I returned to my car while Dorsey searched for a towel. No way was he going to hospital in soiled shorts.
Back in my Audi, I made for the airport. I wasn’t proud of terrifying Dorsey and his friends. They were just young punks. On reflection, the hit-and-run accident was just a stupid idea that went wrong, but at least this way Dorsey and his crew had learned that they were heading in the wrong direction, and they wouldn’t be trailing anyone else along with them. Brian Purefoy would be safe from them now, his friend’s medical bills would be covered by the culprits’ insurance, and there’d be less cocaine on the streets of Callaway. Weighed and bagged, not a bad couple hours of work. Plus I was on time for my meeting with Jameson Walker and the money he was offering for a job more to my liking.
3
Jameson Walker’s tipple of choice was whiskey. It made me chuckle, considering his name was that of two popular brands from back home. He probably wouldn’t have known that, though, and I noticed that his drink was poured from a bottle bearing an American label.
He was a big man with sloping shoulders and a square head topped with salt and pepper curls. He looked like he’d been a jock in his earlier days, but had allowed his physique to slip in his late forties. His chest swooped out into a large gut pinched in at the waist by a thick belt with a silver buckle. His voluminous shirt was decorated with small horseshoes, blue jeans and cowboy boots. He’d shrugged out of a jacket and string tie and looked like he was struggling with the heat. He used a napkin to mop his jowls. I found the interior of the bar cool, but I’d been acclimatised to the subtropics by then.
He sipped at his drink and placed it down on the napkin. He peered at me from under bushy brows, watching as I downed a mouthful of Corona directly from the bottle. There was a slice of lemon wedged in the neck, allegedly — I’d read somewhere — to keep the insects away, but I just enjoyed the bitter tang on my tongue. Walker waited until I placed my beer down.
‘Are you a family man, Hunter?’
His attention was on my hands. They were tanned by the Florida sun, but there was the occasional patch that wouldn’t colour; white scar tissue on my knuckles and on the back of my right hand where I’d taken the slice of a knife. I noticed that his gaze lingered over my left hand, in particular my ring finger.
‘You’re not thinking of asking me on a date, are you?’
Jameson smiled at the quip, but there was little humour in his expression.
‘I’ve been married twenty-eight years,’ he said. ‘In all of those years my wife and I were only blessed with one child. After Joan was born, well, my wife had some problems…’
I got the gist. ‘My wife couldn’t bear children either,’ I said.
‘So you are married?’
‘Was.’ It was uncomfortable talking about my divorce because, frankly, I felt the breakdown of my marriage was my greatest failure. However I knew where Walker was leading the conversation, and didn’t see the harm in reassuring him: family meant everything to me too. ‘Diane and I were together over fourteen years. If it was up to me, we’d still be married.’
‘Another man?’ As soon as he asked the question I could tell he was uncomfortable about it. ‘I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.’
‘She’s remarried since, but at the time there was no one else. It was me… let’s just say I committed myself to my job too much for Diane’s liking.’
Walker scratched his curls, then reached for the whiskey. He downed it, looked for the waitress and called her over. ‘Want another drink?’
Tilting the three-quarters-full bottle, I said, ‘I’m good.’
‘You wouldn’t like something a little stronger?’
‘Not while on a job,’ I told him. ‘But you go ahead. Looks like you might need it.’
‘I’m just thirsty,’ he said with a wink. ‘This damned heat! How do you stand it?’
I’d been in much hotter places and situations, but I only offered a shrug. ‘You get used to it.’
Walker ordered another drink and the waitress wandered away to the bar.
Walker watched her go. She was a good-looking woman, slim with long legs accentuated by a short black skirt, but Walker wasn’t thinking like that. I guessed she reminded him of someone.
‘Your daughter still hasn’t been in touch?’
He toyed with the rim of his empty glass, tilted it as though checking there was nothing left. ‘I’m getting real worried now.’
‘How long has it been?’ I’d already read the email that Rink received, so I knew that Joan Walker and her friend Nicole Challinor had last called home from a motel in New Mexico three days earlier. But it did no harm to check.
‘There’s been no word since Monday evening. It’s now Thursday morning. Jay should’ve been in California by now.’ He drained his glass of a drip of whiskey that had grown in the bottom, then looked for the waitress. She was on her way back with a fresh tumbler perched on a silver tray. Walker placed a few dollars on the tray and transferred the full glass to his lips. ‘Maybe you could bring me another?’ he asked. When the waitress returned to the bar, he carried on. ‘The obvious things have gone through my mind. Jay’s a free spirit and not one to check in with her mom and pop every two minutes, but she knew that we were worried about her and Nicole taking this road trip and promised to call every night. Even if their cellphones aren’t working she’d find a landline to use, or she’d email me. I’ve even been on her Facebook page and she hasn’t updated it since Monday. Jay’s a fanatic for recording her trips and usually writes daily updates. But nothing has been added at her blog either.’
Mulling that over, I decided that Walker had a good point. Even if his daughter hadn’t found it necessary to check in with her parents, she’d hardly have resisted the temptation of her blog and social networking sites; these days it was like people had to share their innermost thoughts with strangers across the world.
‘Have you checked her cellphone?’
‘Called her, you mean? Of course I’ve tried.’
‘No. What I meant was, is it still switched on? Can you leave a voice message?’
‘No, there was just an automated message saying the calls couldn’t be connected.’ Walker downed another mouthful of liquor. ‘It’s the same with Nicole’s phone.’
‘Have you contacted their service providers and checked for their location?’
‘You can do that?’
‘I’m not sure how, to be honest, not without jumping through bureaucratic hoops first, but I know someone who can check for us. Didn’t the police suggest it?’
‘The cops aren’t taking me seriously. They more or less told me that it’s none of my business. Jay is an adult and it’s up to her whether she chooses to get in touch or not. Yes, Hunter, she may be an adult, but she’s still my baby girl.’
Three days wasn’t exactly an eternity. Many people had gone missing for much longer and hadn’t suffered for it. Maybe the young women were just cutting the apron strings and letting themselves fly for a while. That didn’t mean I couldn’t sympathise with their parents: if either girl was my child, I’d be as frantic as Walker.
‘I’ll need you to tell me the places they planned on visiting, plus the hotels they’ve already stayed at. Also, if you can get me their credit card or bank account numbers, I can check if they’re still using their cards.’
Walker reached for his jacket and pulled out a large envelope from an inside pocket. ‘I already thought about that. I brought photographs of both the girls, plus a route planner that I found stored on Jay’s computer. It’s marked with places of interest, as well as prospective hotels along the way.’
‘That’s very helpful,’ I said, ‘but there’s always the chance they veered off course and have taken a different route. Hopefully they’re just distracted by all the new things they’ve discovered and haven’t got round to calling yet.’