Monday Mourning

The party you are dialing cannot—”

It was the same message I’d been hearing since Friday.

I clicked off and returned to the log. Today’s date—5:14:44 A.M.

The call had been dialed from Anne’s cell. But Anne’s cell wasn’t on.

What did that mean?

Anne had dialed, then turned her phone off? Her battery went dead? She moved out of range?

Someone else had used Anne’s phone? Who? Why?

Again scrolling through OPTIONS, I chose SEND MESSAGE, typed in “Call me!” and hit SEND.

I punched another number. Tom answered after four rings, sounding groggy.

Anne was not there. He hadn’t heard a word, nor had any of the friends he’d contacted.

I threw the phone at my pillow. Normally, I leave the phone on my bedstand at night, but the stress of events had broken that routine. I’d left the damn thing in my purse. Make one small mistake and it nails you.

Sleep was out of the question. I showered, fed Birdie, and left for the lab.

Ryan entered my office at a little past eight.

“Claudel won the lottery.

I looked up.

“The prints taken from the fake Stephen Menard belong to a loser named Neal Wesley Catts.”

“Who is he?”

“Street corner thug. Drifter. Did one bump for peddling weed. That’s how his prints got into the system. California’s faxing his sheet.”

“Claudel’s following up?”

“He intends to know every toilet this punk ever flushed.”

“Take a look at this.” I tapped my pencil on Claudel’s MP list.

Ryan circled to my side of the desk.

“I’ve marked the possibles.”

Ryan scanned the names I’d checked.

“The nonwhites are out.”

“And those who were too old or too tall when they disappeared.”

Ryan looked at me.

“I know. Without lower limits on age and height, I can’t really limit the subset that much.” I flapped a hand at the skeletons in my lab. “These girls could have survived years in captivity.”

Like Angela Robinson, Anique Pomerleau, and Tawny McGee.

“I cut samples for DNA testing on Angie Robinson.”

“The one wrapped in leather?”

I nodded.

“I think you’re right.”

“The coroner’s office is contacting the Robinson family. We’ll need a maternal relative to run mitochondrial comparisons.”

I slumped back.

“Anne called this morning.”

“That’s great.” Ryan’s face broke into a huge smile.

“No. It’s not.”

When I told him what had happened the smile collapsed.

“I’ve called the taxi companies. They’re checking their records for a pickup at your place Friday.