"I'll buy that. For now." Victoria checked her watch. "Listen, overnight the whole file to me here at the hotel. We can talk more once I've read it."
"One last thing," said Andie. "There's an interesting detail that may seem irrelevant at first blush, but I think it might be important in the big picture."
"What?"
"Colleen Easterbrook's employment. She was a hotel manager."
"So?"
"It may help further support our bookend theory."
"Are you saying you somehow divined that Jane Doe was also a hotel manager?"
"No. But consider this. I've had a few conversations with Gus Wheatley this week, the lawyer whose wife disappeared Sunday. Beth Wheatley is her name. A few years back Beth accused Gus of abuse. It got pretty ugly, but nothing came of it. And that's not my point, anyway."
"What is your point?"
"They separated for a few months. It's the only time Beth worked outside the house during their entire marriage. She took a job downtown. Get this. She worked in a hotel booking conventions. You might call it an assistant hotel manager."
"So that gives her something in common with Colleen Easterbrook."
"More than something. Same age, hair, eye color. Easterbrook was divorced, but she used to be married to a lawyer. Not as prominent as Gus Wheatley, but still a lawyer. And both victims took jobs as hotel managers."
"Except you don't know if Beth Wheatley is a victim."
"No. But she's still missing. Vanished."
"Andie, I hope you aren't groping for similarities just to bolster your bookend theory."
"To the contrary. It's like Detective Kessler told me. A third female victim blows my bookend theory. Especially if it turns out that Jane Doe worked in hotel management. That would give us one pair, followed by three of a kind."
An eerie silence came over the_ line, as if they both had the same sudden insight. Victoria asked, "Do you think we could have missed the first murder in this series? A solo shot?"
"Which would mean our killer is playing some kind of numbers game. The first strike is one victim. The second is two. The third is three."
"Each time he amplifies the experience, ratcheting things up. So that the fourth would be four, and on down the line, until we stop him:'
"Which leaves one very intriguing question," said Andie.
"Yes, it does. And now you know the reason I do this godforsaken job. I have to know why."
Chapter Twenty-Two.
B seven A. M. Gus was dressed and ready to leave the house. He had to go into the office to check the mail and reroute a few assignments before the weekend. The rest of the day was set aside for the latest brainstorm on finding Beth.
He threw on his coat, grabbed his keys, and started down the hall. Carla was asleep in the guest room, the door shut. The door to Morgan's room, however, was half-open. He stopped and peeked inside. She was an ill-defined mound on the mattress, asleep somewhere beneath a heap of blankets. He stood in the doorway, watching in silence.
Yesterday, he had made several attempts to have that serious talk with her. The right moment never arrived--Morgan had made sure of it. She was surely in pain from the loose tooth she'd yanked out prematurely, but she was making more of it than she might have. She had spent the whole day in bed. Gus had visited her room a dozen times to talk. Light conversation was fine. Whenever he had tried to steer the conversation toward Beth, however, she suddenly needed sleep, another pillow, or a story read to her. It was frustrating, but he didn't want to force it. After the horror of that newscast on Tuesday night, talking on any level was a positive.
He checked his watch. He needed to get going, but his feet wouldn't move. His gaze drifted across the room, a little girl's dreamland. Tiny ballerinas danced in synchronized patterns on the walls, the curtains, and matching quilt. Minnie Mouse guarded the toy chest beneath the window. Barbie was parked in her pink convertible beside the bed. Gus had paid for all of it. He had selected none of it. It was all Beth's doing. Morgan was all Beth's doing.
The room was so peaceful, deceptively so. He wondered what was going on inside her head, deep beneath the covers. He could only guess. One thing, however, rang clear in the silence. He had something to tell her. Something that couldn't wait.
Gently, he pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped closer. A three-foot teddy bear was in the rocking chair beside the bed. Gus removed it and lowered himself quietly onto the quilted cushion. He whispered softly, almost mouthing her name. "Morgan."
She didn't stir.
He drew a deep breath. It didn't matter that she was asleep. He had to get it off his chest. His eyes closed, then opened. He spoke in a low, hoarse whisper.