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“Missing Persons. Detective Floyd speaking.”
“Darren, this is Russell Addison.”
“Russ! My old roomie. What’s going on?”
Russ Addison smiled, remembering their college days together, then got down to business.
“This is actually a serious call. I have an employee who didn’t show up for work this morning, and the circumstances are worrying. She’d been working on this presentation for two weeks, and was primed to deliver. We’ve called without getting an answer, and then had the building manager do a wellness check.”
“Talk to me,” Darren said, and reached for a pen and paper.
Russ began explaining the situation, from Rachel Dean’s work ethic, to the building manager’s findings in her apartment.
“So her name is Rachel Dean? What’s her home address?” Darren asked.
Russ read it from her personnel file. “She lives at the Detter House. You know, that big mansion they turned into apartments in the historic district?”
Darren frowned.
“Yes, I know it. It’s pricey.”
“She’s well paid, and worth every penny. She’s one of my best ad execs. This is an official missing person report. Can you look into it personally?”
“Yes. My partner and I will head out there now. Does the building manager live on the premises?”
“Yes. At least, that’s my understanding,” Russ said. “Also, Rachel Dean has only one living family member. Her name is Millie Chriss. She lives in Tulsa, but they’re very close, so be prepared for her to contact you. And while I do want to know what you find out, from now on please refer all of your discovery and questions to her sister, because she has been notified her sister is missing.”
“Do you have a contact number for her?” Darren asked.
“Yes,” Russ said, and read it to him.
“Okay... I’ve got all I need for now. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks,” Russ said. “I owe you.”
“Nah...just doing my job, buddy. Take care,” Darren said. He grabbed his notes, slipped them into his pocket and stood.
“Hey, Waylon! We’ve got a new one. Let’s go.”
Waylon Mills grabbed his jacket and slipped it on over his gun and shoulder holster as he followed his partner out of the precinct.
Wayne Dyer was getting ready to run some errands when he received a call from a Dallas police detective, telling him they were on the way to the Detter House to investigate a report of a missing person from the residence, and asked him to be on site to let them into her apartment.
He readily agreed, and then spent the next twenty minutes nervously waiting for them to arrive. When they walked into the manager’s office flashing their badges, his stomach knotted. He’d never had business with the police before, and he was starting to realize that if something really had happened to Rachel Dean, they might consider him a suspect.
“Mr. Dyer?”
“Yes, but call me Wayne.”
Floyd nodded. “I’m Detective Floyd. This is my partner, Detective Mills. We need access to Rachel Dean’s apartment.”
“Yes, sir. I have the passkey. Follow me,” Wayne said, and led them to the elevator, then up to the second floor of the north wing.
Both detectives were checking out security cameras as they headed up the hall.
“Are there security cameras in every hallway in the building?” Mills asked.
“Yes, sir. At both ends of each hallway,” Wayne said.