"This guy thinks he's got game. Even in prison," Emily said. "He must have kept a stash of photos to send out to the lovelorn who wrote to him."
"Jersey said his fans faded after some time," Christopher called from the other side of the room. "Got up to a hundred letters a week in the beginning. By the end, only Jeffries was a regular."
"She visited him?" Emily asked, slightly miffed that the information hadn't been disclosed until that moment.
"A time or two," he answered. "Not much. He was pretty much done with her"
She put the photos in a plastic bag. She couldn't let it go. "What else do you know that you haven't told me?"
Christopher looked over at her, not answering, just staring. "I'm not holding out on you. Why would you even think that?"
"Sorry." She didn't say anything more. Emily moved into the kitchen and opened the cupboard doors. The shelving had been marked with permanent marker in the shapes of cups, glasses, and plates, a guide to exactly where every object should be set. She'd seen this on a pegboard tool storage system in a basement workshop, but never in a kitchen. She opened the drawer next to a wall phone. It was the proverbial junk drawer. But in this apartment there was nothing junky about it.
"Check this out," she said, pointing with her index finger at the form of a pair of scissors portrayed on the particleboard bottom of the drawer.
Christopher peered over her shoulder. "Neat freak, all right."
"No it isn't that, but you're right. What I was getting at is that if this guy's so neat then where are his scissors?" She looked at Christopher and he shrugged. "And what do you suppose this is?" She indicated a circle drawn in the bottom of the drawer. It was about the size of a softball.
"You got me" Christopher touched his gloved fingertip to the drawer bottom. The latex adhered slightly. "My guess is a roll of strapping tape. Something sticky, anyway."
The bedroom was next. It was stark in every way. With the sole exception of a small gilt cross next to the window, the walls were white and empty. The bed was queen-size, but lacked a comforter or spread. Instead it was covered with an army blanket and a turned-back white top sheet. Two pillows in perfect, pristine condition sat next to the wall. No headboard. No nightstand. Christopher opened the closet. Dylan Walker's clothes hung in perfect, color-coded order.
"Was Dylan in the military?" Emily asked, poking her head inside.
"Nope, just prison."
"We'll he sure learned how to keep things in order there," she said. "Let's get out of here. There's nothing here"
"That we can see. I'm going to have the tech guys come down here and take a look."
"What about his vehicle?"
He nodded. "DMV says Walker drives an old Chrysler sedan. We've got an APB out on it now."
The cool basement apartment belied the hot hour of the afternoon. Going outside in search of the landlord brought a furnace blast to Emily Kenyon's face. A jasmine vine pumped perfume into the air, now further scented with fresh cut grass. It was heady and sickly sweet. She went around to the side of the old Victorian where she'd heard lawn equipment buzzing while she and Christopher were inside conducting a search. She found the old man on one knee bent down and rolling up the Day-Glo orange cord to his electric edger in the front yard.
"Another day, another dollar," he said, this time smiling. "Find what you're looking for?"
"As you know, we're looking for Dylan, I mean Daniel. Any ideas where he might be?"
He got up, brushed at the grass stains, grousing that his wife was going to kill him. "He's usually pretty good about telling me where he's going. Yeah, I know he's an ex-con. I know about his troubles with the IRS"
Emily shook her head. "Sir, I'm not with the IRS. But I do need to find him."
"He's a good tenant. Why are you people hassling him?"
She brought out her badge again. "I told you this is a police matter and I don't want to bring you in for hindering our investigation. Understood?"
He folded his burly arms around his sweaty chest, his genial nature now gone. He was irritated and angry. "He has a cousin who has some beach property. He goes there once in a while. Not often. But given the weather, I'd say he's there. Probably working his ass off painting or doing yard work if I know Dan"
You don't know him, sir. But that's another story.
"Do you know where it is?" she asked. "Exactly? "
He turned and started for his front door. "Sure. My wife keeps all the addresses of everyone she's ever known. Tenants become like family, you know. I'll get it. Wait here"
If he's not back in two minutes, I'm going inside.
She heard the voices of the landlord and a woman, presumably his wife.
"God, I hope we don't have to re-rent that unit," the woman said, "it's so hard getting decent folks."
If you only knew who you had rented to, Emily thought. Your wife wouldn't have had a decent night's sleep in months.
A few minutes later, a smile on his face, the landlord returned. By then, Christopher had come over.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
With a nod, Emily indicated the returning landlord. "He's coming now with the address of Dylan's relative's vacation place. Says there's a good bet he's there"
"Nice"
"Here it is," the landlord said. "Told you she'd have it in her book"
He pressed a small white card into Emily's hand.
4444 Copper Beach Rd. Copper Beach, WA
She felt a wave of recognition and dread. "Where did you get this?"
"From my wife. She keeps everybody's address in her book"
"No, not the address. The card. Where did you get the card?"
The man shrugged. "It's just old photography paper I cut up. I went digital and closed out my old darkroom a year ago. I have boxes of the stuff I stupidly bought in bulk from some guy who was smart enough to unload it on me because he went digital. Cut it all down into index cards"
Emily looked at the address. It was familiar, too. Deadly familiar.
"You all right?" The landlord was staring at Emily. "You look like you've seen a ghost or something."
Emily handed the card to Christopher.
"I guess you could say that," she said, trying to avoid revealing too much of what she was feeling. She looked into Christopher's eyes, now full of an awareness of their own.
"Yeah," he said. "We know the address"
Reynard Tuttle had breathed his final breath there.
"I'm not sure what's going on," Emily said, as they walked to their respective cars. "But I'm going there right now." She fumbled for her keys. "There's something I haven't told you. I don't know what it means. But I think I'll find Jenna at the cabin."
Christopher stopped and looked at her. "What are you talking about, Emily?"
"I think Jenna and Nick are in serious trouble." She felt awful just then, knowing that she'd withheld information from a man who had been nothing but kind to her. Interested in her Cared about her. "They were at Bonnie's."
"At Bonnie's?" He was stunned by the disclosure.
"Yeah," she said, her voice ready to shatter. "I found this." She pulled out the purse. It was tiny, pink, and sweet. "It's Jenna's. It was by the desk. She left it there"
"Why didn't you tell me? And wait a minute, this could be anyone's."
Emily shook her head. "No. It's hers. I'm certain. Her dad bought it for her. Even though she'd long since outgrown it she kept it because it was from him."
"What were they doing there? I mean, how?"
"They'd been researching Dylan Walker, Angel's Nest. Don't you, see? Nick Martin was an Angel's Nest kid. Bonnie put him in the Martin home. They're all connected."
Emily got behind the wheel and turned the ignition. "We're going to find him, and then we can find Jenna. Walker's playing some sick game. He's using Kristi Cooper's case to mess with me. I don't know why. But I do know this-I'm not going to let him hurt Jenna. Not one hair."