Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(12)

Todd hails from southern Arizona originally. He dresses like a cowboy and looks for all the world like your basic good ol’ boy, but he’s a forensic accountant and one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. People sometimes go by appearances and dismiss him as a country hick without realizing that his homespun appearance—western shirt, jeans, and boots—disguises the brilliant, nerdlike mind lurking under his customary Stetson.

Once SHIT folded, Todd began doing his consulting gigs from a ranch outside Olympia, where he lives with wife, Julie, and daughter, Sabrina. As a private investigator, I’ve used his services before on occasion, and I felt as though Todd was my best bet for picking up any kind of financial or public-record trail for Christopher Danielson.

“Hey, Beau,” Todd said when he answered the phone. “How’s it going? Are you and Mel ready for the holidays?”

I glanced around the room. Mel had made a few more subtle adjustments to my Christmas decor. The place was looking suitably festive.

“Pretty much,” I said. “How about you?”

“We’re getting Sabrina a pony for Christmas,” Todd told me, “a mare. We’ll be picking her up later today.”

I had enough trouble looking after a dog. I didn’t want to consider the complications of having a pony, especially in the doo-doo department. “Good for you,” I said.

“So what can I help you with?” Todd asked. “You don’t usually haul off and call me out of the goodness of your heart.”

“You’re right,” I said, “because I do need some assistance. I’m working a missing-persons case. A kid named Christopher Danielson went missing in 2006. His older brother, Jared, is looking for him. Annie Hinkle, the grandmother in Ohio who raised the two boys after their mother was murdered, is on her deathbed. She and Chris had a falling-out when he was a kid, and he took off for Homer, Alaska, to live with his paternal grandparents. Annie is hoping for some kind of reconciliation with Chris before she kicks off, but when Jared went looking for him, he found out that Chris had disappeared from Homer in 2006.”

“You mentioned that their mother was murdered,” Todd put in. “Was this one of your cases?”

I believe I already mentioned that Todd’s a smart guy, but it took a moment for me to formulate a response. “Their mother was my partner at Seattle PD,” I said at last. “She was murdered by her ex, who put a bullet in his own head a couple minutes later.”

The silence that followed seemed to last forever. Todd spoke first, simply picking up the specifics of this case without delving into any of the painful issues from the past.

“How old was Christopher when he disappeared?” Todd asked.

“Seventeen,” I answered, calling up the information from what Jared had given me the previous day. “He disappeared sometime during his senior year at Homer High School. After leaving Ohio he spent several years living with his paternal grandparents, Gary and Linda Danielson. By the time Chris went missing, the grandfather had passed away.”

“Do we have an exact date for that disappearance?”

“No,” I replied. “We don’t.”

“Date of birth?” Todd asked.

“September eighteenth, 1988.”

“Social Security number?”

“No idea,” I replied, “but I’m sure you’ll find one. Given the nature of the boys’ parents’ deaths, the two sets of grandparents weren’t exactly on the best of terms, and that kind of information wasn’t passed along to the folks in Ohio.”

“Was a missing-persons report filed at the time?”

“Maybe, maybe not. We’re not sure.”

“We?” Todd asked.

“Jared and I,” I answered. “Jared, Chris’s older brother, is a newly ordained priest now—Father Danielson. He’s looked as far as he’s been able to but hasn’t found anything. Unfortunately, he isn’t blessed with your kind of Internet search skills. Neither am I, for that matter.”

As Todd and I talked, I was thumbing through the copy of The Log that Jared had left behind. That particular yearbook’s original owner, a girl whose name was Edwina Moran, had been a sophomore the year Chris was a senior. As I glanced at all the very young faces pictured there, I wondered which of the guys in Chris’s class might have been pals with him. Were any of those people still living in Homer? Did any of them remember him? Had they wondered and worried about Chris’s sudden disappearance from their midst? And if so, why hadn’t there been more of a reaction to his absence? Although, since Chris’s grandmother hadn’t seen fit to file a missing-persons report, I could see why none of his friends might have done so on their own. After all, since they were just a bunch of kids, who was going to pay any attention to them?

“All right,” Todd said finally. “This gives me a starting place. I’ll see what I can do, and I’ll send you whatever turns up.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You know where to send the bill.”

“Didn’t you say that the boy’s mother was your partner?” Todd asked.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Yes, she was.”

“In that case there won’t be a bill.”

That blue line may be thin, but it’s very strong, and there was a lump in my throat when I answered. “Appreciate it, Todd,” I said, “more than you know.”