around their faces. They were happy. And alive.
Andy considered stealing the photo, but just the thought made him feel like a creep-stealing from an old lady with Alzheimer's. So he tried to memorize Frankie Doyle's image. Hers was not a hard face to look at. Her hair was tucked inside the hood of her parka; he assumed a girl named O'Hara would have red hair-or perhaps it was just wishful thinking, given his thing for redheads-but there was something about her that made him want to find her. To see her in real life.
Mrs. O'Hara was focused on the soaps, so Andy walked into the adjacent kitchen. On the small table was a short stack of bills. He thumbed through them and saw a telephone bill.
'Mrs. O'Hara, does Frankie call you?'
'Frankie's on the phone?'
'Uh, no, ma'am.'
Andy removed the telephone bill and scanned down the numbers listed for the calls that came daily. All were incoming but no location was noted; the numbers were all 888 prefixes. Hollis was right; Frankie was smart. She was using a prepaid phone card to call her mother. She could be calling from New York or L.A.; there was no way to know.
Andy couldn't think of anything else he might learn from Colleen O'Hara, so he went back into the front room and said goodbye then handed the framed photo back to her.
'Mrs. O'Hara, where was this photo taken?'
She put on her reading glasses and looked at the photo.
'That's Frankie… and Abby.'
'Yes, ma'am. Where were they in this photo?'
'In the snow.'
'What state?'
She gazed off as if trying to find the answer written on the ceiling. Andy thought of his father, how his memory had deteriorated as a result of his liver disease. His forgetfulness frustrated the hell out of Paul Prescott; at least Colleen O'Hara didn't know to be frustrated.
'Thanks, Mrs. O'Hara.' He gave her his business card. 'When Frankie calls, ask her to call me. It's important.'
She smiled.
'I'll let myself out.'
He was almost out the door when she said, 'Montana.'
Benny had said that Frankie Doyle had never traveled farther than fifty miles from Boston, so the Montana photo must have been taken after she had left Boston three years ago. Frankie Doyle had moved to Montana.
Where Andy Prescott now was.
Billings was in eastern Montana and the largest city in the state with a population of 100,000. Hollis McCloskey had said Frankie Doyle might have moved to a small county in a state out west to change her name. So Andy tried to think like Frankie Doyle. There was usually a statutory period to establish residency, typically six months, so Frankie would have to live in the county for at least that long before she could change her name. So she would find a small county near a bigger city. Billings wasn't Boston, but it would have some amenities. That's what he would do; maybe that's what she had done.
He had flown from Boston to Billings and rented a Lincoln Navigator. He had consulted a map and found the least populated counties near Billings: Golden Valley (population 1021), Petroleum (population 497), and Treasure (population 735). The latter county was located ninety-three miles east of Billings on Interstate 94. An easy drive.
Andy exited the interstate and drove into Hysham, population 330, the county seat of Treasure County. The Yellowstone River flowed through town; rolling land stretched in all directions as far as he could see. It was a stark and desolate landscape, and it was in one of Frankie Doyle's sketches at her mother's house.
He was in the right town.
Andy parked in front of the Treasure County Courthouse. He hurried inside-he wasn't dressed for thirty-eight degrees-and into the county clerk's office. He asked for name change filings from two to three years before for 'Doyle, Frankie.' The records were not online. The clerk had to search manually. But she found it.
Two years before, Frankie Doyle had changed her name to Rachel Holcombe.
Andy checked the tax records, but he could find no real estate or vehicles owned by a Rachel Holcombe. He found no Rachel Holcombe listed in the phone book for the greater Billings area. Andy bought a copy of the name change filing and went outside. He called Hollis McCloskey. When McCloskey came on the line, Andy said, 'Frankie Doyle is now Rachel Holcombe. H-o-l-c-o-m-b-e. Find her, Hollis.'
SIXTEEN
The cell phone woke Andy at six-thirty on the last day of October.
'Hello.'
'Did you find Frankie Doyle?'
Russell Reeves.
'I found out she got divorced and moved to Montana three years ago. Changed her name.'
'Why?'
'She's running from her ex-husband. He hit her.'
'So you found her in Montana?'
'No. She moved again.'
'Where?'
'I don't know. Hollis searched under her new name, couldn't find her anywhere in Montana, so I flew home last night. I'm going to see him this morning.'
'Find her, Andy.'
Two hours later, Andy walked into Hollis McCloskey's office. The PI smiled.
'You didn't have to dress up, Andy.'
Andy was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a 'Don't Blame Me-I Voted Kinky' T-shirt. Hollis was being sarcastic. Again.
'Nothing else was clean.'
Hollis nodded. 'Best thing about having a wife, Andy. Clean clothes.'
Agent McCloskey was a romantic bastard.
'Tell me about Rachel Holcombe.'
'She ceased to exist a year ago. Same deal.'
'How can she do that?'
'Because she's smart. She knows what she's doing. Andy, this girl, she does not want to be found.'
'So she divorced Mickey, moved to Montana, changed her name, moved again, and changed her name again?'
Hollis nodded. 'She must really be afraid of him.'
'He didn't seem that interested in finding her.'
'Assholes like Mickey, they don't usually fess up.'
'But he's working at his garage every day.'
'Probably hired someone to find her. Like you did.'
'But you didn't. Find her.'
Hollis turned his palms up. 'Look at the bright side, Andy: neither will Mickey. Oh, I ran criminal background checks on Frankie Doyle, Frankie O'Hara, and Rachel Holcombe with that DOB. No arrests or convictions. She's clean.'
'Any luck on her social security number? That would follow her through her name changes.'
'It would, but she's using a fake number.'
'How do you know?'
