Zack jots the name and number in his notebook and returns it and the pen to his inside pocket. “Will you tell us what you told the police?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be happy to go over it again, anything to help you.” Dexter takes a moment to compose himself. “The night before Isabella disappeared, everything seemed normal. She came home after finishing her shift at the detox center. We had dinner, watched a movie. When I woke the following morning she was already gone, presumably to class. But that night she didn’t come home.”
“She was employed at a detox center?” Zack asks.
The questioning is taking its toll on Dexter. He looks utterly exhausted.
“Do you want to take a break?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m fine. Isabella was doing her internship at the Alcohol Detoxification Center on Island Street for part of her master’s program. That’s over now. They said they couldn’t hold the position open any longer.”
I’m familiar with the place. “Tough neighborhood and tougher population.” The downtown facility has been the location of the county detoxification center for decades. It mostly houses chronic alcoholics who have been picked up by the police. “Did she ever have a run-in with any of the patients?”
“Not that she mentioned,” he says.
“What about any of the teachers at State? Another student perhaps?” I ask.
Dexter smiles. “When I said she was a fighter, I didn’t mean it literally. Isabella wasn’t dealt an easy hand in life. Her father left when she was a kid. Her mother climbed into the bottle. She had dreams. We both did. But, despite a boatload of hard knocks, Isabella never quit.”
Zack puts his glass down on the coffee table.
Michael leans forward and not so discreetly slips a coaster under it; then he chuckles. “It’s strange, the things I worry about. I may eat ice cream for dinner these days, but my boyfriend’s a neat freak, so I still worry about rings on the table. It’s new. We just bought it a week ago.”
The reference to a boyfriend catches me off guard. “You and Isabella weren’t involved?”
Now Dexter laughs in earnest. “God, no. She knew I was gay before I did.”
“Did your boyfriend live here the same time as Isabella?”
“No. He moved in about a month ago. He met her once or twice before . . .” He pauses, closes his eyes an instant. “Before she disappeared.”
“Do you know if Isabella knew Amy?”
He considers my question for a long moment. “No. I don’t think so. At least I don’t recall ever introducing them. Amy and I weren’t all that close. She kept mostly to herself.”
“Can we ask you to check your cell? See if we can nail down the time and date you went to see her?” I ask.
“Of course.” Dexter stands with effort, then slowly walks over to the desk where the phone is. A few touches later he answers, “It was the twenty-eighth. She called me around four. I’d guess I was there by four thirty, four forty-five.”
Zack’s followed him, looks over his shoulder and verifies. “Do you have the number of the taxi service?”
There’s a nod from Dexter. “It would be the very next one.”
Zack pulls the notebook back out and makes another quick note.
I pull out one of my cards and join them.
I’m tempted to ask to see Isabella’s room, to ask if it’s been disturbed. This revelation has my head spinning as a thousand follow-up questions take form in my mind. Before we jump in further, I want to pull the case files, look at them side by side, and consider the possibilities.
“Call me if you think of anything else that might help us,” I say, offering Dexter my card.
He takes it, his expression hopeful. “You’ll really look into Isabella’s case?”
“We will,” I promise.
Dexter shows us to the door, holds out his hand. Zack grasps it first, then me. “Thank you,” he says.
I leave with the usual stock reassurances that I will stay in touch. After all this time, it would be a miracle if we found Isabella alive, or Amy for that matter.
We came here looking for information on one missing woman. Now suddenly we have two, and I can’t shake the feeling they’re somehow connected.
“Now what?” Zack asks as I pull out of the driveway.
“I say we head back to the office and pull Isabella Mancini’s file.”
• • •
I call ahead and request Isabella’s case file from the SDPD. By the time we get to the office, it’s waiting on my desk along with another. The second is for a twenty-three-year-old male named Adam Markham.
“Someone waiting for the Markham file?” I call out.
Garner, one of the older agents, raises his hand. “That would be me.”
I stroll over and drop it on his desk. “Another homeless person?”
He nods. “His conservator says he hasn’t cashed his check for three months. Who knows how long he’s been gone? This one makes eleven. How’s your case coming?”
I hold up Isabella’s file. “I’m hoping for a break.”
By the time I return to my desk, Zack’s perusing the information I put together on Amy. He runs his finger down the list of appointments I’d prepared. “I don’t see an appointment with Dexter on the list.”
“No, but . . .”
He looks up, catching my hesitation. “What?”
“Another connection.” I remove a sheet of paper from Isabella’s file and hand it to him. “Check this out.”
“What am I looking at?”
“There. Middle of the page. The transcript of Isabella Mancini’s voice mail messages.”
His eyes scan the page, then go back to the list of Amy’s appointments. “Dr. Alexander Barakov. Amy had an appointment scheduled with Barakov five days before she went missing.” He looks again at the sheet I handed him. “And Isabella had an appointment reminder from the same Barakov. For the day she disappeared.”
“That’s quite a coincidence.”
Zack continues to read from Isabella’s police report. “According to this, she never made it. Barakov was questioned but not considered a person of interest.”
“Until now.” The excitement of the chase starts to build. “I don’t know about you, but I just became
Zack shrugs. “Maybe he didn’t know about it?” The voice mail came from her cell phone dump. My guess is the police didn’t share the information with him. Zack picks up his desk phone and dials, then listens. “The office is closed for the next hour for lunch. Let’s grab some ourselves.”
He’s already reaching for his keys.
I grab my purse. “It’s your pick. Where are we going?”
“Hodad’s. There’s one on Tenth Avenue, not far from Barakov’s.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How do you know about Hodad’s? You’ve been in town less than a week.”
He glances in my direction as we wait for the elevator. “Are you kidding? I’ve been on a quest for the perfect burger since I was nine. Red meat and I have enjoyed a long and deeply satisfying relationship. My last partner was a vegetarian. After the first week we decided to split up for lunch. He couldn’t be within ten feet of meat without unleashing a lecture. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against veggies but—”
“You’re a carnivore to the core, huh?” I say. It takes me a second to realize how true that statement is. Zack doesn’t seem to catch any hidden meaning. Why would he? He doesn’t know that I know of his other nature.
He checks the time on his cell. “It’s going to be crowded this time of day and I bet parking is hell downtown. I’ll drop you so you can order. I’d like to try to catch Barakov before he starts seeing his afternoon patients.”
“What do you want?” I ask. We step into the elevator. The doors close.
“Order me a double bacon cheeseburger, rare.”
Double bacon cheeseburger? Rare?
Oh yeah. Carnivore.
