CHAPTER EIGHT
Monday afternoon, Matt shook snow out of his eyes as he lifted the dog out of the SUV. “Easy, Brody. You sprained your shoulder. The vet said no more jumping down out of the truck.”
Matt was going to need a ramp. The shepherd weighed ninety pounds, and he did not like being carried. Matt set him carefully on the driveway. Brody limped into the house.
As they entered the kitchen, Greta whined and dug at the door of her crate. After Brody was settled in his dog bed, Matt grabbed a leash and freed Greta. The black dog jumped on Matt and lunged for Brody.
“Fuss.” Matt commanded her to heel, but she was too excited and full of energy to be obedient. He snapped the leash to her collar. “Brody can’t play today.”
He took her into the bedroom and changed into running clothes. When he turned around, Greta was chewing something.
“What do you have?” Matt pried open her mouth and extracted a chewed-up sock. “That was fast.”
He opened the garbage can with the foot pedal and tossed the soggy mess into it. Then he grabbed a jacket, gloves, and a hat and led her from the house. Luckily, the snow wasn’t yet accumulating on the roads, and a half-hour run settled her down.
For now.
Matt returned to the house, gave Greta a chew bone, and showered. He dressed and spent the next half hour reviewing Eli’s social media history. He had accounts on both Facebook and Twitter. Eli’s Facebook page saw little activity—a few pictures a week of Eli with friends, grinning selfies, an occasional random dog picture. The Facebook account was very tame.
Matt switched to Twitter. A few posts in, he double-checked to make sure he had the right Eli Whitney. The profile photo was the same person, but his Twitter account was completely different. Unlike the three-a-week, PG-rated Facebook posts, Eli posted to Twitter multiple times a day, more than enough to provide a sense of his daily activities. Matt scrolled through photos. Eli clearly liked to party. Matt sighed at a photo of Eli chugging a beer bong.
Didn’t Eli know future employers would look at these pictures?
Matt scrolled to Eli’s weekend activity. He made fun of a girl with crooked teeth and posted a pic of a guy with saggy pants bending over to pick up his backpack at a bus stop on campus. Eli captioned that photo ANOTHER EPISODE IN THE PHIL MCCRACKEN FILES. In yet another picture, Eli mocked a homeless man sleeping in a doorway.
So, Eli was a good grandson, but he was also juvenile, and he could be an ass. Saturday evening, he posted a photo of himself doing shots, pregaming for a party at an address on Oak Street. Anyone who followed his Twitter feed knew where Eli had been going on Saturday night. Matt made a note to verify the location. Eli even posted when he called for a rideshare. No one needed to stalk Eli. He practically posted his agenda.
Matt’s phone rang. The display read SCARLET FALLS PD.
He answered the call. “Matt Flynn here.”
“This is Detective Stella Dane returning your call.”
Matt had left her a message earlier. “Thank you. I wanted to talk to you about Eli Whitney.”
“How do you know Eli?” she asked in a wary voice.
“His grandmother is a friend of the family. She asked me to look into the case,” Matt said. “I used to be a sheriff’s deputy with Randolph County.” Local agencies often cooperated, but Matt didn’t remember ever working with Detective Dane.
“I’m at the station now if you want to drop by,” she said. “I’ll be here for about an hour.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.” Matt returned a tired Greta to her crate. Brody was asleep on his dog bed, his pain meds clearly kicking in. “Be back soon,” he said to the dogs on his way out. “Be good.”
At the Scarlet Falls Police Station, the desk sergeant recognized Matt from his days at the sheriff’s department. Matt flashed his ID, but the sergeant waved it away. “Go on in.”
Matt passed a few empty cubicles. Detective Dane looked up from her computer as he approached. She was tall with black hair and assessing cop eyes. Despite her heavy sweater, she looked cold. She wrapped both hands around a steaming mug. A half-eaten deli sandwich sat on a plate in front of her.
He held out a hand and introduced himself. “Call me Matt. Thanks for agreeing to speak with me.”
“Stella.” She half stood to shake his hand. “I asked around. You check out.” Sitting, she waved at her food. “Excuse me for eating.”
“Please go ahead. Long day?”
She sighed. “Yes. I’d been working a string of residential burglaries nonstop before I caught the Whitney case.”
“How did the search go this morning?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “What do you know about Eli’s disappearance?” Then she took a bite of her sandwich and waited for him to respond.
Matt settled into the chair next to her desk. “That he left a party late Saturday night and never got home, and that he used a rideshare app.”
She swallowed. “The rideshare driver he called after the party said he was a no-show.”
“Was the party on Oak Street?”
“Yes.” She gave him the house number, which matched the address Eli had given on Twitter. “The party was large enough that the street was clogged. When Eli left, he summoned his ride from a block away, according to the rideshare app GPS.” She wiped her hands on a napkin, picked up her phone, and pulled up a map. “Here is the house.” She moved the screen slightly. “Here’s where he requested a ride.” She moved the screen an additional two blocks. “And here’s where his cell phone was found last night on the banks of the Scarlet River.”
“That’s why you had the dogs out this morning.” Matt sat back.
“Yes.” The detective drank her coffee. “The lake is frozen, but the river is only partially iced over. If he fell in . . .”
Then he’s probably dead.
“Did you hear about the body found in Grey Lake today?” Matt asked.
“I did, but the ME removed the remains from the scene before I could get there.” Stella zoomed out on her map. “The body’s location is a fair distance from the riverbank where the cell phone was found. I don’t see how the current could have carried the body that far. Then again, we didn’t find anything at all. I had three dogs out there. If there was scent, they would have located it. Maybe the boy was never on the riverbank. Maybe the phone was stolen or dropped there.”
“My K-9 found the body in Grey Lake.”
Stella’s gaze snapped up from her phone. “But you’re not a deputy anymore.”
“That’s correct. I was just helping out.”
Stella took in that bit of information with a slight lift of one brow. “Then you know the body can’t be ID’d visually.”
“Yes. He doesn’t have a face. Does his grandmother know about the body?” Matt didn’t want to think of Mrs. Whitney getting the news that her grandson had died, let alone learning about what had been done to the body.
“I don’t know,” Stella said. “I took over the case late last night, after the cell phone turned up. I tried to reach Mrs. Whitney early this morning, when we started the search, but she didn’t answer her phone. I plan to drive to her house as soon as I hear from the ME. His family doctor is here in town, so Dr. Jones will have his medical records.”