He ushered them into the house, where jute rugs and rough, natural wood furniture decorated the rooms. When they got to the living room, he gestured for them to sit on the couch.
Above the mantel, there was a picture of Keira, with two prayer candles with the Virgin of Guadalupe on them flanking the photo. The candles were lit, a rosary and some dried roses resting between them.
“So, what is this about?” Morgan asked.
“I’m investigating a case from fifteen years ago,” Paul said. “In the process, I’ve found some similarities to Keira’s case. And I wanted to speak to you about her.”
“All right,” Morgan said, and he could hear a hint of wariness in the man’s voice.
“Keira went missing at a soccer meet in Yreka?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “Normally, my wife or I went with her. We’d chaperone. But my father was sick. So we thought it would be okay for her to go alone this one time.” His lower lip wobbled, his eyes filling with tears. “It was a mistake,” he whispered.
“Mr. Rice.” Abby got up off the couch, grabbing the tissue box on the end table and gently pushing it into his hands. “Keira was sixteen. It was totally reasonable for you to let her go on a chaperoned field trip. This wasn’t your mistake.”
He grabbed one of the tissues, clutching it in his hand. “Keira is such a good girl,” he said. “So talented.”
Paul felt a growing pit in his stomach at the use of the present tense. This poor man. He could feel the loss in this house, the way it seemed to ache out of every wall. He remembered that feeling so well—that dull numb dread that was so damn hard to ignore.
If it was your child you lost, you can’t ever ignore it.
“Mr. Rice, you said that you and your wife usually chaperoned,” he said. “How long had Keira been playing soccer?”
“We had her in peewee soccer at five,” he said. “Her coaches were talking scholarships when she was in middle school.”
Paul could see Abby looking at him out of the corner of her eye, curious at this line of questioning. He wondered if all the other missing girls Zooey’s Code Sibyl had picked out were soccer players. Was that how he was selecting his victims? Most of the Northern California teams in this part traveled up and down I-5 all the way to Oregon, to compete with other teams.
Was their unsub someone in the school system? A parent himself?
Paul couldn’t discount any possibility. His work had taught him that even the most violent sociopath could have a family, people who loved him, people who had no idea what he was really like. Some of them were just that good at concealing who they really were.
“So sports are a big part of her life,” Abby said. Paul noticed she had picked up on Morgan’s use of the present tense, using it herself, so she wouldn’t cause any ripples or offend.
“Oh, yeah,” Morgan said. “All her friends play. When she went missing . . . her best friend, Jayden, she took it very hard. She was the one who was rooming with Keira that night. My wife and I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, but it was very difficult for her.”
Paul felt a twinge in his chest. Morgan Rice was clearly a good man. His concern for another child—his own missing child’s best friend—made that clear. And the haunted look on Abby’s face told him everything: that she was thinking about Cass, about the two of them. Of what she’d lost.
“Mr. Rice, do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Abby asked.
“Of course, it’s just down the hall. Last door to the right.”
“Thank you.” Abby got up, shooting Paul a meaningful look. A look that clearly said, distract him.
What in the world was she up to? But he gave the slightest tilt of his head, to show he understood.
Abby disappeared down the hall, and Paul turned back to Morgan Rice, the questions mounting in his head.
Chapter 15
Teenage girls kept their secrets in two places: their rooms and their phones. Keira’s phone was long since submitted as evidence, but when Abby opened the door across from the bathroom and peeked inside, she saw a laptop sitting on a blue-and-white painted desk.
Keira’s desk was neat and orderly, and while everything was in the right place, there was no film of dust or stale air in here.
Her parents kept this room dusted and clean. The bed was made. Like they were waiting for her to come home.
Abby pressed a hand against her aching heart, trying to clear the sudden tightness in her throat. This was so sad. Morgan Rice looked like a shell of a man, tired and sad and running out of hope, fast. The little altar on the mantel, the dried flowers and rosary, had drawn her eye the moment he’d brought them into the living room. She hoped that their faith gave them some modicum of relief from the not-knowing.
She knew how terrible it was to wonder. But she had years of some kind of peace before that, before she realized that Wells hadn’t killed Cass. She knew both sides of this coin: neither was good. They were just endured differently.
Keeping an ear out just in case Mr. Rice came looking to see why she was taking so long in the bathroom, Abby hurried over to the laptop on the desk and booted it up. She clicked on the messages icon, and bam, there they were: Keira’s text messages.
She pulled a thumb drive out of her purse and pushed it into the USB slot, loading the messages—and the rest of the laptop—onto the drive, before plucking it out. She was about to shut the computer down, when she noticed the video chat icon on the dock was bouncing up and down.
Frowning, she clicked on it. And there it was: thousands of missed calls on Keira’s Skype account. All from Keira’s best friend, Jayden. Abby scrolled down, seeing that the calls went back nearly two years, ever since she went missing. They lessened after a while, but the most recent call had been last week.
That was some really heavy grief. Or . . . her always curious mind thought, maybe some very heavy guilt?
She grabbed a pink, fluffy pen out of the cup on the desk and scribbled down Jayden’s phone number and user name, dropping the piece of paper in her purse. She slipped out of the room, going across the hall to the bathroom and running the tap for a few seconds before going out again.
She smiled as she came into view of the living room and Paul got to his feet. His eyes were disapproving. He didn’t like that she’d gone off and done some sleuthing on her own. Control freak, she thought, with more than a little affection.
“I think we’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Rice,” Paul said, reaching out and shaking the man’s hand. “Thank you for your time. I’ll call you if I have any other questions.”
Mr. Rice nodded. “Thank you for looking into Keira’s disappearance,” he said. “But, Agent Harrison? If you find my little girl? You call me first. I’ll need to prepare her mother.”
Abby had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from tearing up at the resigned look on Mr. Rice’s face. He may talk about Keira like she was still alive, but he knew how slim that chance was, deep down. It was clear in his eyes.
“I promise, sir,” Paul said solemnly.
“Thank you,” Morgan said.
“Take care,” Abby said, before she followed Paul out of the house.
He waited until they were back on the highway, headed home to Castella Rock, to say, “So, your snooping session turn anything up?”
Abby nodded at her purse, keeping her hands on the wheel as a semi merged in front of them. “Thumb drive in my purse. I loaded her entire laptop and all her texts onto it.”
“You do realize this is completely illegal,” Paul said, digging through her purse all the same.
“So arrest me,” Abby dared. “I found out something useful.”
“Oh?”
“Keira’s Skype account was full of missed calls from her best friend. I’m talking thousands of calls over the last two years.”
Paul frowned. “Why would she be calling Keira after she went missing?”
“You didn’t call Cass’s cell phone a few times, to hear her voice on the voice mail message?” Abby asked.