“Over forty-eight hours now. Her assistant got a text that she was going to be out of town on a hot tip, but she’s missed appointments, and doesn’t answer her cell.”
“She fits the profile, Essie, but this would be the first abduction. Even killing her and dumping the body doesn’t fit Hobart’s MO.”
“There’s no sign of a breakin or a struggle at McMullen’s house or office. She got a call on her landline just before midnight on the day she went missing. Untraceable. A burner.”
“Lured her somewhere.” Reed frowned. “That’s not Hobart’s usual method, either.”
But.
“The fact is, Hobart might not be the only one who’d want to cause her harm. She’s got an ex who isn’t fond of her, and plenty of people she’s burned along her way. But I’m having officers check for McMullen’s car at the airport. That is Hobart’s MO. Right now, with no direct link to Hobart, it’s with Major Crimes—because I snagged it. If we find that link, it goes to the feds.”
“Jacoby’s all right.”
“I agree. But, Reed, if we find that link, it means she’s back in the area. Watch yourself, partner.”
“I will. You, too.”
He hung up, thought it over. McMullen, yeah, that could fit. But coming after Essie now—way far up from the opportunistic blogger—didn’t fit. And coming after him right after sending the card? No, that didn’t fit, either. She had more to say first.
So, if Hobart grabbed or killed McMullen, came back to Portland for that? Why?
He had to think about it.
Two days later, the turnover crew for the cabin found McMullen’s body. Essie sent him a report on the rest.
A camera tripod, two theatrical lights on stands, food and drink enough for several days, traces of makeup on the floor, on two chairs, a number of cut zip ties.
And Hobart’s prints all over the cabin.
Why did someone kidnap a reporter/blogger with her own local show and hard-core Internet following?
It seemed to Reed that somebody had a story to tell.
Between the kidnapping/murder and the card, he decided Patricia Hobart wanted some attention.
He’d be happy to give it to her.
*
With Jacoby and Essie coordinating on the McMullen case, Reed concentrated on his own. He found a deputy badge charm on the Internet and, amused, ordered two. One for Barney, one for Puck when Essie and the gang came out.
He bought the dog a bed, and had to start out with it right next to his own or Barney ignored it and slept on the floor. Strategizing, Reed moved it away an inch or so every morning.
When he tried throwing the red ball he’d picked up, Barney looked at him without a clue.
They’d work on it.
April edged toward May, and flowers began to bloom. In a peace offering, he bought a pot of daffodils and took it, and Barney, to Ida Booker.
She came out, kept the cat inside.
“He’d like to apologize for the trouble he caused you.”
Ida folded her arms. “That dog’s a menace.”
“He’s being rehabilitated. Ms. Booker, when I took him to Doc, he had infections and all kinds of physical issues. He’s scarred from where somebody choked him with one of those chain collars.”
Her fierce frown deepened. “Somebody choked that dog?”
“Yes, ma’am, Doc and Suzanna said that’s what happened. He was so scared of people because somebody’d caged him up and hurt him. Doc said he maybe chased your cat because he wanted to play. Now, I can’t promise that, and I won’t bring him around your cat—or your gardens—off the leash. He was half-starved, Ms. Booker.”
“He looks better now.” She cursed under her breath. “I’m not much on dogs, but anybody who’d treat an animal that way isn’t worth spit on a skillet. I heard you were keeping him.”
“He’s Barney now, and he’s coming along. We’ve just come from Doc’s, and he’s on his way to a clean bill of health. He’s put on a few pounds, too. There’s not a mean bone in him, but he could be a habitual cat chaser. He runs at birds on the beach, too.”
“I guess that’s just the nature of things. I appreciate the flowers.” She huffed out a breath, took the pot. “I was on the side of those who thought it was a mistake to bring in someone from off-island to be chief. I may have been wrong about that. Time will tell.”
Reed drove back to the village, stopped off to watch the ferry come in. He had the two part-timers on that duty, but a look for himself didn’t hurt a thing.
Some families with kids young enough not to be in school, a couple of islanders coming back, delivery trucks, a couple of hikers who walked off.
Satisfied, he drove back to the station.
“What did Doc say?” Donna demanded.
“Barney’s back in tune. He’s cleared for active duty.”
She snorted. “You keep him from nosing in the trash or I’ll give him some active duty.”
“He was just looking for clues.” His desk phone rang, so he went back with Barney at his heel. “Chief Quartermaine.”
“Special Agent Jacoby. I’m in Louisville, Kentucky, following up a lead. We’ve got a witness—former cop—who’s followed the case. He swears he spotted her.”
“‘Kentucky’? She backtracked? How reliable’s the witness?”
“I’m buying what he’s selling.”
“Okay, where did he spot her?”
“In a mall here. He says he got a good look at her, and when the face clicked tried to follow her out of the mall. He lost her. The place was crowded. A popular shopping center anyway, and on top of it, Derby’s coming up. But he got lucky again, when he spotted her driving out of the parking lot. I’ve got the make and model, the color, the plate. You ready for it?”
“Yeah, I am.”
He noted everything down.
“She bought a pair of sunglasses, a couple of shirts, jeans. She’s a size six. Some workout clothes. We’re checking store by store, but our wit made a couple of the bags she had before he lost her. She charged everything to a Visa in the name of Marsha Crowder, bogus San Diego address. She had her hair in a tail—medium brown. We’ve got an all-points on the car and the plates. No luck yet.”
“This is good news. I don’t have Louisville, or Kentucky, on my list. No targets there I know of.”
“The Memphis lead turned shaky, but with those plates, it may have been more solid than we thought. She’s likely headed north. You watch for that car, those plates, Chief.”
“Believe it.”
“We’re on her. I’ve gotta move on this.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. Good hunting. Donna!” he shouted it the minute he disconnected.
“You want me,” she said, eyes firing up as she walked up. “You come out.”
“Get this information to the deputies, on and off duty. A white Toyota Sienna, maybe a 2016, Tennessee plates. Six-Eight-Three-Charlie-Kilo-Oscar. Hobart was spotted driving that car in Louisville.”
“I’ve got it.”
Reed opened the file, never far from hand, studied Hobart’s face. “Maybe we’ve got you.”
*
She switched the plates in a Walmart parking lot off I-64. She had an itchy feeling. She was damn, dead sure some old guy had trailed her for a while back in Louisville.
Better safe than screwed, she decided, and destroyed her current ID and cards, ditched them.
She went in the Walmart, to the hair products section. She bought auburn hair dye, paid cash. She took the back roads, winding around until she spotted a junker outside a double-wide with a FOR SALE sign on the windshield.
She bargained with the yahoo and told him she’d be back with the cash. Plenty of woods around to ditch the car.
She walked back, bought the junker, drove it rattling back to the Toyota. Once she transferred her luggage, she beat the crap out of the Toyota, released some tension.
She expected some other yahoo—or maybe the same one—would stumble on it eventually, and pick it clean for parts.
In the junker, she drove to a cheap motel, paid cash.