“Thirty-two missed calls,” Sullivan said, looking over Tobias’s shoulder. “Your boy’s popular, in addition to having ancient taste in technology.”
“He’s not my—” Instead of completing his thought, Tobias shook his head, finger hesitating over the check voicemail option. “He doesn’t have a lot of money.”
“Present living conditions excluded, I guess. You know his passcode?”
“No.” Tobias cleared the missed calls alert, and another alert popped up informing them that Ghost had seventy-six unopened text messages.
Sullivan whistled. “Very popular.”
Tobias thumbed the newest one open. It was from a contact named Piglet and had been sent about two hours ago.
Please be home. Please.
Sullivan raised his eyebrows. “Whoever Piglet is sounds pretty—”
“That’s me,” Tobias muttered. “It’s—you know. Winnie the Pooh. Ghost thinks he’s funny.”
“Oh.” Sullivan tried to hide his amusement. “Gotcha. Here, go back to the oldest one first. That’ll give us an idea of when he left the phone behind.”
Tobias obeyed, and found that the earliest unopened text was from July 22nd at 11:00 p.m.—ten days ago. The contact name was Top Hat Bkpg 7, and the message read: you still off the market? Wouldn’t say no to some hot sexxx. Can do double if that changes your mind.
The next dozen texts were all similar—requests and demands and pleas, some with contact names like Guns CL 4 or heels&lace MB on 6th, some from unknown numbers. The language in the messages ran the gamut from polite and businesslike to lewd and juvenile.
After the fourth or fifth offer to “bang that ass,” Sullivan glanced at Tobias, who was keeping his eyes on the phone, his cheeks bright red.
“What does your buddy do for a living exactly?” Sullivan asked.
Stiffly, Tobias replied, “He’s in sales.”
Yes, Tobias was definitely a Good Boy.
“Not a cop,” Sullivan reminded him. “I don’t care if he turns tricks. I’m not looking to get him in trouble, remember?”
Tobias didn’t respond or look over.
Sullivan studied the strong line of his profile—all that he could see from this angle—a little touched by Tobias’s attempt at loyalty in the face of overwhelming evidence. “That’s okay. No problem. I’m going to work from that assumption for now, though, because BKPG—that’s Backpage. And CL...that’s probably Craig’s List. Sort of telling in combination.”
Sullivan peered around the condo, noting the expensive furnishings. Someone had paid for all of it, and he’d guess it was the same someone who owned the place under the name of a dead woman. “Hard to believe he can afford all this when he’s finding customers with personal ads.”
Tobias followed his gaze, a crease appearing between his brows. “Yeah.”
“Does he work for someone?”
“No way.” Tobias gave a short laugh. “Ghost isn’t the type to take orders. He wouldn’t let someone have that kind of power over him.”
Gently, Sullivan said, “Things can get rough in his line of work. Maybe he needed some help, decided to share the profits in the interest of having someone to watch his back.”
“You don’t understand.” Tobias continued flipping through texts, pausing when he got to one sent three days ago from a contact named K.
Update.
And yesterday, another text from the same contact with the same message.
“He wouldn’t let anyone sell him.” But Tobias didn’t sound quite as convinced this time.
He knows who K is. And judging by the way his fingers had tightened around the phone, Tobias wasn’t pleased by K’s involvement in whatever was going on. Sullivan was tempted to push, wondering how K might be connected to Nathalie Trudeau, but in the end, he didn’t say anything. If Tobias did know K’s identity, he was hiding it to protect Ghost, and Sullivan didn’t want to damage the tentative trust between them.
The only texts not from clients were all from either Piglet or someone nicknamed Rocky, who sounded equal parts concerned and annoyed by Ghost’s silence, and was, according to Tobias, another friend of theirs. When they’d read them all, Tobias closed the phone and put it in his pocket.
They went through the rest of the condo. The refrigerator had been emptied of everything except the ice cube trays—further evidence that Ghost had left willingly—and the trash had been emptied. No new bag had been put in the can.
There was no trash in the can in the bathroom either, and no shampoo, conditioner, or toothbrush.
“Maybe he went out of town, and he’ll be back in a few days,” Tobias said without much hope in his voice. He’d probably realized that his theory didn’t fit the abandoned phone or the key on the counter.
Sullivan said, “Maybe.”
There were two bedrooms, the smaller one void even of furniture, and the other occupied by a neatly made queen-size bed. The headboard was bare, as was the top of the dresser where people usually kept loose change or jewelry or the like. The drawers were only half full; Ghost had taken some clothing, but not all of it.
The nightstand drawer held an unopened box of condoms and a bottle of lube still in its plastic casing. As Sullivan closed it, he caught a glimpse of a black synthetic knife grip lodged in a sheath that had been duct-taped to the side of the nightstand nearest the mattress. Sullivan reached down and tugged the knife free—it was short and heavy, the real deal, and when he slid the blade against the edge of the nightstand, it cut into the wood like scissors through paper.
“That’s a nasty piece of work.” Sullivan glanced at Tobias, who shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Sullivan wondered if it was the blade or the sex supplies that did it. With raised eyebrows, he put the knife back where it was, within easy reach of a sleeper.
“Is your buddy seeing anyone?” Sullivan kept his voice casual.
Tobias didn’t look at him. “I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“I’m not going to talk
