Page 42

“I listened to Jack’s podcast. He called you the Misguided Angel.

Said you were so hellbent on putting someone in prison that you focused on the wrong person.

What if you’re wrong about Anthony? What if Adam took Paisley out of revenge against you, and we’re here wasting time on some Mexican in a black truck? ”

Emmy let the silence draw out to make sure he was finished. “You’ve got a big yard.”

“What?”

“The guy spread pine straw in the front. You took a shower, then he was still spreading it in the back when you finished. That took a while.”

“And?”

“How much cash do you usually keep on hand?”

Elijah gave an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know, fifty dollars. Carol always keeps more in her purse if I need it.”

“But Carol wasn’t there,” Emmy said. “So how did you pay him for the work?”

“I didn’t—shit.” He scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket. “CashApp. That’s what I used. Shit!”

Emmy watched his fingers tap the password to unlock the screen, then open the app.

“Okay, here it is. AntonioR45. June eighteenth. I scanned his QR code.” Elijah practically threw the phone at her. “Can you find him from this?”

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Emmy heard telephones ringing as she jogged up the hallway.

She took a left turn, her gaze skipping over Gerald’s empty office.

Every other desk in the squad room had an agent taking calls or following leads.

She found the FBI’s point person on kidnappings and abductions in the back.

Special Agent Seth Alexander was leaning over a paper map of the south-eastern United States.

He was drawing another concentric circle out from North Falls.

There were seventeen circles so far, each marking seventy miles of driving distance for every hour since Paisley had been taken.

They reminded Emmy of the rings on a tree.

“Got something.” She handed him Elijah’s phone, careful not to touch the screen. “He said he paid the landscaper through CashApp. I didn’t touch anything. Didn’t want to mess with the history on anything else. The main password is eight-seven-two-thirty-one-six.”

“Great, we’ll get into it.” Seth wrote the password on the edge of the map. “Anything else?”

“Elijah’s kind of a tight-ass. Very controlling. Didn’t approve of how his daughter dressed.”

“Join the club,” Seth said. “You like him for this?”

“He’s hiding something. I’m going to let him stew for a bit, then go back at him.”

“You should know that my regional director worked with Gerald straight out of Quantico. He’s sending down the big guns to give us a hand. He told me to tell you anything you need—he’ll make it happen.”

“Okay.” Emmy wondered if she would ever hear her father’s name again without feeling like she’d been punched in the throat. “Elijah said something about the wife’s ‘worthless brother’ having an emergency four months ago. Sounded like there’s some hostility there.”

Seth flipped back through his notes. “Reggie McAllister. Thirty-seven. Got arrested for brandishing a knife during a pick-up basketball game. Still on probation. Married, no kids. Rents a house outside of Mobile. Delivery driver for a light fixture supplier. We sent a team to knock on his door, but the wife says he’s driving to the sister’s.

Left half an hour ago. I sent Alabama Highway Patrol to follow him to the border, then GHP will pick him up when he crosses into Georgia. What else you got?”

“Elijah gave me a description of Antonio. Hispanic, maybe from Mexico or somewhere south of the border. Speaks with an accent. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Wearing a tan shirt and matching tan pants. Had a patch on his chest with a possible logo. I’m going to go through the list of landscapers the neighbors use and see if any of them have uniforms.” Emmy was about to go, but she confirmed, “He unlocked his phone and gave it to me. That’s implied consent to search the device, right? ”

“Absolutely. Damien’s our tech guy. He’ll get into Elijah’s emails and texts, track his location through any apps, browser history. No stone unturned.”

“Text me if you find anything.” Emmy spotted Virgil talking to one of the FBI agents working the tip line.

She’d texted him for help with the search, but the truth was she’d felt like she needed somebody other than Cole on her side.

Just the sight of her old mentor made her feel like some of the weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Virgil gave Emmy a sad smile as she walked toward him.

The last twelve years hadn’t changed him much.

He’d kept himself fit after retirement. His posture was still straight, shoulders back, chest out, the way they’d drilled him in boot camp.

Emmy realized that he was roughly the same age as Gerald had been when Madison and Cheyenne had died.

She got straight to the point. “I feel like an asshole for asking you to come back and help, especially with another missing kid.”

“I was planning on volunteering anyway.” Virgil’s voice was kind. “My knees are too rusty to crawl under houses, but I’m still pretty good with a phone and a computer.”

Emmy didn’t have time to feel relieved. “Grab a desk. The FBI already looked at Paisley’s socials, but maybe someone with local knowledge might spot something that they’re missing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He started to go, but he put his hand on her shoulder as if to brace her. “You got this, Emmy Lou.”

“I hope so.” Emmy felt some more of the pressure lift as she walked to Brett’s desk and sat down. She tapped his computer awake, entered her credentials. She was reaching for the spiral notebook in her pocket when her gaze landed on the windows to Gerald’s office.

Emmy’s office, too. Their desks were pushed together. The lights were off. Her father’s rain jacket was still hanging from the hook on the wall. The folding chair where Cole had sat to talk to him two days ago was still facing in Gerald’s direction.

Her damn leg started shaking again. She opened up a search for the first company on her list, Albright Landscaping.

Emmy’s eyes blurred. It wasn’t the exhaustion that was making her feel this way.

Myrna’s night terrors had trained her to get by on very little sleep.

Her body was turning against her, trying to push out the grief that she kept trying to swallow back down.

Emmy’s cell phone buzzed. She recognized the number. “Brett, did you find her?”

“No, chief.”

Emmy could hear the loud beeps and diesel engines of heavy-duty equipment.

Brett was at a landfill in Tallahassee. One of the Walkers’ neighbors was in the middle of a total renovation.

The construction dumpster in their driveway had been emptied at seven thirty yesterday morning.

Brett had made the four-hour drive down to Florida to go through the landfill in case Paisley’s kidnapper had disposed of her body.

“Chief?” Brett said, his voice concerned.

She felt her foot cramping again. “I’m okay, Brett.”

“I get it,” he said. “But your dad died right in front of you. I know you’ve got that Clifton ice water in your veins, but no one would say a word if you sat this one out.”

Emmy looked at her father’s office. The tidy stacks of folders.

His favorite pen. Her laptop was open across from the framed photos he kept on the desk.

Cole and Emmy in uniform. Tommy in a porkpie hat.

Emmy had started out yesterday morning thinking about how strange it was that her son was a grown man.

By mid morning, she was holding him like she hadn’t done since he was a child.

“Emmy,” Brett said. “Think about what the boss would want.”

Emmy knew exactly what her father would want. “The way we honor him is to do our jobs. Get back here as soon as you can. We need to find somebody who can go down into those sewers and storm drains along the route Paisley took to the backroads. I want Millie’s pond searched again, too.”

“Again?” he asked. “It’d be pretty stupid to get rid of Paisley Walker the same way as Madison and Cheyenne.”

“It’d be pretty stupid to not consider the possibility.”

“All right.” Brett drew out his response. “I’ll call back the divers.”

Emmy put the phone down, then returned to the searches.

She was almost finished with the list when Cole walked into the squad room.

She had a moment before he noticed her to take a close look at him.

His eyes were shot through with red. His skin was pale.

Like Emmy, he had wanted to keep working, to push through.

Like her, he looked like even the slightest touch would fracture him into millions of pieces.

The only thing holding him up was the ice water in his veins.

“Chief, no luck.” Cole had been out on one of the search parties combing the backroads for signs of Paisley. “I got a call from Celia. She said not to bother you, but Grandma’s having another bad night.”

Emmy felt the pressure come back like a noose tightening around her neck.

“We’ve got a shitty lead from Elijah on a vehicle in the neighborhood yesterday morning.

It might not pan out, but we need to follow it.

All he remembered was an ‘older black truck’.

Go through registrations and see if you can narrow anything down.

He could be undocumented, but keep that part to yourself.

We don’t need another vigilante group targeting innocent people. ”

“Yes, chief.”

He started to leave, but she grabbed his hand. Emmy felt a tremble, but wasn’t sure if it was coming from her or Cole.

“Mom.” His voice was strained. “My chief gave me an order.”

She felt his fingers slip away from hers. She didn’t know whether to be proud or devastated that she’d raised another Clifton.

“Emmy?” Sherry Robertson, the GBI field agent for south-west Georgia, was waving her toward the back. “Need a minute.”