For the Right Reasons. Kara Lennox
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It’s possible she just doesn’t want to hear from me.”
“Call her from a number she won’t recognize. Have someone whose voice she doesn’t know leave a message like they want to send her a check, a gas company deposit from years ago, something like that. People always respond if they think you are going to pay them.”
Jillian outlined some other offbeat ways she’d heard of for finding missing persons. She seemed to enjoy sharing her expertise.
“People can try to hide,” she said, “but their personalities are the same. So your friend might seek out the same kind of job. If you can pinpoint a city, you can check businesses similar to where she worked. If she gets her hair done professionally, she’ll seek that out. If she wears acrylic nails, same thing. Sometimes Mitch can get hold of gas station security video near where you think she lives. That’s tedious, going over days and days of video. But people have to buy gas.”
Bree was truly impressed. No wonder Project Justice was so good at solving crimes the police had bungled.
“Well, I didn’t think up any of this stuff,” Jillian said modestly. “I’ve been taught by some of the best investigators on the planet. So let’s see, what else? You can—”
“Hey, got something,” Mitch said. “Philomene bought gas in San Antonio. She also used her cell phone there. She called another mobile number in the same area, but that one is a throwaway. We’ll never find who it belongs to.”
“Someone could have stolen her phone along with her credit card,” Bree pointed out.
“Okay, here’s one more call,” Mitch said. “Ah, we’re in luck. To a landline this time. Registered to a Mildred W. Hayes. Also in San Antonio.”
“Do you think Philomene might have had friends or family in San Antone?” Eric asked Bree.
Bree shrugged. “I didn’t really know her all that well. But we can call this Mildred Hayes, right? Ask her if she knows Philomene?”
“It would be better to go there in person,” Mitch said. “If Philomene is hiding, her friends might lie for her. It’s harder to lie face-to-face. You could also see if Philomene’s car is parked near Mildred’s place.”
“Can you get any info on this Mildred Hayes?”
“Workin’ on it.” Mitch tapped for what seemed like an eternity, but probably it was less than a minute. “Okay, here we go. Mildred is sixty-two years old. African-American.” He tapped some more. “On SNAP and disability. Doesn’t own a car. And...doesn’t live in the greatest neighborhood.”
“Can you give me her address and phone?” Bree asked. “I’ll go talk to her.”
“Not alone, you won’t.” Eric peered at the Google Earth image on Mitch’s monitor. “That does not look like the kind of place a woman should wander by herself.”
“Yeah, well, it’s unlikely I’ll get a police escort.”
“I’ll go with you. I told you I’d help you out tomorrow. Now how about lunch? You might not be hungry, but I am.”
“I’ll keep working on this while you eat.” Mitch pulled a sandwich and an apple out of his desk. “I usually work through lunch any— Okay, that’s weird.”
“What?” Bree stepped closer to peer over Mitch’s shoulder. But the lines and lines of type on the monitor swam before her eyes.
“Another purchase on the credit card just popped up. From the Gap. She just bought...a leather jacket.”
“That does not sound like Philomene,” Bree said. “Eric, you saw her place. She lives modestly. She drives a ten-year-old Toyota.”
“Maybe she forgot to bring a coat. A front is supposed to be moving through tonight.”
“That doesn’t make sense. There’s something wrong here. Because if Philomene met with foul play, it means I was right. Someone wanted to keep her quiet. Someone doesn’t want the truth to come out. Which means someone besides Kelly raped Philomene and killed all those girls. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Eric was about to retort when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and walked a few steps away, but spoke only briefly before returning.
“Sorry, Bree, but I have to get back to work.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the Home Cookin’ Café. Nine o’clock. We’ll find Philomene. Ernie?” He addressed a young man at a nearby desk. “Please show Dr. Johnson out. She’s parked in the garage.” Eric did an abrupt about-face and left the room—as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS HE STIRRED half-and-half into his coffee, Eric could have slapped his own face for putting himself in this position. Having Philomene disappear was a stroke of good luck. Without Philomene, Bree had no case. No case, no chance Kelly Ralston would ever see daylight.
Finding Philomene was the last thing he wanted. Yet he was helpless to walk away. What if she really had met with foul play? He couldn’t just ignore the fact that a woman was missing, and no one gave a damn. No one but one passionate, determined doctor who made his knees go wobbly.
He didn’t think Philomene was in any real trouble. She probably just had cold feet about recanting her story, as he’d thought all along. Perjury was a serious crime. She’d unburdened herself to Bree on impulse, and Bree had grabbed on to the possibility of helping Kelly and refused to let go. Now Philomene had second thoughts. She probably had friends or relatives in San Antonio, where she could hang for a while and hope that Bree would forget about her.
Bree wouldn’t forget. Unfortunately. And Eric was caught in the middle.
If he didn’t help Bree, he reasoned, she would find someone else to help. She would find Philomene on her own. At least if he remained involved, he could keep a close eye on things and try to turn the circumstances his way. Because if Kelly Ralston got out of prison, Eric would be the one disappearing. He would take MacKenzie and go to Canada. Or maybe South America, where people could get good and truly lost.
Vengeance will come when you least expect it.
“Sorry I’m late.” Bree slid into the booth across from Eric. He’d been so engrossed in his dismal thoughts he hadn’t seen her arrive. “I worked the graveyard last night so I could have today off, and I had to shower and change before I came here. A patient threw up on me last night.”
“Oh, God.”
“I should know by now to jump out of the way faster. People are always barfing in the E.R. Whether they’re drunk or have a head injury or severe stomach virus, or they’re just terrified.”
Was it him, or did she seem entirely too cheerful given the subject matter?
“You really love your job,” he observed.
“Yeah, I do. I think most young girls want to grow up and get a job that ‘helps people,’ but few are lucky enough to find a vocation where you can provide such immediate aid. I go home at the end of a shift knowing I’ve made a difference. Maybe a small difference—stitching up a cut or just telling someone their injury isn’t serious and they aren’t going to die still has an impact. Have you had breakfast? I thought maybe we could get coffee and something to go—in the interest of time.”
“Sure, sounds good.” They flagged down a waitress and ordered a couple of breakfast burritos. The paper cups of coffee arrived first, and Bree gulped down half the cup without taking a breath.
“Need caffeine much?” Not that Eric didn’t drink an impressive amount of coffee himself, but she’d drunk it scalding hot.
“I was too busy to drink any at home. I need the caffeine, trust me.”