Shut Your Eyes Tight

How did the missing girls happen to know Hector? Because Dr. Ashton had brought him to Mapleshade sometimes to work on the flower beds. Hector was really hot, and some of the girls got very interested in him.

When Jillian was a student, was there anyone in particular on staff in whom she might have confided? There was a Dr. Kale who was in charge of a lot of things-Dr. Simon Kale-but he’d retired to Cooperstown. She’d found Gurney’s home phone number through the Internet, and he could probably find Kale’s number the same way. Kale was a cranky old man. But he might know stuff about Jillian.

Why was she telling Gurney all this? Because he was a detective, and sometimes she lay awake at night and scared herself with questions about the missing girls. In the daylight she could see that Dr. Ashton was probably right, that a lot of the students had come from sick families-like her own-and it would make sense to get away from them. Get away and not leave any forwarding address. Maybe even change your name. But in the dark… other possibilities came to her mind. Possibilities that made it hard to sleep.

And oh, by the way, the missing girls had another thing in common besides both of them having shown a major interest in Hector with his shirt off working on the flower beds.

What was that?

After they’d graduated from Mapleshade, they’d both been hired to pose, just like Jillian, “for those really hot fashion ads.”

When Gurney returned to the kitchen, to the table where they’d been eating when the phone rang, Madeleine was standing there with the Times Magazine open on the table. As he joined her, staring down at that unsettling depiction of rapacity and self-absorption, he could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck.

She glanced at him curiously, which he interpreted as her way of asking if he wanted to tell her about the phone call.

Grateful for her interest, he recounted it in detail.

Her curiosity sharpened into concern. “Someone needs to find out why those girls are unreachable.”

“I agree.”

“Shouldn’t their local police departments be notified?”

“It’s not that simple. The girls Savannah is talking about were in Jillian’s class, presumably her age, so they’d be at least nineteen by now-all legal adults. If their relatives or other people who saw them regularly haven’t officially reported them as missing, there’s not much the police can do. However…” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and entered Scott Ashton’s number.

It rang four times and was switching to voice mail when Ashton picked up and responded, apparently, to the caller-ID display. “Good evening, Detective Gurney.”

“Dr. Ashton, sorry to bother you, but something’s come up.”

“Progress?”

“I don’t know what to call it, but it’s important. I understand Mapleshade’s privacy policy, as you’ve explained, but we’ve got a situation that requires an exception-access to past enrollment records.”

“I thought I’d been clear about that. A policy to which exceptions are made is no policy at all. At Mapleshade privacy is everything. There are no exceptions. None.”

Gurney felt his adrenaline rising. “Do you have any interest in knowing what the problem is?”

“Tell me.”

“Suppose we had reason to believe that Jillian wasn’t the only victim.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Suppose we had reason to believe that Jillian was one of a number of Mapleshade graduates targeted by Hector Flores.”

“I fail to see…”

“There’s anecdotal evidence suggesting that some Mapleshade graduates who were friendly with Hector Flores are not locatable. Under the circumstances we should find out how many of Jillian’s classmates can be accounted for at this time and how many can’t.”

“God, do you realize what you’re saying? Where is this so-called anecdotal evidence coming from?”

“The source is not the issue.”

“Of course it’s an issue. It’s a matter of credibility.”

“It may also be a matter of saving lives. Think about it.”

“I’ll do that.”

“I’d suggest you think about it right now.”

“I don’t care for your tone, Detective.”

“You think my tone is the problem? Think about this instead: Think about the possibility that some of your graduates might die because of your precious privacy policy. Think about explaining that to the police. And to the media. And to the parents. After you’ve thought about it, get back to me. I have other calls to make.” He broke the connection and took a deep breath.

Madeleine studied his face, smiled crookedly, and said, “Well, that’s one approach.”

“You have others?”

“Actually, I kind of liked yours. Shall I reheat the dinner?”

“Sure.” He took another deep breath, as though adrenaline could be exhaled away. “Savannah gave me the names and phone numbers of the families of the girls-the women, I should say-who she claims are missing. You think I should call them now?”

“Is that your job?” She picked up their pasta plates and carried them over to the microwave.

“Good point,” he conceded, sitting at the table. Something in Ashton’s attitude had gotten to him, was pushing him to respond impulsively. But how to pursue the issue of the “missing” Mapleshade graduates, as he forced himself to think about it calmly, was a question for the police. There were procedural requirements for the “missing person” designation and for the subsequent entry of the descriptive and last-sighting information into state and national databases. More important, it was a manpower issue. If, in fact, it turned out that the case involved multiple mis-pers with a suspicion of felony abduction or worse, a lone investigator was not the answer. The following day’s meeting with the district attorney and the promised BCI representative would provide an ideal forum for discussing Savannah’s call and for passing the matter on.

In the meantime, however, it might be interesting to speak to Alessandro.

Gurney got his laptop from the den and set it up where his plate had been.

A search of the Internet white pages for New York City turned up twelve individuals with that surname. Of course, “Alessandro” was far more likely to be a first name, or a professional name invented to convey a certain image. However, there were no business listings involving the name Alessandro in any of the categories that might relate to the Times ad: photography, advertising, marketing, graphics, design, fashion.

It seemed odd that a commercial photographer would be so elusive-unless he were so successful that the people who mattered knew already how to contact him and his invisibility to the masses was part of his appeal, like an “in” nightclub with no signage.

It occurred to Gurney that if Ashton had acquired his photo of Jillian directly from Alessandro, he’d have the man’s phone number, but this was not the best moment to ask for it. Conceivably, Val Perry would know something about it, might even know Alessandro’s full name. Either way the following day would be the appropriate time to pursue it. And, very important, he needed to keep an open mind. The fact that two former Mapleshade students whom Ashton’s assistant was having trouble contacting had posed for the same fashion photographer as Jillian might be a meaningless coincidence, even if they did have an eye for Hector. Gurney closed his laptop and laid it on the floor beside his chair.

Madeleine returned to the table with their plates, the shrimp and pasta steaming again, and sat across from him.

He picked up his fork, then put it down. He turned to look out through the French doors, but the dusk had deepened and the glass panes, instead of providing a view of the patio and garden, offered only a reflection of the two of them at the table. His eye was drawn to the stern lines on his face, the serious set of his mouth, a reminder of his father.

It set him off on a tangent of loosely linked bits of memories-images from long ago.

Madeleine was watching him. “What are you thinking?”