“OK, shit. I have a key. I can be there in forty minutes.”
“Richards, I’m calling DPD to meet us.” My chest clenched at my next sentence. “In case it’s a crime . . .” I couldn’t say it.
“Fine, I won’t go in, but I’m knocking the shit out of that damn door. This better be some big fuck-up, or else . . .”
My neck straightened. “Or else what?”
“You know where you’ve been sending her. Don’t you give a fuck about her safety?”
“Richards, shut the hell up. We’ll be there with DPD in forty minutes.”
“I am DPD. I’ll have someone with me.”
One week later—still nothing. The evening at Stella’s apartment had come up empty. I might not have liked Dylan Richards, but the man was a basket case. Between the DPD officers who’d accompanied him and ours, we’d had a shit-ton of officers there. He kept it together better than most would in his situation with his girlfriend missing, but once the crowds thinned he did little to hide the frustration and desperation on his face. I’d talked to him almost every day since.
DPD taped off her apartment and searched it thoroughly. Her laptop was missing. I’d seen it with her sometimes while she worked. All we could assume was that she took it with her that morning. Richards said he didn’t know. He’d fallen back asleep after she’d left. No flash drives or backup hard drives were found.
The DPD forensics team was able to get her MAC address from her router. With that the team searched for her computer. All it would take to find it, would be for it to be turned on and connected to Wi-Fi. It hadn’t been since the night before she disappeared.
Foster gained access to her personal and work e-mails as well as her search history on her computer at WCJB. The search history confirmed her research into Entermann’s Realty and Wilkens Industries. She’d searched Google Earth, but specifics couldn’t be found. When Foster went back in time he found her preliminary research into the property on Glendale Avenue in Highland Heights. It was what had prompted her to dig into Entermann’s Realty. Foster said he’d seen a list of their holdings, yet it wasn’t in her e-mail. We could only presume she’d deleted the e-mail to protect her source. Of course her e-mail trash was empty. One of the oldest and usually most reliable ways to back up information is to e-mail it to yourself. There was no evidence that Stella had done that.
The only other source of information was her phone. A call had been placed to her at 2:48 a.m. the morning of her disappearance. It had come from the assistant forensic pathologist at the Wayne County Medical Examiner’s private cell number. Dr. Tracy Howell claimed she and Stella had become friends and admitted to calling her and asking Stella to meet her at the medical center to see a patient. Unfortunately, the patient she mentioned had never been identified and was now in the Wayne County Morgue. There was an ongoing internal investigation at the medical center, but primary information indicated the patient had suffered a severe allergic reaction to pain medication. Anaphylactic shock had occurred before treatment could commence, and resulted in death.
No calls or text messages had been sent from Stella’s phone the day of her disappearance. Calls from Richards, Foster, me, and Tracy Howell had been received but never answered. Some of us had left voice mails. Text messages had been received from Dr. Howell, Richards, and me. There was absolutely nothing else.
Her car had been found the day after her disappearance in a flat lot in New Center. The crime lab dusted it—nothing. Unfortunately, Stella had chosen one of the few lots in the New Center area without video or even picture surveillance.
Each day was worse than the one before. Two women working for WCJB were officially missing. Vanished from sight. Disappeared into thin air. While speculations ran wild, for those of us who knew them, it was devastating.
CHAPTER 31
Sara
One morning in June, Dinah and I met Raquel and Elizabeth in the coffee shop before work. Since the Assemblymen needed to be at Assembly early, the night before at prayer Raquel had mentioned that we should start our day with friends. To my delight our husbands had agreed to this unusual impromptu outing. Standing at a tall table, I stirred cream into my coffee and half listened as the other wives chatted about nothing in particular. When something was said about the dark, my ears perked up.
I leaned over the table and spoke quietly. “I know I shouldn’t, but I wish I remembered. I think it’s cool that you do.”
“I don’t remember either,” Dinah said. “I think I blocked it out.”
Elizabeth sighed, her green eyes moist.
I reached out and touched her hand. “What’s the matter?”
She looked up. “Nothing.”
Raquel hugged Elizabeth. “Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private?”
Standing taller than her already tall height, Elizabeth swallowed and nodded.