At 1:13 a.m., a message from “Jessie” came in:
Don’t be such a slut and meet me outside. Now, Ash.
Twenty-three minutes before that last message from Jessie, she had sent another:
Plz, K, need 2 talk 2 u. I’m freezing.
And eight minutes before that, at 12:42 a.m., Jessie had texted:
i see u with that guy. we need 2 talk now. im getting worried. outside 10 min.
Sean frowned. There were other messages between Jessie and Kirsten, but the battery was flashing low. He saw that there were nineteen voice mail messages, but didn’t know if the phone would last until he could retrieve them all. He pocketed the phone. He’d go back to the hotel, charge the phone, and download everything. He’d listen to the voice mail while Lucy put together the text message threads chronologically.
“What did it say?” Trey asked.
“I’m trying to create a time line before she lost her phone. I need to download the text messages and retrieve her voice mails. Go home, Trey.”
“No.”
Sean stopped walking. “I appreciate you calling me. You did the right thing, and I have information that may lead me to where she’s hiding out. But it’s going to take all my time and concentration, and I can’t worry about you getting into trouble.”
“I’m not!”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t think about going back to talk to that guy.”
“No,” he said, averting his eyes.
“Trey, you’re eighteen, you can do what you want, but I’m telling you to stay out of it.”
Trey glared at him.
“You’re not going to listen to me, are you? What are your plans? How are you going to find her? You don’t know anything about her life as Ashleigh, and you damn well better not go back to Ryan’s apartment.”
“I have to do something!”
Sean sympathized with the love-struck teen. If it were him, he would have gotten into far more trouble if he were looking for his missing ex-girlfriend.
“Do you have a picture of Kirsten?”
“The same one you have, but wallet size.”
“Good. Get a list of all the hospitals and clinics in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Show her picture to several staff members; see if anyone has seen her.”
“The police sent out a notice to all hospitals,” he said.
“Yes, and so did I. But some of these places get busy; they might not have made the connection. And in her message, she said she couldn’t walk. She might have broken her leg or sprained her ankle, which means she may have gone to a clinic to get it looked at.”
“There have to be hundreds of those places-it would take all week to go to all of them.”
“Start in Brooklyn closest to Sunset Park. That’s where the party was. Work your way out from there.”
“She said she could see a bridge,” Trey said.
Smart. “Good point. Find clinics near the bridges leading out of Brooklyn. She also said it was a nice place, so the neighborhood may be a bit upscale.”
Trey nodded. “Okay, I can do that. Do you really think it’ll help find her?”
“Yes, it gives us one more avenue.” He got out his wallet and handed Trey all but a few of his business cards. “Give these out. Tell people to call me if they remember anything after you leave, got it?”
“Got it.”
Sean waited across from Ryan’s apartment to make sure that Trey didn’t circle around and go back. Sean considered going up himself-he didn’t think Ryan knew anything more, but he needed a lesson in how to treat women. Trey hadn’t quite figured out what “a little action” at a rave meant, but Sean knew exactly what Ryan was doing. Had he been the one to drug her? Would he do it again to another girl?
Sean crossed the street and went back up to Ryan’s apartment. He didn’t need to be buzzed in-the buzzer was a standard electronic gadget that Sean easily bypassed.
Ryan was leaving with a basket of laundry. “Hey,” he said, nervous.
Sean grabbed the basket and dropped it to the floor. He got in Ryan’s face until Ryan backed up against the wall.
“I don’t like you,” Sean said. “You use women without a thought.”
“I–I d-didn’t,” Ryan stuttered. “Sh-sh-she was willing. I swear.”
“Did you drug her?”
“No!”
“I know she was high on something.”
“Everyone was. The drinks were spiked. It was a really wild party, but I swear, I didn’t give her anything. I wouldn’t do that! P-p-please believe me.”
Ryan tried to squirm away and Sean put his forearm across the skinny kid’s chest and held him there.
“You may not have given her a mickey, but you sure took advantage of it.”
“I’m s-sorry!”
“I have a lot of friends. I’m putting the word out on you. If you ever show up at another rave and take advantage of another girl, and I find out, you won’t have a dick left to screw around with.”
Sean turned and walked away, confident that the kid believed everything he’d said.
TWENTY-TWO
Suzanne was in a fantastic mood after the morning interrogation of Wade Barnett, serving the warrants, and a late working lunch with Vic Panetta to compare notes. She had the computer from Barnett’s apartment with deleted files her cybercrimes team was confident they could rebuild; and at Barnett’s office, Panetta had found a coffee mug with a picture of Wade and Alanna Andrews smiling with a heart.
The only little tickle of doubt that crept into her mind was why Barnett would delete his home computer files but not destroy the mug that proved he’d had a relationship with the first victim, or the half-written apology. They also hadn’t found the victims’ shoes in either place.
Panetta walked back to FBI headquarters with Suzanne from the deli where they’d eaten, and said, “We have a viable suspect; we just need to seal the deal.”
“We’re arraigning him on perjury Monday morning,” Suzanne told Panetta. “He’ll make bail, unless we find hard physical evidence in the next thirty-six hours and change the charge to four counts murder.”
“Looks like I’ll be missing dinner with my family tonight.”
“Sorry,” Suzanne said without meaning it. Late nights and weekends were the nature of the business, and every cop who ever had a case take ahold of him knew it.
“Time for a lot of legwork. I’ll send Hicks and a team out to start interviewing co-workers, friends, and family.”
“You take Barnett’s side, we’ll work the victims’ friends on my end. Except Thorpe, Barnett’s lawyer, put the quash on talking to Dennis Barnett, the nineteen-year-old brother.”
“Why?”
“He stated that the kid was mentally incapacitated. I don’t buy it. He’s slow, but not severely handicapped. And get this: he told me that he drove his brother to these parties after Wade lost his license for those two DWIs.”
“Did he take Wade to the parties in question?”
“I was working him until the damn lawyer walked in. I can get a warrant to interview him. I’ll probably need a shrink in the room to testify that he wasn’t under duress, was competent to answer questions. Dennis Barnett is our single best witness, but he doesn’t want to get his brother in trouble.”
“You don’t think they were working together?” Panetta asked.
“I sat with Dennis for nearly twenty minutes. I don’t think the kid can lie; at least, he won’t be able to keep it
