Ozarks Missing Person, page 8
“It’s possible he invited some other rich friends,” Grace said offhandedly.
Matthew wasn’t biting. “No. A Friday night crawfish boil wouldn’t have been enough of an event for him to fly in Ivy League pals.”
She pursed her lips as she took in his supposition. “He’d have wanted to show off something swankier.”
“Exactly. I’ll try to poke around at the office. Maybe someone has a friend over at PP&W we can talk to in case we can’t get to Trey again.” He suspected he wouldn’t have much luck, but he needed to do something.
“What makes you think I can’t get to him again?” Grace asked, tapping the steering wheel in a staccato beat he could only assume was agitation.
“You won’t be able to bluff and bully your way past the receptionist again,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t bluff or bully,” she replied, indignant.
Her obvious offense brought a wry smile to his lips. “Okay, you won’t be able to push your way in behind your badge.”
“Says you,” she muttered, casting a squinty-eyed stare his way.
“Ten bucks says they’ve already closed ranks,” he said grimly.
“Sounds like a sucker bet,” she responded on a sigh, eyes back on the road again. “Well, while you try to find an in with the suede-shoe crowd—”
“White shoe,” he corrected.
“Whatever. I have a friend who specializes in tracing people online. I’ll call in a favor if we can’t find anything on our own, but officially, she’s not supposed to look at cases unless she’s assigned to them. We can take a crack at social media ourselves. After all, we’re still not sure if she didn’t up and take off to Vegas.”
“I won’t be much help to you, since I don’t really use social media much, but I’ll try to figure out who some of her old friends were. Maybe we can get some info from there.”
“Sounds like we have our assignments,” she said as they approached the Bentonville city limits. “Drop you back at the office? I assume your car is there.”
Matthew checked his watch, saw it was still early afternoon, and sighed. “Yeah. I’d better go back in and see what I missed today.”
Ten minutes later, Grace dropped him off in front of his office building with a promise to be in contact if she found anything of interest.
Matthew was two steps into the bustling office when Nate appeared in front of him. The prosecuting attorney gave him a slow, smirky once-over, then toasted Matthew. The paper tag attached to the tea bag in his ever-present mug fluttered with the movement. “Nice to see you again. Have we gone to casual Wednesdays now?”
Matthew shook his head, wondering how anyone could ever choose tea over coffee. “I left a message with Tracy,” Matthew responded, trying not to sound defensive. “I had some business to attend to concerning my sister.”
With the ease of a skilled politician, Nate assumed an expression of concerned sympathy. “I heard. Any luck?”
Matthew shook his head, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty with his boss. Something about Nate made a person think he didn’t care to be sullied with details. Matthew could never decide if this quality was ironic or not, considering Nate’s job was to keep the more unsavory elements of society off the streets.
“No word yet, but Mallory has always been one to do her own thing. She could have taken off to go make jewelry in Taos.”
Nate’s brow beetled. “Does she make jewelry?”
Matthew shrugged. “Damned if I can tell you.” He gestured toward his office. “Anyway, I figured I’d hole up in my office and spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on paperwork.”
His boss dismissed him with a wave. “I was only busting your chops. Truth is, I wasn’t even aware you had a sister. And I don’t care if you need to sneak out and handle personal business once in a while. It’s not like we’ve ever worked less than a ten-hour workday, right?”
Matthew had to fold his lips in and bite down to keep from refuting the statement. Nate was all about appearances. He liked to see everyone in the office—ready and raring to go.
“Right. Well, I’d better...” Matthew gestured in the direction of his office, anxious to move on.
He hated standing next to Nate in his casual clothes, even though they were perfectly acceptable office attire. As always, the prosecuting attorney was impeccably dressed. One of the inside jokes at the office was that he had each article of clothing labeled with the possibly perfect location to wear it. Striped polo shirt? Barbecue, kid’s birthday party, shopping with the family. Blue blazer—informal business meetings. He didn’t like casual Fridays but tolerated them because the rest of the world seemed to want them.
“Sure. Right. Back to work,” Nate said with mock sternness.
Matthew tried to smile, but he never quite knew how to handle his boss. The man was a chameleon. Which was probably how he’d managed to become the youngest prosecuting attorney elected in the state. No doubt the skill had helped him make friends powerful enough to get him there.
The thought made him pause. “Hey, Nate?”
“Hmm?” The other man turned, and for a moment Matthew wondered if he’d ever seen him take a sip of tea from the mug he always held.
“Do you know Trey Powers?”
A flash of surprise crossed the other man’s face, but he quickly covered it with a chuckle loaded with good humor. “Trey Powers? Of course I do. Well, I’m better acquainted with his father. Ty Powers manages a super PAC. They donated to my campaign. Why?”
Matthew made a mental note that the Powers family’s political action committee was one of Nate’s backers. “I guess my sister left work Friday to go to a party out at the Powers place on Table Rock Lake.”
Nate nodded but looked placidly nonplussed by the information. “Ty likes to entertain out there. His father built an enormous house—looks like a European castle on the outside. All hunting lodge meets five-star ski chalet inside, of course.”
Matthew couldn’t contain his surprise. “You’ve been there?”
Nate nodded. “Most everyone who runs in political circles up here has. Since Ty’s brother, Bill, decided to run for office, they got involved in all levels.”
Nodding, Mathew held his ground while he digested the information. “But you’ve met Trey as well,” he persisted.
“We’ve met.” When he spoke, he raised and lowered one shoulder in a shrug so subtle a person who wasn’t watching as intently as Matthew might have missed it. But a good prosecutor knew the value of body language, and nothing gave a person’s insecurity away more quickly than a partial shrug. “He’s younger. Runs with his own crowd.”
“How about any of them?” he pressed. “Can you tell me who he runs around with?”
Nate frowned, but Matthew couldn’t tell if it was in concentration or disapproval. “Mostly other young lawyers from PP&W. From what I hear, he didn’t like being lost in a sea of other important people’s kids when he went to school back East. Trey’s all about being the big fish in the small pond.”
“Ah.”
“You’re not thinking of asking Trey about your sister’s whereabouts, are you?” Nate asked.
“He was the one who invited her to the party,” Matthew countered. “We’re hoping he can tell us where she went from there.”
Nate raised his mug to his lips, blew on it, then lowered it again without taking a drink. Not meeting Matthew’s gaze, he shook his head. “Listen, I understand she’s your sister, and PP&W doesn’t take on much criminal defense, but we don’t want to get on their wrong side.”
“The party was at their house.”
“I understand. But Trey is the son of a man who runs a powerful firm belonging to a powerful and politically connected family. You have ambitions of your own, and I urge you to tread lightly.”
“I’m not the one conducting the investigation. The state police have it.”
Nate nodded. “Good. Let them do the poking and prodding.”
He raised his mug in a farewell salute and turned to go back to his office. Matthew ground his molars as he made his way back to his own desk.
The thought of being told to hide behind Grace rankled, even though that had been his own instinct. But by the time he’d waved to his assistant and closed the door behind him, enough of his ire had abated for him to find humor in the vision of Special Agent Grace Reed repeatedly jabbing a bunch of Armani-clad attorneys with a single fingertip.
What Nate didn’t get was the woman was more likely to employ a battering ram.
And Matthew wanted to be by her side when she used it to bust into the hallowed halls of Powers, Powers & Walton and demand to be told where his sister, Mallory, was hiding.
Chapter Seven
Grace’s phone buzzed before she woke the next morning, which was never a good sign.
“Hello?” she answered, her voice husky with sleep.
“Agent Reed?” a man asked.
Grace recognized the voice instantly as her section chief, Ethan Scott. She sat up in bed. “Yes, good morning, Agent Scott,” she replied, instantly more awake.
“I’m afraid it’s not going to be a terribly good morning for you.” He cleared his throat. “We fielded a call from some county guys this morning. A fisherman caught a body, and the general description fits one of your missing persons.”
Grace closed her eyes again and braced herself. These calls were always awful, but they were particularly awful when they involved a child.
“Do they think it’s Treveon Robinson?”
“No,” Agent Scott answered succinctly. “I’m sorry, I should have been more specific. The call came from Carroll County. Table Rock Lake. The body fits the description of the young woman you are up there looking for...a Ms. Murray?”
Grace released a breath, but her heart rate kicked up. “Mallory Murray,” she clarified.
“Yes. According to the guys on the scene, they think she’s been in the water for a while. The body is bloated but recognizable. You’ll need to head out there to identify and investigate the scene, but the locals tell me they doubt the area where they found her is where she went into the lake. There are no houses or cabins anywhere around there.”
Grace swallowed as she nodded. “I’ll head out there now. I’ll also take care of notifying next of kin,” she informed him.
“Jim Thompson tells me you said Ms. Murray’s brother is a prosecutor up there?”
“Yes, assistant prosecuting attorney for Benton County,” she reported dutifully. “His name is Matthew Murray. He accompanied me to her place of employment to ask some questions yesterday afternoon.”
“Did he?”
“I had hoped having somebody who grew up in the area would encourage the owner of the bar to be more forthcoming.”
Agent Scott grunted in response. Grace was trying to determine if it was approval or disapproval when he spoke. “Good thinking,” he said at last. “Some of the people up in those hills don’t like to talk to strangers. Particularly strangers with badges.” He sighed. “The coroner is on his way and will likely beat you out there. I’ll send through the GPS coordinates the county guys passed on. Apparently, this fishing hole is accessible only by a gravel road.”
Of course it is, she thought wryly. As a state dependent on its natural beauty to draw tourism, Arkansas wasn’t keen to pave paradise.
To her boss, she said only, “Thank you.”
“Okay. Well, I guess you have your marching orders for the day. Keep me posted,” he instructed.
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
Ending the call, Grace sat up even straighter and tried to get her bearings. Waking up in hotel rooms was always disconcerting. Waking up to bad news in a hotel room even more so.
A peek through the crack in the blinds told her the sun hadn’t been up long. She wondered for a moment if she should ask Matthew Murray if he was willing to ride along to identify the body. He’d have to do it at some point, and taking him with her now would not only slice through some jurisdictional red tape, but also would save a lot of back-and-forth driving.
It might also help them gain precious time when it came to piecing together what could have happened to his sister.
She placed the phone back on the nightstand and swung her legs over the side of the bed. True to his word, her boss sent through the coordinates. She pulled up a map and squinted at her phone, wondering how far Mallory had to stray from the Powers house to end up in those particular backwoods.
She wouldn’t have answers until she got going, so Grace sprang into action. Within fifteen minutes, she was showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the State Police logo on the front and CID across the back in block letters. After scraping her hair back into a low ponytail, she returned to the bed, where she sat down to put on her shoes. Like the ponytail, they were serviceable—scuffed black oxfords she wore more for comfort than style.
Once she was put together, she picked up her phone and cradled it in her hands, an internal war waging.
She knew nothing yet. It could have been an accident. Mallory could have gotten drunk and stumbled away from the party and into the lake. If there were enough guests, it was entirely possible no one noticed the waitress from the local burger joint wandering away.
A remote inlet with no houses nearby.
There were hundreds if not thousands of nooks and crannies in the lake’s shoreline. Large parcels of undeveloped land. There would be wide swaths of area to search. There was nothing to say she’d been anywhere near the Powers family home when she ended up in the water. Heck, someone could have boosted the car, killed her and dumped her body in the lake.
Grace sighed and pulled up Matthew Murray’s contact information, still not sure asking him to ride along was a good idea or not. There were too many scenarios, and she didn’t have enough answers. But something told her she needed to give Matthew the option of seeing the scene.
She shook her head, refusing to overthink the day away. Her jaw set in agitation, she made the call. Matthew was a grown man. He could decide what was best for him.
Murray sounded far more awake than she expected when he answered with a brisk “Agent Reed?”
“Good morning,” she greeted automatically. Then she closed her eyes on a wince. “Well, I’m sorry. It’s not a good morning,” she corrected herself.
“I take it you have some news on Mallory,” he said flatly.
“A fisherman found a body in one of the inlets on Table Rock Lake. The county deputies on scene are fairly certain they have a match.”
Matthew’s sharp inhale of breath sounded tangled in his throat. And she felt her own constrict with sympathy.
“Where?”
“They found her in a pretty undeveloped area. No houses nearby.” In answer to his unspoken question, she added, “I’m not sure exactly how far away it is from the Powers family lake house. All I have are GPS coordinates.”
She heard another ragged rush of breath.
“I’m sorry,” she added. “I haven’t been out there to confirm as of yet. Right now, the county is handling things, but I’ll need to canvass the scene and make an initial identification.”
He didn’t bother clearing the rasp from his throat. “I understand.”
“I’m heading out there now. I can keep you informed as I—”
“I want to go with you,” he interjected.
“I thought you might. Listen, you see a lot of things in your line of work—” she began.
“We both do,” he interrupted again. “I’m aware of what to expect.”
Or he thought he did. But he wouldn’t be looking at photographs of a stranger. “If you come with me to identify, it would save us a step.”
“Do you want me to meet you out there?”
Grace thought about it for a moment. It would be easier not to have the victim’s brother in tow while she went over the scene, but the county guys probably knew best in this case. There likely wouldn’t be much evidence to collect. Plus, the thought of asking him to drive those winding, hilly roads alone after receiving word that the last member of his family might be dead seemed cruel. He and his sister may not have been close, but she was all he had.
“I could pick you up if you’d like,” she offered.
There was silence on the other end of the line. She assumed he was weighing the pros and cons as well.
At last, he said only, “I’ll text you my address.”
“On my way shortly.”
Grace gathered the bag containing her evidence kit and her ASP windbreaker and headed for the door. She turned the radio off for the drive to Matthew Murray’s place. She didn’t have the patience for morning drive chatter.
To her surprise, Matthew didn’t live in one of the thousands of new-construction condominiums littering the I-49 corridor, but rather in a bungalow on the south side of the old downtown Bentonville. She realized as she pulled up to the curb in front of the address that he was likely walking, or at least biking, distance from his office. Again, she suffered a bout of commute envy. She was about to text to let him know she was outside when the front door opened.
Matthew came out dressed in jeans and a University of Arkansas T-shirt. He wore hiking boots and carried a zippered hoodie in one hand. This was a man who was clearly accustomed to the terrain. Grace glanced down at her own shoes and hoped the sturdy soles would be up to the task.
Two aluminum travel cups were cradled in the crook of his arm. Matthew slid into the passenger seat, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Without asking, he offered her one of the cups. She gave him a wan smile. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m not a coffee drinker.”
