Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(26)

“We took a blood sample,” Gordon said.

Colin nodded, made a note. “And your wife was gone?”

“Yes, but that didn’t set off any alarms for me. She’s an early riser. I got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and then headed downstairs. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but Natalie was nowhere to be found. When I saw her car in the garage, I panicked and rushed back upstairs. Everything was there—purse, car keys, wallet, and cell phone. I called her dad, who lives nearby. He hadn’t seen or talked to her in the past two days.”

“Had she made any calls during the night?”

“No. I checked her phone. No incoming calls, either.”

“She works?”

He nodded.

“What does she do?”

“She’s a psychotherapist. She does inpatient work at a local hospital.”

Colin made a note. “Has your wife had any trouble with anyone she’s been helping?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Would she tell you if there was a problem?”

“Absolutely,” he blurted as if the question offended him. “We share everything. I would know if she was upset or having problems at work.”

“Do you keep an extra key anywhere inside or outside of the house?”

“Yes. When we first moved in, Natalie put a key under the gnome in the planter box.”

Colin made notes. Getting in and out of the house without being noticed or leaving any trace evidence had similarities to the Heartless Killer’s MO. And yet it was way too early to make assumptions. One of the reasons the Heartless Killer had not been caught was that absolutely no one was safe. There was no connection to race, gender, or age that would indicate any one particular target. He’d taken people from their homes, bicyclists from the street, and kids from bus stops.

Colin looked up from his notepad and asked, “Is the planter box at the front of the house or the back?”

“Right outside the front door. I’ll show you.”

They followed him outside. The planter was filled with flowers.

Bailey picked up the gnome.

There was nothing there.

“It’s gone,” he said.





FIFTEEN

Jessie had been at the office for a while when she looked at the time and saw that it was already ten thirty. Looked like Ben Morrison was a no-show. She would give him until noon before she went to check on Higgins.

Her phone rang. It was Adelind Rain. “Sorry I had to run off yesterday,” she said without prelude.

“No problem.”

“I’m calling to let you know I quit my job. My parents are worried, and so am I. I’m moving back to Seattle.”

“Did something happen since I saw you?”

Adelind hesitated before saying, “I got a call in the middle of the night. Heavy breathing. Are you sure Parker Koontz is still in the hospital?”

“I was told he’s in a coma, but I’ll call the hospital to see if there has been any change.”

“If it’s not him, who would be calling me? It makes no sense, and yet it can’t be a coincidence.”

Jessie didn’t have an answer for her.

There was a long pause before Adelind said, “If you could let me know what I owe you, I can get that taken care of before I leave.”

Jessie tapped her pencil against her desk. “You might be subpoenaed when I’m brought to court.”

“I understand.” Adelind proceeded to give Jessie her parents’ address and phone number.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Jessie asked.

“Just be careful.”

The call was disconnected.

As Jessie stared absently ahead, thinking about the Koontz problem, a short and extremely pale man entered her office. He marched right in and took a seat in the chair in front of her desk. His gray hair was messy, his jaw unshaven. The dark shadows under his eyes made him look as if he might be sick.

Without bothering to introduce himself, he reached for a tissue and used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The only person she’d been expecting was Ben Morrison, the crime reporter. And this man was definitely not him.

But something was seriously wrong. Jessie stood. “Do you need help?”

“Are you Jessie Cole, the private investigator?”

“I am.”

“Then yes. I need help.”

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“No,” he answered sharply, his shoulders tense. “My daughter disappeared five days ago, and the police won’t do anything about it. I am not all right.”

Jessie kept a close eye on him as she slowly sank back down into her chair. He looked a bit unhinged, making her wonder if he was on drugs. She knew the best thing she could do was remain calm. “Did you fill out a missing person’s report?”

“Of course I did.”

“What makes you think the police aren’t doing anything?”

“Because they said as much,” he said, his shoulders relaxing some. “Zee has disappeared before. Many times, in fact. She has problems. Don’t we all? But she’s a good person—kind and compassionate. The sort of person who would never harm a flea.”

In a matter of seconds, his anger had changed to hopelessness. A part of her wanted to reach across her desk, place her hands on his, and tell him to take a breath. The other part wondered if the pepper spray was still in the drawer in front of her. “Exactly what sort of problems does your daughter have?”