At least, Jonah figured that was it.
He finished his meal, also aware that more people were coming in for breakfast or brunch or lunch as the area churches were letting out. He ordered two coffees to go, paid his bill and left a generous tip, then managed to leave the Diner without anyone saying anything to him except good morning.
He had learned long ago that a preoccupied expression on a cop’s face was enough to keep all but the most determined busybody from asking questions he didn’t want to answer. He had perfected that preoccupied expression, though it certainly wasn’t faked now.
He drove his Jeep roughly half a mile to the narrow side road that ran along the stream for a stretch, parking behind Sarah’s cruiser. She was leaning against the front fender, hands in the pockets of her jacket, looking down toward the stream with a frown.
“Anything new?” he asked as he joined her and handed over her coffee.
“No,” she said, gloomy. She took a sip of the hot coffee. “I just keep asking myself why the judge. Why those kids. What the hell’s going on, Jonah?”
“I wish I knew. They’re all white, they all live in Serenity, and they all disappeared sometime between midnight and six, as far as we can tell. All disappeared during the night. Those are the only commonalities I can think of.”
“Shit.”
He hesitated, then said, “Your watch—”
“Not wearing one.” She didn’t look at him. “But as near as I can figure, my cell lost the time I was here earlier, and the time I was down there using the camera. Seems to be working fine, it’s just . . . about forty-five minutes off what it should be.”
Jonah hesitated, then looked at his watch. He’d bought a new one rather than having the other one repaired. He was inordinately relieved when it was clearly working just fine. And then Sarah had to offer an explanation.
“I’ve been thinking, and I think there’s some kind of perimeter. Because standing here, my cell hasn’t lost any time. But it did lose the time I spent down there around his chair. Not sure exactly where the demarcation line is, assuming I’m right. Maybe your watch can tell us when you head down there.”
Jonah wasn’t exactly in a hurry to test her theory.
“You really didn’t notice anything at all odd down at the stream? Other than whatever happened to your cell?” He could see from their position the judge’s low beach chair and other things a few yards from the stream.
“Nothing. Looks like he just got up and left, peacefully. Leaned his pole against his chair, left his catch in the water, his tackle box and bait can closed. And just . . . left. How long do you think we can keep this quiet?”
“If we have to start asking questions, which we do? The whole town’ll know by suppertime.”
“And then?” Sarah sounded like she dreaded the answer.
“And then,” Jonah said, “this place is going to go from uneasy to downright scared. It won’t be pretty.” He straightened away from her cruiser. “Before that starts, I want to get a look for myself. And then I want to get Sully’s dogs out here, checking both sides of the stream at least half a mile in each direction.”
He didn’t want to even mention the idea that had occurred to him on the way here. That maybe the judge wasn’t missing. That maybe they’d find him quickly enough. In the water.
Then Sarah said, “He wouldn’t have waded out into the stream to fish, and I can’t think of another reason he’d have willingly gone into the water. I looked as closely as I could and didn’t see any sign of blood on any of the rocks, like if he’d lost his balance and fell.”
“Still,” Jonah said.
“Yeah. Still. With all the big boulders downstream, and the trees felled by last winter’s storms, if he did fall in, his—he’d likely be caught somewhere along the way.”
Jonah could hear in Sarah’s voice that part of her would prefer to find the judge—in whatever condition—than have another inexplicably missing person.
He didn’t blame her. He felt the same.
“Okay,” he said finally. “We can be sure of a few things. The judge didn’t leave a car parked by the side of the road. He wouldn’t have left all his equipment and his catch behind, and he wouldn’t have done that and accepted a ride from anyone.”
“Maybe he got hurt,” Sarah suggested. “He got a hook through one finger last summer, remember.”
“Yeah. But if something like that had happened, he would have made sure to let you or me know about it. That’s something I’m absolutely sure of. The only way he left here hurt and without letting us know would be if he was hurt . . . bad. Unconscious.”
“And a Good Samaritan helped him but didn’t report it?” Her voice was steady. “Doesn’t sound likely.”
“No,” Jonah said grimly. “It doesn’t sound at all likely.”
As he took a step toward the stream, Sarah said, “You gonna test my theory?”
Jonah didn’t want to, but he didn’t admit that out loud. He just held his wrist up and pushed the cuff of his sweatshirt back so he could see the new watch, efficiently ticking away, then walked slowly down the path toward the judge’s abandoned things.
When he was approximately six yards away from the little fishing site, his watch just . . . stopped.
May 30
Lucas Jordan scrolled through the last page of the report on his tablet and looked across the big desk at his boss with lifted brows. “And the police chief is only now calling us in?”
“It’s happened in pretty short order,” Bishop, Unit Chief of the Special Crimes Unit, said, calm as always. “A little more than three weeks, and the first disappearance had all the earmarks of an elopement, possibly set up in such a way as to throw off pursuit. No solid evidence there had been an abduction. The second, almost exactly a week later, the district judge—who likes to fish at night and knew all the details of the earlier disappearances. But an adult, and there was absolutely no sign of a forced abduction. Wherever he went, it could have been willingly.”
Samantha Jordan, who hadn’t even opened the tablet in her lap, looked at Bishop from her curiously dark eyes, unblinking. “The chief doesn’t think he did that, obviously.”
“No. But he could find no evidence to the contrary, just like with the teenagers. Then, three days later, on a Tuesday night just after ten P.M., a young woman named Luna Lang vanished. She left her husband at home with their sleeping infant daughter, to walk to the opposite side of their apartment complex, through an enclosed courtyard, to borrow a couple of jars of baby food from a friend and neighbor. She never got there. And, again, there was absolutely no sign of an abduction.”
“Any of these places have security cameras?” Luke asked.
Bishop half nodded. “At the apartment complex. Grainy images the FBI lab is trying to enhance, but it looks like Mrs. Lang was visible, walking briskly, then passed into what’s apparently a security blind spot. She never reappeared on the security cameras.”
“How big was the blind spot?” Samantha asked.
“According to the chief, no more than fifteen feet.”
Samantha blinked. “Damn.”
“Whatever happened, happened fast,” Bishop agreed. “And also according to the chief, in that blind spot were no windows or doors, or even shrubbery. No place for an assailant to hide.”
“An enclosed courtyard.”
Bishop nodded. “Pretty sturdy, tall iron fencing at the walkway out of the courtyard, with a gate requiring a keycard and a code. All entrances and exits are recorded on the main security computer. Now.” He paused, then added, “This complex advertised itself as safe for young families just because of the general layout; it was designed with a few tricks to deter burglars or anyone else thinking about breaking in. From very thorny and well-lit shrubbery preventing any access to first-floor windows to first-rate door and window locks with individual security for each unit, plus excellent lighting all around the perimeter and inside the courtyard. Each apartment door is well lit all night, as are the open walkways on each of the four floors within the courtyard. No shadowy spots. And there’s a two-man security team at night, one to watch the monitors and the other to patrol.”