Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Aha. An affair?”
“Maybe. It’s one theory. Probably the one the cops liked.”
“Photos?”
Connor turned the computer monitor around so Jessica could see the screen. As well as a series of CCTV stills from the gas station, there was a big, full-color shot of Mallory Wilcox. She had a plump, pretty face with deep dimples as though someone had poked a finger into each cheek. Big blue eyes and long lashes that could’ve been stolen from a porcelain doll. Her brown hair was styled in a blunt bob with the bangs cut short above her eyebrows.
“Nothing like Laurie Simmonds,” Jessica noted.
“Nope.” Connor got up from his chair and stretched. His t-shirt rode up a little, showing just a hint of the toned body underneath. Jessica quickly looked away. “You want a coffee?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I sure could do with a caffeine hit.”
They’d stayed at Larry’s bar drinking whiskey and beer until midnight the night before and Jessica was also feeling the slump. “Sure,” she said.
Jessica watched as Connor retreated to the small kitchenette. His dark hair was shorter than it had been when they’d first met six months ago, no longer curling at the nape of his neck, but those green eyes were just as intense. Dressed in blue jeans and a classic white tee, he looked more like a guy from a cologne commercial than he did a PI.
“You want cream and sugar?” he called from out back.
“No thanks!” she yelled.
He returned a few moments later with two steaming mugs. Handed Jessica the Dodgers one that Renee Simmonds had drunk from earlier—thankfully minus the peachy-pink lipstick—and sat down across from her. Before she could reach for the coffee, Connor leaned over the table and placed a hand on top of her own.
“You sure you’re okay working this case?” he asked. “After everything that happened?”
Jessica stared at his hand. Tanned skin, tiny sun-bleached hairs, short, clean nails. Anyone else, and the gesture might have seemed friendly, brotherly even. A guy like Matt Connor, it almost felt like foreplay. She snatched her hand away.
“Of course I am,” she snapped. “It’s not like it’s the first missing persons case I’ve worked since all that shit happened last year. And this one is totally different anyway.”
“Good.”
The sexy, crooked grin was the same as she remembered too.
She took a sip of coffee and swallowed even though it was too hot. Spun the laptop around so Connor could see it. “Amanda Meyers,” she said. “Very different in appearance to both Mallory Wilcox and Laurie Simmonds.”
Connor nodded his agreement.
If Mallory was soft lines, Amanda was all sharp angles. Long, straight nose and severe features. Blonde hair professionally colored at a decent salon and the kind of hard-earned skinniness that suggested a Big Mac hadn’t crossed her glossy lips for at least a decade. Her choice of attire was a navy power suit. She looked like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl but without the shoulder pads.
“What’s her story?” Connor asked.
“Last seen on a Friday night two years ago,” Jessica said. “She checked into the Tranquility Motel on—yep, you’ve guessed it—the Twentynine Palms Highway, having already pre-booked the room earlier in the day. Stayed a couple hours and then left. No visitors that the manager was aware of. She usually spoke with her mom on the weekend. When she didn’t call home Saturday, her folks were a little concerned but not overly so. When they tried to reach Amanda at her office on the Monday morning, and she hadn’t shown for work, alarm bells started ringing.”
“Amanda’s motel and Mallory’s gas station are both in the same county?” Connor asked.
“Yep. San Bernardino County.”
“But Mallory lived in Riverside County so her husband would’ve called the local cops when she didn’t come home.”
“Right,” Jessica said. “Likewise, Amanda and Laurie were both likely reported missing to the LAPD to begin with. So, potentially, three different county police departments involved, paperwork all over the place, and no one quite sure which jurisdiction should be taking responsibility. It’s unlikely a link was established between all three women until Renee Simmonds joined the dots for them. That is, if they are all connected. Sounds like the cops aren’t convinced. Only the location links them, and that highway—also known as State Route 62 by the way—is over 150 miles long and covers two counties. Yes, I checked already.”
“You don’t think there’s a connection?”
Jessica hesitated, shrugged uncomfortably. “I really don’t know.”
“The victimology—if they have all been victims of a crime—is pretty varied. Different age range, physical appearance and background. Nothing in common, as far as we can tell, other than all three being Caucasian females.”
“Yes, but . . . something just feels off to me.”
Connor nodded. “I agree.”
“You think they’re dead?”
“Shit, I really hope not. For Renee’s sake, and the other women’s families too. Mallory Wilcox has two young kids, for Christ’s sake.”
“Best case scenario? If there is a link between them, I mean.”
Connor thought for a moment. “They’re still alive but being held against their will someplace?”
“Maybe. Or how about they all joined a secret community hidden out in the desert?”
Connor snorted. “What, like some sort of cult? Like the Manson Family?”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but without the experimental drug-taking, weird Beatles conspiracies and, you know, going around murdering folk.”
Connor still didn’t look convinced.
Jessica went on, “What I meant was a commune, where people go to disconnect and escape from modern life for a while. Get away from stressful jobs and marriage problems, and over-protective parents.”
“But, surely, if that was the case, they’d at least let their families know they were safe and well?”
Jessica sat back heavily against the seat with a sigh. “Yeah, that’s the part that doesn’t make any sense.”
They were silent for a few moments, both of them deep in their own thoughts.
Finally, Jessica said, “So, what’s the plan, boss?”
Connor laughed, then turned serious. “I say we do a bit of digging into the Meyers and Wilcox women, as well as Laurie Simmonds. What harm can it do?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Jessica said. “Because if there’s someone out there, luring women out to the desert, he might already have the next one lined up.”
4
BURDEN
Burden had figured out very quickly just how much you could learn about a person’s life simply by watching them.
Give it a few days, and you’d know what time they left for work each day, what their Starbucks order was, and which newspaper they liked to read on the morning commute. A few weeks, and you’d also know where they worked out, shopped, and ate. If they liked to party or favored early nights. If they were married or single. If they were screwing someone they shouldn’t be.
If you were willing to spend several months observing your subject? Well, that’s when things got really interesting.