Ozarks Missing Person, page 2
She was falling.
Fainting?
Someone shouted.
The chill of the water shocked her into stillness. Mallory caught one more glimpse of the twinkling stars.
Then everything went black.
Chapter One
Special Agent Grace Reed took a deep slug from the aluminum bottle she filled to the brim each morning. It made a loud clank as she placed it back on her desk, but she didn’t tear her gaze from her computer. The screen was filled with the gap-toothed smile of five-year-old Treveon Robinson, a boy who disappeared while on a trip to the grocery store with his mom.
The case had kept her up all night. Missing children were automatically an instant cause of insomnia, but it wasn’t only his disappearance bothering her. It was the knowledge there’d be no billboards or citywide awareness campaigns for Treveon.
Sure, there’d been a feature on the local news—a teary plea from his mama to send her baby home safely. They had issued an Amber alert, and phones all over Arkansas, Texas, Oklahoma and Missouri had buzzed. But the cold, hard truth of the matter was kids named Treveon didn’t get the same attention from the media, and therefore the public, as kids named Cody or Tyler or Justin.
Could the worth of one boy be measured in a string of random letters used to form a name? A name Patricia Robinson said she’d chosen because her baby deserved a name as unique as he was.
The photograph had captured a mischievous gleam in the boy’s dark eyes. He looked like an angel, but according to the stories his mother and grandmother had shared, he had a bit of the devil in him.
If she couldn’t catch a break on his disappearance soon, she would have to turn his case over to McAvoy in the Crimes Against Children division. Staring into those eyes now, Grace swore to herself she would not forget Treveon.
Of course, she would continue the hunt for Treveon long after the news cycle dropped him into a bucket of sad statistics.
“Hey, Reed, I have another MP for you,” the agent assigned to desk duty, Jim Thompson, called to her, waggling a phone receiver above his head.
And, of course, he was sending the missing person call to her. The guys always funneled them her way. Not because she was particularly good at solving the cases, but because they were too often addicts who’d gone on a bender, or spouses who’d decided to pack up and go. In short, the other agents couldn’t be bothered.
There wasn’t a lot of turnover in the Arkansas State Police Criminal Investigation Division. Particularly in Company D, based in her hometown of Fort Smith. Even after three years here, and five more in Little Rock, she was still one of the lower-ranking agents on the team.
Therefore, she drew the short straw when it came to catching cases and had unofficially become Miss Missing Persons to the rest of the guys. Not a job she’d ever aspired to hold. Like most ambitious detectives, Grace wanted to sink her teeth into some of the more high-profile cases.
But she was patient. The bigger cases would come. For now, she would keep searching for those most people forgot about the minute the news cycle moved on and the posters grew faded.
She glowered at the blinking red light indicating a call was holding for her and snatched up the receiver. “CID, Agent Reed speaking,” she said briskly.
“Agent Reed? Brett Baines, Carroll County Sheriff’s Department. I guess you’re the go-to lady to talk to when it comes to girls who don’t come home.”
Grace recognized the deep male voice on the other end of the line. She and Baines had worked a previous case together. Closing her eyes, she sent up a silent prayer this case might end better than the last one had. “Deputy Baines,. How can I help you?”
“I got a call a while ago from a young lady named Kelli Simon. She tells me her roommate hasn’t been home in days.” He paused, letting the information sink in. “I get the impression from talking to her this isn’t unusual behavior on the part of the roommate, but the electric bill is due, and the missing girl hasn’t paid her part... Probably went up to Branson and blew it all on a purse or something.”
He chuckled and Grace bristled. Bitingher lip to keep from biting his head off for that coming she plucked a pen from a coffee cup with the state police logo on it and pulled the notebook she kept on her desk closer. She scribbled, electric bill due, asking, “What was the name again?”
“Reported by Kelli Simon—”
“Kelly with a Y?” she asked.
“An I. Apparently, Kelli with an I called her roommate’s place of employment to track her down and found out she hasn’t been in to work, either.”
“The missing woman’s name?” Grace prompted.
“Murray. She’s called Mallory Murray,” Deputy Baines said, enunciating each syllable of the missing woman’s name. “She’s twenty-three years old, single, Caucasian, dark brown hair and blue eyes. Last seen at work on Friday evening.”
Today was Tuesday. More than three days had passed, Grace noted as she added the details to her notes.
“And they’re roommates?” she asked. “House? Apartment?”
“They rent a place here in Eureka. Apartment, I think,” he said, seemingly looking back through his own notes.
Grace scribbled Eureka Springs at the top of the page. “Did she have any guesses as to a height or weight?”
“Miss Simon said maybe about five-six or-seven. She said she was a few inches taller than her and she’s five-four. As for a weight, she only said skinny.” He chuckled. “Not much help, I know. I have a daughter who’s about that age, and skinny is a relative term to some young ladies.”
Deputy Baines said the last with a hefty dose of good-old-boy bonhomie, but Grace was in no mood to play along. She could already envision the media coverage a pretty young white woman would garner, and while she knew every bit helped, she couldn’t ignore the twinge of resentment she felt when her gaze strayed to Treveon’s photo.
Dragging herself back, she forced herself to sit up straighter. Every citizen deserved her undivided attention. “Approximately five foot six or more and slim,” she repeated, emphasizing the word slim.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I assume you’re going to email me whatever information you have?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” the deputy repeated. He didn’t sound sad to be handing this one off to the state police. “Ms. Simon said she was sending over some photos. I’ll wait for those to come through and send it all to you at once.”
Grace scowled at the notepad. How she wished she could clear these cases from her mind as easily as these guys moved them off their desks.
“I assume since you’re passing this to me you gave the roommate...uh, Ms. Simon, my contact info?” Grace asked. She drew a line from her period up to the top of the page, making an arrow out of it, and began to print the name Kelli.
“I told her you’d reach out to her,” the deputy informed her. “I wasn’t sure how snowed under you were, and I thought that might be better.”
Grace tapped the end of her pen against the notebook. “Sure. Fine.”
“Her cell number is...” He rattled it off. “Probably should try texting her. If she’s anything like my kids, she won’t answer a phone call from an unknown number.”
Grace rolled her eyes at the man’s derision but acknowledged him. “I will.”
“I’ll have her email address and other pertinent information in the report, and if I hear anything more from her before you can make contact, I’ll refer her directly to you.” He paused for a moment. “If it’s okay with you, of course.”
In no mood for his feigned deference, Grace sat up straighter and removed the receiver from where she held it pinched between her shoulder and ear. “Absolutely okay with me. Might as well eliminate the middleman, right?” She tossed her pen down. “Good speaking to you, Deputy. I’ll be looking for your report.”
Grace placed the receiver in its cradle and blew out a long breath. Leaning back in her chair, she tipped her chin to the ceiling and focused on the breathing exercises her bohemian sister, Faith, had insisted she learn.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale.
She forced herself to repeat the exercise over and over. Whether it helped or not, she couldn’t say, but it sure didn’t hurt when it came to dealing with men like Baines. You’d think after spending her entire career letting their ingrained misogyny roll off her back, she’d be impervious to microaggressions.
But she wasn’t.
While she waited for the deputy to pass along the information, Grace clicked through the pages of the file she’d accumulated on young Treveon. Her stomach roiled, and without thinking she opened the center drawer of her desk and pulled out a roll of antacids. She popped two tablets into her mouth and chomped down hard. There were days when she wondered why she’d chosen this path, and this was one of them.
But in all honesty, most days she couldn’t imagine herself doing anything else. From the age of twelve, all she’d wanted was to be a detective. She knew in her soul her destiny was to be an instrument of justice. After all, someone had to make sense of her mother’s senseless death. And the job was clearly up to her.
Sitting straighter in her chair, she reminded herself she couldn’t win them all. But maybe, just maybe, she’d win one or two here and there and in her own way help make somebody else’s life more bearable. Glancing at the open notebook, she spotted the phone number Baines had given her.
She sent a text first. Not because he’d suggested it, but because she wasn’t a monster.
This is Sp Agt Grace Reed of the AR St Pol Crim Investigations Div. I heard UR looking for UR roommate May I call you?
Three dots appeared. At work but take my break in 5. Can I call U
Grace tapped out a quick Okay and set her phone aside. Sure enough, five minutes later, it rang.
“CID, Special Agent Reed speaking,” she said, trying to inject a modicum of warmth into her voice.
“Um, hi,” a tentative female voice replied.
Grace picked up her pen and poised it over her notebook. She looked down at the notes she’d scrawled earlier and registered the missing girl’s age. The caller came across as painfully young. She also sounded...genuinely worried.
“Yes? Hello, is this Kelli?”
“Yeah. Hi. I’m sorry to bother you,” the caller began hesitantly. “She’s probably flaking out on me—”
“It’s no bother,” Grace assured her, gently cutting her off. “Tell me what you know.”
“Uh, well, my roommate hasn’t come home in a few days, and when I called Stubby’s, the place she works, they told me they haven’t seen her since Friday night.”
Grace frowned and jotted down the name of the missing person’s employer, then circled Friday on the notes she’d taken from Baines as the day last seen. “And her name is Mallory?”
“Yes. Mallory Murray.” The young woman hesitated for a moment. “To be honest, this isn’t the first time she’s taken off for a couple days, but usually she messages me something, you know?”
“And she hasn’t been in touch?” Grace prompted, shifting to the edge of her seat.
“No. Nothing,” the roommate said. “I tried texting her, because...” She trailed off. “Well, because she owes her half of the electric, and I have to pay the bill tomorrow,” she finished in a rush. “She’s tried to dodge bills in the past, but I’m not even getting read receipts.”
“I understand,” Grace said. And she did. “You’ve heard nothing from her since...?”
There was a pause on the other end. “I don’t think I’ve actually spoken to her since Wednesday,” she said. “We aren’t really friends,” she added easily. “I had a room to rent, and she answered the ad. She’s only lived with me for three months.”
And three months had been long enough for Kelli Simon to determine her roommate was less than reliable. “And you say it’s not unusual for her to take off for a few days?”
“Yeah, but I mean, I can usually track her down at work eventually. Besides, she wouldn’t miss a Saturday shift at Stubby’s. She says she gets her biggest tips on Saturdays.”
“And Stubby’s is...?”
She let the question hang out there, and Ms. Simon jumped on it. “Oh, it’s a place out on Highway 62. Burgers, beers. Lots of lake people come in on weekends,” she explained. “She’s a waitress there. Occasionally bartender, depending on who’s working.”
“And she likes her job?”
There was a beat of silence. “I, uh, I have no idea,” she admitted at last. “I guess. She brags about the cute guys who come in, and the tips and stuff.”
“Do you know if she was seeing someone in particular?”
“No, not really. I mean, I’d hear her on the phone and stuff, and I know she went out a lot.”
“Any names?”
“Maybe a Chad or something?” She paused. “And a Steve, but I think he was someone she worked with because she complained about him. I remember coming home early one day last week because my schedule opened up and she was on the phone with Steve asking if someone called Troy, or Trey, had come in.”
“Troy or Trey,” Grace murmured as she added the names to her notes. Curious, she asked, “And what do you do, Ms. Simon?”
“Me? I’m a nail tech. I work at a day spa here in town. The Lotus Flower?”
She spoke the name in an offhand sort of way indicating Grace should have heard of it. She hadn’t. Each Criminal Investigation Division covered far more area than most people realized. Fort Smith was two hours away from the resort town of Eureka Springs. And even if she lived closer, Grace wasn’t exactly the type to frequent spas, much to her sister’s chagrin.
Grace read over her notes. “Has her family heard from her? Do you know?”
“As far as I know, she has a brother. She said her mom and dad died in a car wreck. I don’t think she and her brother get along, though.”
“No?”
“She says he’s a jerk. Stuck-up. He’s a hotshot attorney over in Bentonville.”
“Do you know his name?”
Another silence followed. Finally, she said, “If she told me, I don’t remember it. Maybe it started with an M, too? I remember thinking it was too much alliteration when she told me. Anyway, I don’t think they were in touch often.”
Grace got the distinct impression this well of information was tapped out, but still, she needed to follow up. Shouldn’t be hard to find her brother if he actually was a lawyer.
Then again, maybe they’d all get lucky and Ms. Murray would find her way home on her own. “I see. Would tomorrow be a good day for us to talk in person?”
“In person?” the young woman questioned, like it hadn’t occurred to her more than one conversation might be necessary.
“I’m based out of Fort Smith, but I could be in Eureka Springs by midmorning,” Grace offered, not letting her off the hook.
“I have to work tomorrow,” Kelli protested.
“Perhaps we can talk on your lunch hour.” Grace wrote Lotus Flower spa on her pad and pushed on. “I’ll text you in the morning and you can tell me when you’ll be free. Please let me know if you hear from Ms. Murray.”
After ending the call, she emailed her section chief to inform him she’d be out of the office the next day. Then she sent up a silent prayer for the missing young woman and closed her notebook. The photo of sweet Treveon Robinson beamed out at her from her monitor.
Leaning in, she stared intently at the screen. “Hang in there. I’ll find you, little guy. I promise.”
With a heavy sigh, she minimized the photo and opened her web browser. How many attorneys named Murray could there be in the Bentonville area? Seconds later, a networking website called WhosIn gave her the answer.
There were two. The first listing she found was for a personal injury attorney named Allen Murray, but when she clicked the link to his firm’s website, she found a photo of a balding man in his sixties.
The other lawyer was named Matthew. Clicking on a link for more info, she mentally chalked one up to Ms. Kelli Simon and her linguistic pet peeves. It appeared Matthew Murray was an assistant prosecuting attorney for Benton County.
There was no photo, but Grace knew in her gut this had to be the brother. And now that she’d located him, she picked up her phone and prepared herself to be the bearer of bad news.
Chapter Two
Matthew Murray was not having a good day. First, the barista at the coffee shop he’d been visiting every day for the past two years screwed up his order. Again. While he didn’t mind starting his day with a hearty double shot of espresso, or even an Americano heavy with cream and sugar, he absolutely did not want the sickeningly sweet barely coffee-flavored drink he’d ended up with. If asked under oath, he’d swear at least a third of the cup was filled with foam.
The morning didn’t get any better. He had an appearance with Judge Walton in the earliest time slot, and if there was ever someone who was less of a morning person than Matthew, it was Judge Anthony Walton. The judge wasn’t one of Matthew’s biggest fans.
On his first day working for the Benton County prosecuting attorney’s office, Matthew had backed out of a tight parking space and bumped the car behind him. Not enough of an impact to cause any damage, but enough to make him wince as he pulled away.
Unfortunately, the car behind his belonged to the judge. And Judge Walton happened to be standing on the sidewalk watching the whole thing. A summons to His Honor’s chambers was dispatched within the hour.
But whether Judge Walton liked him or not was immaterial. The case he’d been handed three weeks ago was a mess. The sheriff’s deputies who’d pulled Harley Jenkins over had not followed protocol when they searched his pickup truck. Therefore, the seizure of the cranky old hippie’s pot stash, while impressive, was not quite legal. Still, Jenkins had enough of a rap sheet for the PA to insist on prosecuting the case.
