“Thanks.” Despite the sincerity in his tone, the word still sounded tight and clipped.
If he opened up too much, everything might pour out. I knew what that was like. But I couldn’t push him.
My thoughts shifted. I remembered my developing relationship with Michael, and I wondered if Hunter and I needed to talk about that.
Maybe.
But I also knew this would be a horrible time to bring that up. There were other more important things going on.
Hunter released a long breath and glanced back at me, something seeming to mentally shift inside him. “I need to keep investigating. But I’ll call you if I have any more questions. And, in the meantime, stay out of trouble, okay?”
“Of course.” I said the words easily, as if someone had simply reminded me to take my trash out.
“I mean it, Elliot. Stay safe, okay?” His gaze locked onto mine.
“And I mean it when I tell you that I will. Or that I will do my best, at least.” I offered a feeble shrug.
Hunter offered one final “goodbye” before I climbed out.
I really hoped that when he said stay out of trouble, he didn’t mean that I should stay out of this investigation. Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to do that.
Not while knowing Velma was involved.
Chapter Four
Oscar, Michael, and I met back at the office fifteen minutes later. I’d never seen Oscar look as intense as he did as he stared at Michael and me from behind his massive throne—I mean, desk. His nostrils flared, his forehead furrowed, and his lips pressed tight.
“We’re not going to be able to do anything at her complex right now,” Oscar started, tapping a pudgy finger on his desk. “Police are crawling all over it. So we’re going to need to figure out something else.”
“What do you want us to do?” Michael asked.
“Great question. For starters, I’d like the two of you to see if you can find any security camera footage around her apartment.”
For the first time since I’d known Oscar, he almost seemed like a leader, like someone who was in charge of more than just financing our operations or acting as a figurehead. As Michael would say, the man had finally stepped up to the plate.
“It would have been dark outside,” Michael said. “I’m not sure if we’re going to be able to tell anything from any of that security footage. But it’s still worth a shot.”
Oscar tapped his finger against the desk again. “I already talked to several of her friends. None of them have heard from her. We don’t have the capabilities to trace her cell phone, though I’m sure that’s one of the first things the police will try to do.”
A moment of silence fell between us all.
“I think we all know who is responsible for this.” I hesitated to say the words out loud, but we couldn’t keep dancing around the fire like we didn’t have a guinea pig to roast. “This has to be the work of the Beltway Killer.”
Oscar visibly flinched at my harsh words. “You might be right. But I don’t want to think like that.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” I continued. “I really doubt we’re going to make much headway by talking to her friends or looking at this security footage. I think the best way we dive into this case is by examining the Beltway Killer and all his previous victims. Certainly, there are things about each victim that tie those cases together. We need to look at the locations where the victims were left. Look at timelines. Do everything we can to pinpoint who this guy is.”
“Elliot,” Michael started, a slight hesitation to his voice as he leaned toward me. “I love your enthusiasm, but the police haven’t been able to find this guy for the past three years. Why do you think that we are going to be able to?”
“Because we’re Driscoll and Associates.” My voice rose with conviction. “That’s what we do. We close cases. We don’t give up. And, now, one of our own has been taken. It’s more important than ever.”
Oscar’s eyebrows shot up after I finished my speech, and both men offered a slow, surprised nod.
“You’re right.” Oscar continued to slowly nod. “That’s probably going to be our best plan of action right now. We need to start examining this guy. Maybe we can even talk to the families of some of these victims and try to find some commonalities among them.”
I stood, happy that we finally had a feasible plan and eager to get going on it. “I can start putting together a dossier of those people. Then maybe Michael and I can visit the first victim’s family and continue down the list.”
Oscar nodded. “I like that. While you do that, I’m going to call Velma’s friend Cindy again and confirm the details about last night. Then I’m going to call Kitty Kight.”
“Why would you call Kitty Kight?” The reporter had done an article on the charity softball game that Michael and I had participated in this past weekend.
“She did a story on the Beltway Killer. Maybe she can also offer us some insights.”
“It sounds like it’s worth a shot,” I said.
“And as you guys do that, I’ll call the rest of Velma’s friends and see if they have any information,” Michael said. “Maybe she said something last night that might give us a clue.”
With that said, we all stood and went to our respective work areas.
We had no time to waste on getting to work on this.
Michael and I decided to go back to the beginning of the Beltway Killer’s murder spree—back to victim number one.
Three years had passed, and five women were now dead.
He only struck areas around the Capital Beltway, and his last victim had been found in Storm River just a week ago.
Michael and I headed out to talk to the family of Trisha Thomas, his first victim. Trisha had been twenty-four years old, black, and she had a fabulous smile. From everything I’d read about her online, she’d been vivacious and had the whole world ahead of her.
The killer seemed to target women who were relatively alone. That wasn’t to say his victims didn’t have families, but those units weren’t necessarily close by. These were women who were on their own, who were attractive, and who were in their twenties.
After Trisha had been killed, her mom and brother had moved to the area from South Carolina in hopes of finding the real killer. I’d set up the appointment with them, explaining that we were private investigators looking into the Beltway Killer. I’d been careful not to mention that somebody else was missing. That wasn’t my news to share.
But I still couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Velma was missing.
I frowned as I stared out the window at the road as it blurred by. Velma was a character within herself. Her antics made me laugh, and I’d always liked the woman, even though we were just starting to get to know each other.
She had curly blonde hair that she liked to wear piled on top of her head, she liked flashy clothes and big earrings, and she spoke with a Southern drawl.
When I closed my eyes, I sometimes started to imagine where she was right now. Or what was happening to her. Or how scared she must be.
Did she know the person who had taken her? Did she realize what was coming?