“Vultures,” Chase muttered. “Call this Woolf guy. Make him tell you who told him.”
“I’ve called him four times this morning, but there’s no answer. I’ll drive to Dutton today to question him, but I’m betting he’ll hide behind the First Amendment and won’t reveal his source.”
“Probably. Hell.” Chase flicked the fax like it was a bug. “This Woolf guy could have been the one to put her there.”
“That’s occurred to me, although I have to doubt it. I went to high school with Jim Woolf and knew his family. He and his brothers were always quiet, nice kids.”
Chase glared at the photo. “I think it’s safe to say he’s changed.”
Daniel sighed. Hadn’t they all? There was something about Dutton, Georgia, that brought out the worst in people. “I guess so.”
Chase held up his hand. “Wait. I still want to know why Dutton? If this crime happened in Arcadia, why tip off this Woolf guy in Dutton?”
“The victim yesterday was found in Arcadia, in a ditch, wrapped in a brown blanket. A similar crime happened in Dutton thirteen years ago.” Daniel showed him the article on the murder of Alicia Tremaine. “Her killer is now serving life in Macon State.”
Chase grimaced. “God, I hate copycat killers.”
“I don’t like the original ones too much either. At any rate, I’m thinking somebody saw the body earlier, remembered the Tremaine connection, and leaked the Arcadia story to Jim Woolf. It could have been the biker or anybody else on that race course. I talked to the race officials when I was trying to figure when the body had been put in the ditch to begin with and one of them said he’d ridden the course Saturday and hadn’t seen anything. I believed him because the guy wore glasses with Coke-bottle lenses.”
“But if he was riding earlier, others might have been, too. Dig deeper.” Chase frowned. “But what’s this about the Tremaine connection? I don’t like you being on a case that involves Dutton. Not right now.”
Daniel had been ready for the argument. Still, it left his palms clammy. “Simon didn’t kill this woman, Chase. There’s no conflict here.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Hell, Daniel. I know that. I also know the names Dutton and Vartanian together make the brass real nervous.”
“That’s not my problem. I haven’t done anything wrong.” And maybe someday he’d believe his own words. For now, he just needed Chase to believe them.
“Okay. But as soon as you hear a whisper of a bad Vartanian, you’re gone, okay?”
Daniel smiled wryly. “Okay.”
“What are you going to do next?’
“Identify this woman.” He tapped the photo of the victim. “Find out who told Jim Woolf what and when, and… follow up on Alicia Tremaine. I’ve left a few messages with the sheriff down in Dutton. I want to get a copy of the police report from the Tremaine case. Maybe there’s something in it that can help me now.”
Chapter Three
Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 8:45 a.m.
Alex paused outside the office for the Investigative Division of the GBI and prayed Agent Daniel Vartanian would be more helpful than Dutton’s Sheriff Loomis. “Check Peachtree and Pine,” Loomis had snapped when she’d called his office for the fifth time on Sunday morning, trying to get someone to give her information on Bailey. She’d googled and found Peachtree and Pine was the location of several homeless shelters in Atlanta. If she was wrong… God, please let me be wrong… and this victim wasn’t Bailey, Peachtree and Pine would be her next stop.
But the years had made Alex a realist and she knew the chances were good that the woman found in Arcadia was Bailey. That she’d been found the same way as Alicia… A shiver of apprehension ran down her back and she took a moment to compose herself before opening the office door. Focus on the quiet. Be assertive.
At least she was confident in her clothes. She’d dressed in the black suit she’d brought in case she needed to appear in court to get custody of Hope. Or if Bailey was found. She’d worn the suit to more than a few funerals over the years. Praying she wouldn’t be attending another, she steeled herself for the worst and opened the door.
The counter held a nameplate that said Leigh Smithson, Clerk. The blonde behind the counter looked up from her computer with a friendly smile. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Agent Vartanian.” Alex lifted her chin, daring the woman to refuse.
The blonde’s smile dimmed. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. But it’s important. It’s about a newspaper article.” She’d pulled the Dutton Review from her satchel when the woman’s eyes flashed fire.
“Agent Vartanian has no comment for your paper. You reporters…” she muttered.
“I’m not a reporter and I don’t want information on Agent Vartanian,” Alex snapped back. “I want information on this investigation.” She swallowed hard, appalled when her voice broke. She controlled it, lifting her chin. “I think this victim is my stepsister.”
The woman’s expression instantly changed and she lurched from her chair. “I’m so sorry. I assumed that you… What is your name, ma’am?”
“Alex Fallon. My stepsister is Bailey Crighton. She disappeared two days ago.”
“I’ll tell Agent Vartanian you’re here, Ms. Fallon. Please have a seat.” She pointed to a row of plastic chairs and picked up a phone. “He should be with you any moment.”
Alex was too nervous to sit. She paced, looking at the wall covered with childish renderings of cops, robbers, and jails drawn by schoolchildren. Alex thought of Hope and her red crayons. What had that baby seen? Could you even handle it if you knew?
She stopped midstep, the taunt catching her off-guard. Could she handle it? She’d have to, for Hope’s sake. The child had no one. So you have to handle it this time, Alex. Although in the quiet of her mind she knew she hadn’t handled it well so far.
She’d dreamed the dream last night. Dark and pierced with a scream so long and loud that she’d woken in a cold sweat, trembling so hard she thought she’d wake Hope. But the child never stirred. Alex had wondered if Hope dreamed, and what she saw.
“Miss Fallon? I’m Special Agent Vartanian.” The voice was rich and deep and calm. Still her heart raced. This is it. He’ll tell you it’s Bailey. You have to handle this.
She slowly turned and had a split second to stare up into a ruggedly handsome face with a broad forehead, unsmiling lips, and eyes so piercingly blue she caught her breath. Then those eyes widened and Alex watched them flicker wildly for just a moment before his unsmiling lips fell open, and the color drained from his face.
It was Bailey, then. Alex pursed her lips hard, willing her legs to hold her up. She’d known what the answer would be. Still, she’d hoped… “Agent Vartanian?” she whispered. “Is that woman my stepsister?”
He stared at her face, his color returning. “Please,” he said, his voice now low and taut. He held out his arm, gesturing for her to go in front of him. Forcing one foot in front of the other, Alex complied. “My office is through this door,” he said, “on the left.”
It was a stark office. Government-issue desk and chairs. Maps on the wall, along with a few plaques. No pictures, anywhere. She sat in the chair he pulled out for her, then he took his seat behind his desk. “I have to apologize, Miss Fallon. You look like someone else. I was… startled. Please, tell me about your stepsister. Miss Smithson said her name is Bailey Crighton and she’s been missing for two days.”
He was staring at her with an intensity that left her unnerved. So she stared back, finding it helped keep her focused. “I got a call from Social Services on Friday afternoon. Bailey hadn’t come to work and a coworker found her daughter alone in her house.”