Ozarks Missing Person, page 14
“You’re inviting me to come there to work?”
“I’m inviting you to come here and work on your sister’s case,” she said, spelling it out for him. “I’m afraid I have some not-great news.”
“Well, that seems to be the theme this week.”
“I know.”
“Might as well hit me with it.”
“Maybe your paranoia is rubbing off on me, but I don’t want to get into details over the phone,” she said, overenunciating the last few words to make her point. “Can you meet me here?”
Instantly on guard, he demanded, “Give me a rough idea.”
“They found Mallory’s car.”
Something about her lack of inflection set his antennae twitching. “And?”
“It was in a lake.”
“Wow. I wish I could say I was shocked,” Matthew said stiffly.
“Yeah. Unfortunately, it’s not going to make our quest to get access to the Powers property any easier,” she said in a voice tinged with genuine regret.
“No? Why not?” he asked, closing the lid of his laptop and reaching for his messenger bag in one practiced movement. He had the computer jammed halfway in the pouch when she finally broke the news.
“Wrong lake.”
* * *
“WHERE WAS IT?” he pressed when she opened the door to room 152.
“Hello to you, too.” She stepped back and waved him into the room. The minute the door slammed shut behind him, she pointed to a whiteboard propped on the sofa. “Beaver Lake. Not far off Highway 62.”
“Beaver Lake?” he repeated, unable to process the incongruity.
“Yeah. On the west side. I’m guessing about fifteen miles from the Powers place as the crow flies, but it would take longer to get there on the highway.”
He dropped his bag at the base of the breakfast bar. Moving into the suite’s living area, he propped his hands on his hips. “No more than five minutes from Stubby’s,” he murmured. “We’ve been driving back and forth past it all week.”
“We wouldn’t have seen anything. We didn’t go down to Beaver Lake,” she reminded him. “A guy training to re-up his scuba certification caught sight of the license plate and noticed the tag was current.”
Matthew dropped down onto one of the barely padded stools and gazed at her. “She paid her registration. For once, Mallory didn’t flake on something.”
He scrubbed his face. A morass of incredulity and self-recrimination for continuing to think poorly of his sister, even in death, threatened to smother him.
Grace blew out a breath. “I know you said you’d do it, but I asked one of my colleagues to request the search warrants for the Powerses’ house and boats from Judge Walton this morning,” she informed him. “Thankfully, this information had not yet come to light. Maybe there’s a chance.”
“A snowball’s chance,” Matthew said grudgingly. “Where is the car now?”
“It’s being hauled to impound on a flatbed. We had a forensic diver go in and recover anything they could find in the glove box and console. They’ll also work on the car to see if they can recover any prints, hair, other DNA.”
Matthew felt a flicker of hope sputter to life in his chest. “Depending on how well contained the cabin was, they may be able to get some fingerprint residue,” he said, giving voice to the flutter of optimism.
“The windows were rolled down,” she informed him, her expression somber. “The team tells me there are some other things they can do, but I’m betting we won’t find any evidence of anyone other than Mallory in her car. Plus, I doubt Trey Powers was the kind to go riding around town in his gal pal’s subcompact.”
“Definitely not,” he agreed. “The guy drives a Porsche.”
“The team tells me whoever sank this car knew what they were doing.”
“Professionals?” He was tempted to scoff at the idea but was unable to rule out the possibility of Powers hiring someone to ditch the vehicle.
“I can’t say professionals, but we can be pretty sure Mallory didn’t roll all her windows down, drive into Beaver Lake, swim to shore, hitch a ride over to Table Rock and bash herself in the back of the head with something smooth and flat until she fell into the water,” she said, brusque with impatience.
“Right. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m figuring they didn’t want that car found anywhere near the Powers place. Either way, something stinks like old fish. I’ve called in a favor with some IT people I know. They may be able to go deeper with Mallory’s social media and try to dig some things out.”
“Cool.”
“Let’s compare notes and impressions. We can order some food and wait for either forensics or the judge to give us something more to go on. Have you eaten today?”
Matthew’s stomach flipped at the mention of food. He couldn’t focus on food. Bigger questions preyed on his mind.
“And if forensics comes up empty?” he couldn’t resist asking. “What if there’s no evidence pointing to Trey Powers?”
“We’ll get something.”
“Even with the pregnancy, I’m not sure we can prove the child was his,” he argued.
“You don’t seem to have much faith in science,” she said tartly.
“I believe in science, but we don’t know how pregnant she was. My gut tells me we’re not going to get lucky enough to connect one shred of Trey Powers’s DNA to my sister.”
“You give him far more credit than he’s due, Matthew. This guy is only human. His friends and colleagues are, too. They aren’t supervillains from a comic book. They’re people. And if there’s one fact we know for certain about people, it’s that somewhere along the line, they all screw up.”
Matthew swallowed hard, slid off the stool and stalked over to the whiteboard she had propped on what appeared to be a rock-hard sofa. Looking at the dry-erase board covered in messy scrawl and squiggling lines connecting one fact to another was oddly calming. Forcing himself to inhale and exhale, he nodded.
“Yeah, they do.”
She stepped up beside him, her shoulder grazing his as they both stared at the board. “How many impossible cases have you seen break open because one thing got overlooked?”
“Too many.”
“And how many have you seen break wide-open because somebody refused to blink when it came down to playing chicken? There’s no hiding the truth entirely. Somebody knows what happened to Mallory, and they are nothing more or less than a human being.”
He gave her a half smile to go with his sidelong glance. “You make a good case, Agent Reed. Are you sure you didn’t miss your calling? The ability to spin a logic-defying situation makes a good lawyer.”
She leaned forward to adjust the positioning of a magnet she’d used to tack down the edge of an Arkansas highway map. “The problem is, I have a moral compass.” She spoke over her shoulder at him, smirking.
“Yeah, they can be pesky,” he agreed with a shrug.
“I think I need a sandwich.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and wandered back to the kitchenette. “Sandwiches work for you?”
To his surprise, his stomach answered with a gurgle. Pursing his lips, he stared at the map, his gaze tracking the distance between the western shore of Beaver Lake and the trailing inlets of Table Rock. The end of the lake stretched across state lines from Missouri like grasping fingers.
“Works for me,” he agreed distractedly. “You know, it doesn’t take long to get from one lake to the other if you know the back roads.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her brows lifted as she looked up from her phone. “Maybe we start by looking at any of Trey’s buddies who grew up around here.” She returned her attention to the screen. “I’m ordering Italian subs.”
“Perfect.” Turning on his heel, Matthew moved back to the bar, where he pulled his laptop from his bag and opened it. “I’m pretty sure the guy who was in there this morning—whatever his name was Barrow?—I think I read on the website he’s an East Coaster. Probably a prep school pal or something.”
She snorted softly but continued to process their order. “Funny, I always imagined those guys as being ultraconfident, but he came across as...”
“Needy?” Matthew asked as he clicked through to the PP&W staff photos.
“I was thinking sad, but needy works, too,” she murmured. “Definitely a hanger-on.” Her phone chimed, and she looked up with a smile. “There. Sustenance is on the way.”
She moved back to her board. “Okay, now we have Taylor Greene at the bar, the party and in the meeting. What’s her story?”
Matthew clicked over to the photo of the wholesome-looking brunette. “Looks like the girl-next-door type.”
“For some reason, I’m always more suspicious of the girl-next-door types,” Grace murmured as she squinted at the board.
He chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “You think you have me pegged, Counselor?”
For a moment he was dumbstruck again by how attractive he found her. Confidence and competence—they were as much a part of her as her strikingly dark brown eyes or the smattering of freckles across her nose. And the whole package was a potent one.
“Not at all. I’m simply assuming you’re suspicious by nature. Occupational hazard.”
She seemed to give thought consideration. “Yeah, okay. I can admit I am.” She moved a note she’d made about the car and photo of Mallory printed from her PicturSpam account aside, then picked up one of the markers scattered on the coffee table.
“The Powers place is here.” She pointed to the spot marked with a red dot on the map. “Her body was found here,” she said, jabbing a finger at a second dot to the north and east of the spit of land where the first Tyrone Powers had built his family fortress. She trailed the same fingertip along Highway 62, past the junction where Highway 37 took people up into Missouri and back down toward the town of Garfield. “You and Mallory grew up around here?” She tapped the map.
“Yes, but not in town. Out off the highway on the Beaver Lake side,” he clarified.
“Her car was found here.”
She marked the spot on the western shore with a black X. “Would have been closer to dump it on the east side.”
“Definitely more accessible.” Matthew squinted at the spot she’d marked. “There’s more development on the dam side. Campgrounds, resorts—”
“But there would also be people who might notice someone pushing a car off into the water,” she concluded.
“Been a while since I’ve been over there, but the car was found on the west side. North end.” He tapped his lips with his forefinger. “There used to be only one road in up there. May still be if it’s still timber company land.” He peered at the map. “You’re right. We need to take a closer look at anyone connected to Trey or PP&W who grew up in the area.”
“Or at least vacationed here regularly.”
“Right.” Matthew went back to the bar to reclaim his laptop. “Lake people, at least the regulars, would know the area as well as the locals.”
“Now we have something to dig into while we wait for our food,” she said, picking up the board and moving it to lean against the wall. “Have a seat. I’ll grab my notes and a couple bottles of water.”
Matthew watched her move about the room, collecting everything she might need in order to keep up her pursuit. She’d been correct to coerce him into coming here to work. This was neutral territory, safe from the office and local politics. And two heads were far better than one. Particularly when his hadn’t been entirely in the game. Until now.
He’d been laboring under the delusion he could play both sides—save his sister and avoid crossing swords with the Powers family for the sake of his career ambitions. But it was never going to be possible.
Grace and her unerring moral compass were pointing him toward a different future than he’d envisioned, and he wasn’t certain he was grateful for it. But he was grateful Mallory had Grace to stand up for her.
“Hey, Grace?”
“Hmm?” she said as she pulled a tablet and a power cord from her bag.
“Thanks for this,” he said, his voice catching on the last. He cleared his throat. “For everything, but mostly for getting me out of the office and over here. I didn’t realize how much I needed a change of scenery.”
She smiled, and her dark eyes lit with amusement. “If this is a change of scenery for you, you need to get out more, Mr. Murray.”
Her phone rang, and she pulled it from her pocket. She shot him a glance and made a face when she saw who was calling. “Let’s see if we got our warrants, shall we?” She accepted the call and tapped for the icon to send it to speaker. “Any luck, Jim?”
“It’s a no-go with Judge Walton, Grace,” a man said without preamble.
“Had to go there first. Would you submit to Judge Cellini for me, please?”
“Already have,” the man she called Jim responded. “I’ll let you know when she signs off.”
“Appreciate your help,” Grace said shortly. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked briskly, “Any movement on the Robinson case?”
“No. I had a call from McAvoy in Crimes Against Children. He wanted to know if he should take over since this turned into a possible homicide, but I put him off.”
She sighed. “I should let him have it,” she said, her shoulder slumping. “Lord knows I’m not getting anything on my end.”
“You want me to give him a shout?” the other agent asked.
Grace shook her head. “Nah. I’m going to make a couple more calls and some more notes. If I don’t shake anything loose in the next day, I’ll call him myself.”
“I’ll get back to you as soon as we have the warrants. You have forensics people on standby?” the man on the other end asked.
“Ready and raring,” she assured him. “Thanks again, Jim. I owe you.”
Grace ended the call, dropped down onto the opposite end of the sofa and leaned over to jam the charger into a wall socket.
“He sounds pretty sure this other judge will issue the warrants,” Matthew commented.
Grace’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “Judge Cellini does a lot of work with victim advocacy groups in the Fort Smith area. Particularly female victims of abuse and violent crime. She’ll issue the warrants.”
“Good.”
She plugged the other end of the cord into her tablet. “I’ll pull the names from the firm’s website, and you search for them on WhosIn. If someone has notifications set to show who’s looking at their profile, they’ll see another attorney and not the state police.”
“Good call. This is why they gave you the shiny badge,” he said, pointing at her. “Let’s start headhunting.”
Chapter Thirteen
The following morning, Grace dispatched the forensics teams she’d had standing by with warrants in hand. She’d set her sights on the target she and Matthew had agreed was the weakest link in the PP&W wall of silence.
Parking her SUV across the street from the law firm’s front entrance, she scanned each car turning into the lot adjacent to the building. Her target sat too close to the steering wheel of a shiny eco-friendly hybrid. Taylor Greene appeared to be as uncertain about driving as she’d been about attending the previous day’s meeting.
Grace switched off the ignition and climbed from the car. She crossed the street and the parking lot at a brisk pace, her head down so her hair provided some camouflage for her sneak attack.
Taylor hadn’t even turned off her car. She rummaged around, gathering her belongings while she sang along with the music blaring inside the car. Grace cocked her head and hummed along until she picked up the thread of melody. Ms. Greene liked anthems of strength for young female empowerment disguised as pop songs. Duly noted.
She tapped on the driver’s window with two knuckles. The young woman startled but turned instantly wary when she saw Grace.
Grace’s eyebrows rose as Taylor turned down the volume and pushed the button to lower her window a scant few inches. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Grace tried to make her smile as friendly and unthreatening as possible. “One of my favorite songs.”
Taylor Greene wasn’t buying. She looked terrified, but Grace had to give her props for turning up the bravado when she asked, “May I help you?”
Grace flipped open her credentials as a courtesy. Okay, maybe it wasn’t simply a courtesy. The badge and ID packed a wallop in certain situations. Still, she needed this woman’s help, not a confrontation, so she kept her smile firmly in place, casual and friendly.
“I’m Grace Reed from the state police. We met yesterday?”
“Yes, I remember you.”
Grace pocketed her badge. “I was hoping we could speak. You and I. Privately.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
Grace saw her fumble for the button to raise the window and curled her fingers over the top of the glass to stop her. “Please. I know you were at the party Trey Powers hosted last Friday night. I need to talk to you some more about it, and I think we’d both prefer not to make a production out of it.”
“How do you know if I was at the party?” the young woman asked, looking truly cornered.
Taylor wasn’t as adroit as she should have been. “You were in pictures on social media.”
The woman stared at her, aghast, as realization dawned. “You’ve been stalking me on social media?” she demanded. “You had no right—”
“No, ma’am,” she quickly assured her, but she made a mental note to pay closer attention to Ms. Greene’s accounts if they could gain access. “The photo was posted on Mallory Murray’s PicturSpam account. I recognized you at the meeting yesterday, but I didn’t want to say anything when there were so many—” she paused for a moment and leaned in “—guys around.”
