heart attack.”
He seemed to ponder that before he said, “Fair enough.”
“What’s your name?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Arlo Gatley.”
She opened the top drawer, ignored the pepper spray rolling around, and grabbed a pricing sheet instead. She slid the paper across the desk in front of him. “As you can see, it can get costly for you to hire me to search for Zee, which is why you might want to reconsider letting the police handle this.”
He closed his eyes—sort of a long, exasperated blink. “Money isn’t a problem.”
“I charge by the hour, and I would need a retainer,” she said. “I’m going to assume you’ve already looked for your daughter in all of her favorite spots. I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork if you’re interested in moving forward.”
She pulled out another small packet with a list of basic questions: name, address, telephone number, hobbies, favorite restaurants, friends and family, and so on. She was having a hard time building up enthusiasm for the job, mostly because she had a lot on her plate. But he looked into her eyes just then, and for the first time since Arlo entered her office, she saw through his frustration. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes welled with tears as he said, “I’ll be forever in your debt. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile.
“If I fill out these papers right now and write you a check, when would you be able to begin your search?”
“Today,” she said. “Fill out those papers, and I’ll get started.”
He released a sob, and it took everything not to cry along with him. Seeing him so distraught reminded her of how she’d felt when Sophie had disappeared. She didn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone.
He grabbed another tissue and wiped his nose. “There is one more thing you should know about Zee before you agree.”
“What is it?”
“When you find her,” he said as if that was a given, “you’ll need to be careful.”
Jessie lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“She’s been known to be violent at times.”