“There’s no proof of that,” he said.
“You wouldn’t have known it by the number of police that showed up,” Thrasher said, sipping her coffee. “There must have been fifty cops at Elsie’s place after it happened. It was like an invasion.”
“The FBI’s also gotten involved,” Aderhold added. “Their agents hauled in a bunch of my friends, and interviewed them at the Marriott on State Road 54. I hear the agent running things is a real bitch.”
The FBI played rough and mean and had no qualms about trampling on people while carrying out their jobs. He took a slip of paper that contained Elsie Tanner’s address out of his wallet and showed it to the two women.
“Can you tell me how to find Elsie’s place? I’d like to go have a look around. My GPS was worthless once I got into Keystone.”
“Elsie lived down on Woodstock. The marker is impossible to see at night,” Aderhold said. “You might want to wait until tomorrow.”
There was rain in the forecast, and whatever remained of the crime scene would be washed away if he waited until tomorrow. He thanked the women for their time and walked out of the hall.
Standing in the parking lot, he wrestled with his next step. He needed to visit Elsie Tanner’s place to get a feel for what had happened. Every year, a half million kids went missing. The good news was, nearly all came home, safe and sound. But a tiny fraction were never heard from again. Up to now, Skye was part of that fraction, and if he was going to have a chance of saving her, he needed to look at the crime scene tonight.
The warmest summer in the state’s history had ushered in the coldest winter in fifty years, and he shivered while going to his car. A woman’s voice stopped him.
“I can help you.”
A yellow security light illuminated the gravel lot. Gamble had followed him outside, and wore an eager look on her face.
“Do you have information to share?” he asked.
“I don’t know any more than you do,” she said. “I’m a reporter—”
“I know who you are. Your name’s Lauren Gamble, and you’re with the local newspaper. The bartender filled me in.”
“So he did. I can take you to Elsie Tanner’s home, if you’d like. I’ve been there twice. You won’t find it yourself, even in daylight.”
“That’s very kind of you. What do you want in return?”
Her pretty face registered surprise. “Who said I wanted anything?”
“If you didn’t, you’d be home having dinner. Now what do you want?”
“I’d like to interview you for the story I’m writing.”
“Why? I don’t know any more than you do.”
She held her cell phone by her waist. Her eyes darted down to the screen and then back at him. He hated when people glanced at their cell phones during conversations, and he stifled the urge to rip it out of her hand and give it a toss.
“Checking for messages?” he asked.
“I was looking at a story I found about you on Google,” she said. “You helped catch a pair of serial killers a few months ago, among other things. You’re famous.”
“I don’t want to be the focus of your story. This isn’t about me.”
“But people need to know that you’re helping.”
“What good would that do?”
“You heard what those women said. Everyone is scared. Not just in Keystone, but around the state. Ten women vanished before Skye Tanner, and the police don’t have a clue who’s behind it. It will put people at ease knowing that a famous cop was hired to help solve this.”
He felt a raindrop on his head. He needed to see the crime scene before it was washed away. He electronically opened the doors to his vehicle.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
“Do we have a deal?” she asked.
“Yes, but only if you agree not to print anything prematurely.”
“You’re saying that I can’t run my story until you give me an okay.”
“Correct.”
“I can’t do that. My publisher has final say.”
“Then I can’t help you. Good night.”
He got into his car. The best relationships were mutually beneficial. Gamble needed him for her story so she could punch her ticket out of here, and he needed her to be his navigator. But he could always find another navigator, and Gamble would have a hard time finding another investigator who’d be willing to talk with her. As he threw his car into reverse, she rapped her knuckles on his window. He lowered it.
“You win,” she said. “I won’t run the story until you give me permission.”
“I want that in writing.”
“Will a text do?”
He nodded, and Gamble came around the vehicle and took the passenger seat. He gave her his cell phone number, and she sent him a text, promising that her story wouldn’t run until he’d agreed the time was right. He pulled out of the lot, and she told him to turn right on Gunn Highway, which was Keystone’s main artery.
“What’s with the snorkeling gear?” she asked.
A mesh bag containing a mask, snorkel, and flippers lay across the back seat. Beside it, a duffel bag was stuffed with clothes.
“I was planning a trip to Key West,” he said.
“But you came here instead,” she said.
He nodded, and she finished her thought.
“That must suck, having to ruin your vacation for work,” she said.
She was reading the situation wrong, and he decided to set her straight.
“Just so you know, no one told me to come here,” he said.
“Then why are you here?” she asked.
“I volunteered.”
Chapter 2
While he drove, Gamble gave him the lay of the land. Unlike the rest of Tampa, which had been ravaged by development for fifty years, Keystone’s residents had thwarted the bulldozers by showing up at every rezoning, arguing how they wished to keep their rural lifestyle. Sometimes they brought lawyers, but mostly it was residents wearing yellow T-shirts, loudly telling the county commissioners how they felt.
“Why yellow?” he asked.
“It made them stand out,” she said. “From what I heard, the commissioners got tired of dealing with them, and decided to let the residents write the laws. That’s why Keystone is still rural, while everything around it is ugly strip malls and cookie-cutter houses. Take a left at the next traffic light.”
“Was Elsie Tanner part of the group?”
“She was one of the ringleaders. I saw a tape of her giving a speech at a rezoning. You did not want to cross that woman.”
He took a left onto an unlit two-lane road lined by a canopy of imposing oaks.
“She must have pissed off plenty of developers,” he said. “Could one of them be behind her murder, and Skye’s abduction?”
“I doubt it,” Gamble said. “Developers are a funny group. Once Keystone got its way, the developers moved in because they knew the property values would hold.”
“If you can’t beat them, join them.”
“Something like that. Take the next right.”
He made the turn and drove past a farm ringed by an eight-foot-tall chain-link fence. The creatures residing behind it didn’t look like any breed of horses that he’d ever seen before, nor did they resemble goats or sheep.
“What are those animals?”
“Those are alpaca. They’re part of a ranch that’s open to the public.”
“Why the tall fence? Are the owners afraid they’ll jump out?”
“The fence keeps away predators. Alpaca can’t protect themselves. It’s amazing they’ve survived as a species. Your next turn’s on the left. May I ask you a question?”