chapter XII
Boise, Idaho, present day
“REID HERE,” GRETCHEN SAID as she picked up the phone. The voice on the other end belonged to an overworked Boise PD detective, and it didn’t take much to be able to tell. Gretchen Reid had been around the block long enough. She listened as the fatigued voice told her about a case he was handing off to her; BPD was basically asking the FBI field office for help. “This is a first,” she said.
And it was a first. They usually saw her as a threat; they didn’t like to share, much less volunteer brand new cases. She told herself they hated her because she was young, feminine and attractive; that she headed up the local FBI field office. Part of her just loved rattling the local authorities any chance she got. Jurisdictional pissing contests, nine times out of ten, were won by the FBI.
“Okay, secure fax me the docs and I’ll have a look. Meanwhile, I’m going to need the case file number at least, via email, so I can start my own file.” Gretchen nudged her new assistant and kept talking. “Okay, thanks, Detective Vukovic. Good day.” She hung up. Turning, she said, “All right, Harry. BPD is faxing us a new one.”
“What is it?”
“Missing persons.”
“Cold case?”
“No way. This one hasn’t even had time to get lukewarm.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” she said, bustling through the empty office toward the mailroom. She wore a gray pantsuit and short heels that hit the floor in little staccato cluck-clocks that struck terror into the hearts of every admin drone ever to have the misfortune to do a tour in the Boise Field Office: Special Agent Gretchen Reid’s domain and undisputed kingdom.
“Must be important,” Harry said, tailing her like a pet. He was the new guy, just learning the ropes.
She didn’t respond. “Okay, Harry, when this is done coming in, you make copies for yourself and get the originals straight to my desk. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, Harry. You’ll do well here. Just keep doing as you’re told.” She looked at him. “It’s not too late for you, is it? You didn’t have plans for tonight, did you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good, because I can replace you; it’s just inconvenient for me right now. I don’t want to have to wake up agent-next-in-line and wait for him to drag himself back to the office.”
“It’s fine, ma’am.”
“Good, Harry. I like the way you think; not bad for a rookie. I want to get on this ASAP, like right now.” Gretchen moved to take her leave, noting that it was after midnight but deducing that the parents of the missing girl would probably be up fretting anyway, so no worries.
“After that—”
“Get to work on whatever they’re giving us via email. Compile. Collate. Fix their screw-ups. Research. And call me if you find any leads,” she waggled her phone at him. “I’m going to interview the parents right now.”
“Victim’s name?”
Gretchen stopped and thought for a moment, looking up and left. “Actually, two. Both Borah High students. Amy? Ariel the mermaid? Something like that. Missing for about 24 hours. Suspect is male, about the same age, driving a late model white 4x4 pickup. I need to talk to the parents; apparently they know about both of these girls.”
Harry nodded and turned back to the fax machine and watched as page after page came in.
There was more than the usual swarming of discordant thoughts in Gretchen Reid’s head as she walked to her plain brown wrapper government Ford sedan. She had been on the phone with Timothy Darden in Portland about a couple of unusual blips that had come up on the wire. That was the reason she and Harry were working late in the first place.
Both incidents were in the region: one in Portland’s Pearl district, a bar fire; the other way out in the sticks somewhere. But that was a fire as well, and both sites were looking like arson; unknown chemical accelerants. And anytime there were ways to link events together, she indulged herself for a while, working like mad to try to prove herself wrong. In the end, if she couldn’t do that, she knew she was onto something.
And she was onto something here. It was more than Detective Vukovic’s exhausted voice over the phone. It was more than what he had told her; that the dad was just about homicidal himself. All of that was possibly understandable, if all was as it seemed. But she had a feeling…a gut reaction… there was something different about this one. She had to find out, dig deeper, see the root cause with her own eyes.