Page 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Before she drove to Uniontown, Sloan got the okay from O’Hara, and laid out her reasoning with Travis.

“I want to talk to Tarrington’s coworker. He’s the third I found that fits a pattern. Unexplained disappearance, vehicle left in a parking lot, no trace of the missing. Then you have the three locations, no more than an hour to two hours apart.”

“With no known connections or similarities in the MPs,” Travis added.

“That we’ve found as yet. The coworker, Adam Rusk, is the only one who saw anything. And the timing, Cap? That’s one of the elements that stuck with O’Hara, too. Rusk states he left work no more than five or six minutes after Tarrington, and he talked to a woman in the parking lot who wanted directions. She got in a white or light-colored van parked beside Tarrington’s car.”

“Rusk thinks it was parked there,” Travis reminded her, as he’d read the file, too.

“So I’ll talk to him.”

“I’m not going to tell you no, Sloan. It’s your own time, and I know you’re invested in the Anderson case. Our jurisdiction ends at the state border.”

“Understood. I’m just asking questions. Cap, if Tarrington had another crisis, why did he talk to coworkers about taking his kid to a monster truck rally? When they checked his apartment, the tickets were on the fridge. He’d gone out and bought juice boxes, had the weekend marked on the wall calendar with a big heart. But he comes out of work, and instead of getting in his car, walks off and poofs?”

She paused a moment. “When Detective O’Hara cleared me, he let me know he didn’t feel the walk-away either.

“And the dentist? Rigsby has his weekly roll with his midlife crisis, gives her important earrings for Christmas, and she gives him—she states—a pair of silver cuff links. But he leaves his Mercedes in the motel lot and, again, poofs?”

“You make a case.”

“All evidence indicates abduction with Anderson. It’s the same pattern.”

“I can’t disagree.” Travis slowly swiveled back and forth in his big chair. “I’m saying that the investigators on Tarrington have very likely wrung all they can get out of the coworker or any other potential witness. But it never hurts to run it all through again.”

“That’s what I’m going to do.”

He nodded. “If there’s a drop left to wring out, I figure you’ll catch the drip.”

She didn’t mind the drive, not through the icy and winter-white hills, along the curving roads. She’d enjoyed her weekend off—such as it was, as she’d spent her Saturday night reading the file on Tarrington, working on her case board, making notes, rolling around theories.

She remembered when she’d squeezed in a date and some comfortable sex on the weekends. Even on weeknights here and there.

While she missed the comfortable sex after a three-month hiatus, she had to accept that activity appeared to be off the table.

One of the officers in her unit showed interest. Attractive, good police, quick wits. But she had three reasons why that added up to one big no. Dating someone in the same squad? Bad idea. She outranked him—bigger, badder idea.

And last, not inconsequential, she just didn’t share the interest.

The only real buzz she’d felt in months came from the guy next door.

She had solid reasons why that equaled no.

He lived next door, or essentially next door; he subcontracted for the family business. And his brother and her sister were sleeping together. Not just sleeping together, starry-eyed for each other.

But she comforted herself that at least she’d felt a buzz for someone. Her injuries and long recovery hadn’t killed that very human urge.

Since her radar worked just fine, she felt that buzz was mutual.

He’d so obviously felt out of his element, and wary with it at dinner. Initially. She’d watched him relax, sort of step-by-step during the actual meal.

It hadn’t been the food, she concluded.

From what she’d read of his background, she imagined Sunday dinners hadn’t been a laugh fest during his upbringing.

Theo had adjusted quickly, but then he had Drea. And he seemed the more optimistic type than his brother.

Anyway, too many reasons against getting involved with the interesting and attractive guy next door. Including the fact she had other priorities.

No harm admitting to herself, she thought it a damn shame.

She pulled into the lot and looked over where the file had showed the abandoned car. Staff parked there, farther from the hotel entrance, giving guests the closer slots if they didn’t use the valet.

Security lights, she noted, but again, the distance compromised that.

She parked, then went into the hotel and straight to the bell station. She spotted Rusk—she had his photo—standing in his uniform beside a trolley loaded with luggage.

“Mr. Rusk. I’m Sergeant Cooper.”

He gave her one nervous look, then glanced toward the reception desk.

“Oh yeah, right. Ah, listen, I’ve got to load some luggage. The guests are at checkout. I’ve got a break coming in about ten minutes.”

“I can wait, no problem.”

“Honest, I don’t know what else I can tell you I didn’t already tell the detectives.”

“I appreciate you giving me a few minutes. I’ll wait over there until you’re free.”

His expression went from nervous to bright and friendly as the checkouts walked their way. “All set? That’s good timing. They’re just pulling your car up.”

She took a chair while he wheeled the trolley out, watched him competently load the luggage, pocket the tip—discreetly.

As the guests drove off, he came back in, went to another man at the bell station.

That one, a couple decades older, shot Sloan a look, frowned, nodded.

She rose as Rusk crossed to her.

“I can take some time now. Ah, there’s a break room in the back if that’s okay.”

“Sounds good. Have you worked here long?” she asked, though since she’d run him she already knew.

“A couple of years. I’m taking some courses, accounting, so I mostly cover evenings.”

“You and Zach worked the same shift.”

He led her through to a small break room. “Yeah, mostly. Ah, you want something?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’m going to get a ginger ale.”

When he had, he sat with her at a small table, then turned the can in slow circles.

“You know, Zach and I weren’t real tight. I mean I liked him fine. Like him fine,” he corrected. “But we didn’t, you know, go out for a beer or hang out and like that. He has a kid and all that, and I’m taking courses. He’s older, you know, and got seniority. Not like he shoved that in your face. He’s nice. You know how he had some shit—stuff—a while back.”

“The divorce, the attempted suicide.”

“He was a little sketchy when he first came back, but that eased up. Man, he lived for that kid. Days before he went wherever, he talked about taking the kid to see monster trucks.”

“He had tickets for that Saturday.”

“Yeah. I don’t get that deal myself, but the kid was crazy for them, so Zach got crazy for them. He knew a bunch of those weird names and all that. He went and bought the ear protection for the boy, because they’re really loud.”

“He left right before you that night.”

“Yeah, I was still getting changed. He said, ‘See you Monday.’ And I told him to have a good weekend like you do. And he said how he couldn’t miss. He was really happy, kind of whistling a tune.”

“Whistling?” That hadn’t been in the file.

“Yeah, I forgot that before. I don’t know the tune, right? Just something that sounded happy. We’d had a bunch of check-ins. I had a solid three hundred in tips. He probably had more. So happy.”

“You finished changing, then went out.”

“Yeah, just a few minutes after him. Just five minutes maybe.”

“You saw his car was still in the lot.”

He turned the can a few more times.

“I really didn’t. I was looking toward my own. I wanted to get home, unwind some, get a good night’s sleep so I could study most of the next day.”

“Walk me through it from there.”

“Okay.” He finally opened the ginger ale, took a drink. “As I headed toward my car, this woman walked over. I told the other cops I just couldn’t describe her much. She was all bundled up. It was really cold that night. She had like a hat, scarf, parka—I think. Anyway, she asked for directions, said she’d taken a wrong turn. So I gave her directions, and she said thanks and something about her daughter or sister or somebody wondering why she was late.”

“This was after midnight.”

“Yeah. Not long after, I guess. I went to my car, and she walked back toward this van. Maybe white or beige, maybe light gray. I don’t know if I’d have noticed, but as I was getting in my car, she pulled out and gave me a wave.”

“You didn’t see anyone else in the van?”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t. I only know it pulled out from beside Zach’s car—I think it did—because I heard when he didn’t pick up his kid, his dad went to his place, then he came here, saw the car. He called the police. Then they came and talked to a bunch of us. Some think maybe he walked off so he could go somewhere else and do himself for real.”

“You don’t.”

For the first time, he met her eyes and held them.

“No, ma’am, I don’t. I’ve thought and thought about it, and I just don’t. He was happy when he clocked out. He’s always happy when it’s his weekend with his kid, but he was especially happy because he was giving the kid this big treat, you know? How could he be so happy, then turn around and walk off like that in five minutes?”

Then he shrugged, drank again. “I don’t know. I’m going to be an accountant, not a psychiatrist.”

She talked to him a few more minutes, but the only new element? A happy whistle.

Since she’d driven up, she talked to his supervisor, then a couple more coworkers.

Opinions varied, but one stuck hard.

His son was the center of his world.

By the time she got home, dark had fallen. Light shined in her windows, and the Ford truck sat outside.

Not good timing, she thought, not when she felt frustrated on so many levels. She wanted a drink, her pj’s, and quiet time.

Tic rushed her at the door, wriggled as she petted.

Then she walked in to a fire in the hearth, her walls shining under new lighting, the Shaker door on her closet.

And Nash on a ladder, installing what looked like the rest of her trim.

He looked particularly good—due no doubt to her level of sexual frustration—in a faded denim shirt, work pants, and boots and holding a nail gun.

He glanced down. “Thought you’d be later.”

“I’m not.” With a kind of purr, she ran her hand down the new closet door.

She took a few steps, studied the matching one on her bathroom, then turned a circle.

“This is exactly right. So are the lights, and the trim. And—you hung the mirrors.”

“Your mom came by. She wouldn’t take no.”

“Well, she’s exactly right, as usual. It’s cozy, but not cramped and dark and sad. You’re working alone?”

“Theo and Robo had a date.”

She’d walked into the kitchen for a dog biscuit, and glanced back. “They’re dating each other now?”

“Ha. Theo’s still heart-eyes over your sister.”

She pointed; Tic sat. And the biscuit was his.

“I should go back and just say, with some surprise: Robo has a date?”

“Yeah.” The nail gun did the whoosh-bang. “I’ve never seen anybody so worked up about going bowling.”

“Maybe he fears gutter ball humiliation.”

“Could be it.” He glanced down at her. “Look, I can clear out, but if you give me another twenty, I can finish, clean up, then clear out. Robo can come in tomorrow while you’re at work and seal this trim.”

“That works for me. All of this works for me.” She made that purring sound again when she opened the closet, saw the new shelves. “Yes, it does.”

“I’ve given the matter some thought, and evaluation. My conclusion? That’s the most organized coat closet in my experience with coat closets.”

“I like to know where things are, which means they need to be where they’re supposed to be.”

She took off her gun, put it in its holder on the top shelf.

“I’m having a drink. Do you want a drink?”

“Not when I’m working.”

Whoosh-bang .

He measured for the next piece, then came down from the ladder to cut it.

She waited until the saw went quiet.

“How’d the counter install go?”

“Like my nanny used to say, like butter.”

“You had a nanny.” She saw him stiffen, just a tad. Then shrug.

“Sure, doesn’t everybody? I started on the backsplash. Just wanted to see how it would look. I wanted a pop there because we went with white, minimal graining, on the counters.”

He measured for the next, turned. Stopped.

She stood in front of her ugly kitchen, holding a wineglass. She’d loosened her tie.

“What?”

“You loosened your tie. It’s a look. It’s a good look.”

Since he went back, measured again, she smiled.

She could read signals, and she’d caught a few from him. But this one was the clearest.

The buzz absolutely wasn’t just on her end.

“Why don’t you have a date?” she asked him.

“Because I’m trimming this window. Why don’t you?”

“Because I drove to Uniontown after work to talk to a guy.”

“That sounds like a date.”

“No.”

“What then?”

She started to brush that off, then changed her mind.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not yet. I’ll mic something when I finish here.”

“I’m not going to cook, even if it wasn’t nearly eight. But I have a frozen pepperoni pizza I’m willing to share.”

He glanced back at her. “Like a date?”

“Again no. Call it an exchange. Pizza, wine or soft drink. I don’t have any beer. I lost my taste for it after tossing it and everything else in my system after a college kegger.”

“Been there. What’s the exchange?”

“You’re not a cop, but you seem like a reasonably smart and logical person.”

“Thousands agree.”

“The guy I used to partner with, professionally, is having his first kid pretty soon. I don’t want to pull him into bouncing this around with me. You’re already here.”

“It’s a cop thing?” He paused in his work. “Isn’t Uniontown outside your borders?”

“Yes. I have strong reason to believe what happened there is connected to two cases in Maryland.”

“Sure, why not? I can listen. I get pizza out of it. And you’ve got good taste in wine.”

“I dated a sommelier for about ten minutes once. I’ll get the oven going.”

When she had, and he put the nail gun in its case, picked up the Skilsaw, she walked over to take one of the sawhorses.

“I’ll get those.”

“I’ve got it.”

Without bothering with coats, they carted tools and supplies out to his truck with Tic following happily both ways.

On the second trip, she looked over at him. “I should be up front and tell you I can’t sleep with you.”

His eyes, heavy-lidded and what she thought of as dark chocolate, met hers. “Well, that’s direct.”

“Direct’s best.”

She went back in, and since she wouldn’t go out again, pulled off her boots.

“Even direct,” he said as he came in behind her, with the dog on his heels, “begs the question why.”

“I’ve got a lot going on, and not much time for… recreation,” she decided. “But more, our siblings are sleeping together, and very likely dreaming of a wedding, a honeymoon, a couple of kids. You and me having sex while they’re having sex and dreams? Just weird.”

“Maybe. But they’d have it where they have it, we’d have it elsewhere.”

“True. With or without the element of siblings, I draw a hard line at group sex.”

“We have a point of agreement.”

She got out a bag of dog food, filled a bowl from a cabinet, added another bowl of water.

As she took out the pizza to unbox, Tic made himself at home.

“You also live essentially next door, so potential for sticky. Stickier, you subcontract for my family. It’s smarter to keep it at pizza.”

When the oven dinged, she slid the pizza in. “Want that wine now?”

“Yeah, I do. What makes you think I want to sleep with you anyway?”

“I’m a trained observer.”

He glanced down at the tiny scar under his thumb. “I’ve got to give you that one.”

“Have a seat. I’m going to start bouncing.”

At ease, he leaned on her counter. “I could make a crude sexual innuendo about bouncing.”

“But again, in my observation, you’re not. Crude. Maybe when it’s just the guys, sure. I work with men, add cops. I know crude. So.”

She joined him at the tiny square table.

“On the day before Thanksgiving, a woman goes missing from Deep Creek Lake. Middle twenties, white, middle-class. Married just over a year—together since college. By all accounts happily. They’d saved up, bought their first home, were talking about starting a family. They were hosting their families for Thanksgiving, for the first time.”

Picking up her wine, Sloan frowned into it. “She’s excited, nervous, took the Wednesday off from work to prep. Checked with her mom on a recipe, made a pretty, seasonal centerpiece for the table. Then, evidence indicates, she realized she needed something from the store. She drove to her local grocery. And that’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“Gone. Her car was found in the lot. Her phone was disabled or destroyed. She had nothing but her purse with her.”

Now Sloan drank.

“No ransom demands, no crazed exes, no addictions, no affairs, no witnesses or signs of struggle on the scene. And no trace of her since.”

“Don’t you guys always look at the husband, or wife depending, first? I read,” he added. “Watch the occasional cop movie.”

“Yes, and he’s clear. The investigators believe, with solid reasons, she was abducted. And at this point, she’s either forcibly imprisoned, was sold, or, most likely, dead.”

“Did you know her?”

“No. Though the department assisted in the search, I wasn’t involved at that time. Medical leave.” Her eyes lifted to his, held evenly. “You’d have heard about that.”

“Yeah, I heard about it.”

When he left it at that, she found herself surprised, and grateful. Rising, she got out plates.

“For reasons, her case stuck with me. Since I had a lot of time on my hands until recently, I followed the investigation, then I started a search. Missing persons, like crimes, narrowed it to Western Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania.”

“Kept your hand in.”

“You could say that.”

She got napkins, a jar of red pepper flakes, the pizza cutter.

“I had a file going. In it, I had a male, middle fifties, a dentist with a solid practice in Cumberland.”

She gave him those details as she checked on the pizza, stepped back to top off his wine and hers.

“The connections. A car left in a parking lot, gone with no trace, and leaving a life behind. At the same time, you’ve got a pretty young woman in a happy marriage, and a middle-aged man having a weekly round with a woman about half his age in various motels. So it’s in the file, but it doesn’t stick out.”

“Until?”

When she took out the pizza, Tic got up, sniffed the air.

“This isn’t yours,” Sloan said, but got out a bully stick. “This is for good dogs. Are you a good dog?”

She pointed, he sat.

“Yes, you’re a very good boy.”

Thrilled, Tic plopped down to gnaw.

“Until,” Nash prompted again. “You’ve got my attention.”

“Uniontown.”

She laid it out as she sliced the pizza, slid two pieces on each plate, the spare two on another. She set one plate in front of Nash, one for herself, and the third in the middle of the table.

She shook red pepper over her two slices; Nash did the same.

She wound through Zach Tarrington while they ate the first slice.

“So now I’ve got three, different locations, different lifestyles, different types, even different times of day, but all with a car left behind in a parking lot, all missing without a trace.”

“Except for a woman and a white van in the last one.”

“Yes.”

“Why would a woman, apparently alone, park so far from the hotel if she needed directions?”

Sloan lifted both hands, snapped them in the air as she said again, “Yes! You’re lost, it’s midnight, most logical is a gas station, and she’d have passed more than one in either direction. Even if you decide to ask at the hotel, you pull up to the entrance.”

“Could’ve pulled in, parked to look at a map, or make a phone call.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She blew out a breath, picked up her second slice. “But she just happens to park beside Tarrington’s car?”

“Probably,” he reminded her. “But say she did. How does she get this guy into the van, within a few minutes, without a struggle, some noise? How did she know when he’d come out to his car in the first place? Same with the other two, right? The first, she’s out of eggs or whatever, runs to the store. Not planned. The second, you said he rotated motels. The last, okay, a regular sort of schedule, but they’d have to know his car.”

He drank some wine.

“You said there’s no—what was it?—intersect between the three. Like they went to the second guy to get their teeth cleaned, or used the hotel where the third one worked. No friends or relatives in common or in the other areas—you were pretty thorough. Didn’t use the same gym, shops, that sort of thing. So how does this woman know them? Has to know them to pick them, right?”

Sitting back, Sloan studied him. “You’re good at this.”

“Thanks.” He toasted her. “It’s my first time.”

“She could be cruising. They’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, she’s in the right place, right time for her purposes.”

“What’s her purpose?”

“I don’t know that yet.” So saying, she nudged the extra plate toward him.

“You’re done?”

“Two’s my limit.”

“I can do three,” he said, and took a third slice. “Okay, say she’s cruising, how’d she hit on the first one?”

“She might’ve been there already, waiting for someone else to come out, then there’s Janet Anderson, and opportunity.”

He studied her as he ate. “But you don’t really think so.”

“No, I don’t really think so. Shit. I think all three were targets, but I don’t know why. Except a lot more people than most think are just crazy.”

“I hear that. Do you really want to hear what I think?”

“I’m sharing my dinner and giving up my breakfast pizza, aren’t I?”

He smiled at her. She had to admit he had a good one when he used it. “You stock the same brand we do. I think you’re right.”

“About what?”

“All of it. I’d have to think the woman in the van has help. Like even if she forced the bellman into the van at gunpoint, wouldn’t there have been some noise? And why would he stay in the van when she walked over to talk to the second bellman?”

“You paid attention,” Sloan murmured.

“That was the deal.”

“There are two of them,” she agreed. “Could be more than two, but at least two.”

“So a team, of uncertain number. They pick somebody. Maybe they were in the news for some reason, maybe they cut the van off down the road somewhere, posted something the bad guys didn’t like in some comment section, outbid them on eBay or whatever. It doesn’t take much to set the crazy off.”

She took the plates to load in the not always reliable dishwasher. “Not if the crazy’s already there.”

“They’ve been about a month apart so far as you know.”

“That’s right.” Yes, she thought, he paid attention.

“There has to be a common denominator. You said the dentist had money.”

“I’d put him just above rich into the wealthy category.”

“People like him, who work out a plan to cheat with a young blonde? They don’t walk away from wealth. If he planned to walk, he’d have found a way to secure some of the money first. The woman? I can see there might’ve been some shit happening inside the marriage nobody knew about. But if she’d decided to run, she’d have kept driving. Plus, you said she had a tight relationship with her parents, her sibling.”

“She did. And a close circle of friends.”

“The last guy? Maybe he has a breakdown, decides to go off.”

“Between his locker and the parking lot?”

“He might’ve walked off whistling because he knew he was going. People leave their kids behind, Sarge, all the damn time. But he left the car. No reason to leave the car. If he’d decided to go, or decided to kill himself again, why not take the car and drive off a bridge somewhere?”

Nash shrugged. “What do I know? I’m a contractor. But from where I’m sitting, you’ve got a common denominator in the car—that’s aftermath. You just need to find the common denominator in the before.”

“Because I’m right, and all three were targets of the same person or persons.”

“Because you’re right.”

“Because I’m right,” she repeated.

He wasn’t Joel, wasn’t Cap, but she felt vindicated. The time, the effort, the trip to Uniontown, the ones she planned to take to Deep Creek, to Cumberland.

Vindicated.

“Thank you!” Grabbing his face in her hands, she leaned down, kissed him.

And quickly—maybe not quite quickly enough—pulled back.

“That was reflex,” she told him.

“Okay.” He got to his feet. “So’s this.”

He yanked her back. She had time to think: Trouble’s coming, before he drew her up to her toes and covered her mouth with his.