Walker believed that as much as I did, but the least I could do was offer him some hope.
‘There’s something else in there…’
At first I thought he was referring to the down payment on his fee, but, when I looked into the envelope, I found a couple sheets of folded paper alongside the photos and map.
‘It’s maybe nothing,’ Walker said, and downed the remainder of his whiskey. ‘In fact, I damn well hope it’s got nothing to do with Jay and Nicole.’
The waitress came back with Walker’s third drink while I was busy smoothing out the papers, but this time he wasn’t concerned with the liquor. He was too busy watching me for a reaction.
The papers carried printouts from a couple of news websites, all reporting on the same story dated two days earlier. At a gas station in Arizona an apparent robbery had gone terribly wrong, with the elderly teller shot dead. Tragically a young family had arrived at the scene while the robbery was underway, and whoever was responsible had shot all four dead in an attempt at silencing any witnesses. To cover up the crime further, those responsible had set fire to the gas pumps and an explosion had ripped the scene apart. Reading the story, and absorbing the senselessness of the violence and the sheer overkill of it, made me sick to the core. But I didn’t know why Walker thought this news snippet important.
Walker touched the pages with a thick finger. ‘Jay called from a Best Western hotel in Gallup, New Mexico, east of that gas station the night before this happened. They would have stayed the night, had breakfast and then hit the road. I’ve a horrible feeling that the girls might have been nearby when the robbery happened.’
Walker left the suggestion hanging in the air. It was only supposition, but what if he was right? If the robbers had gone to such lengths to silence the witnesses at the gas station, what would they have done to Jay and Nicole if they’d also been there?
‘I don’t think you have to worry about that. The police will be hunting for the people responsible, and I’m pretty sure that if Jay or Nicole had been harmed you’d know it by now.’
‘I hope you’re right, Hunter.’
‘I’m sure,’ I said as I folded the papers and slipped them back in the envelope. ‘In your email you mentioned that the girls were travelling in your vehicle. Well, if anything had happened I’m certain that the cops would’ve come across it by now. It doesn’t look like the robbers were interested in taking cars with them, because they just burned those at the gas station.’
‘I suppose that’s true. But I’m still worried.’
‘You’ve every right, but please try not to be. Go home to your wife and I’ll be in touch.’
‘So you are going to help?’
‘I’ve got your cell number and email address. I’ll call you, OK?’
‘You’re not going to start straight away?’
I tapped the envelope on the table top. ‘I already started. I’ll call you when I’m in Arizona.’
4
A flight took me to Gallup Municipal Airport, only a stone’s throw from the Best Western hotel where Jay and Nicole spent Monday night. Ever since I’d heard the Nat King Cole song, or more likely the rock ‘n’ roll version by Chuck Berry, I’d fancied taking a trip on the historic Route 66. I just hadn’t thought that it’d be under these circumstances. I decided to pick up the trail at the girls’ last known location. For all I knew they’d hooked up with some guys in town and were still in Gallup. Maybe they hadn’t phoned home because they were having the kind of fun you didn’t share with your parents.
I hired a car, a blocky, navy-blue GMC Yukon 4×4, and threw the bags I’d brought with me in the back seat, before heading for the Best Western. I considered renting a room but decided against it, and only stayed long enough to show photos of the girls to the desk staff. A helpful young guy remembered Jay and Nicole and brought their booking up on a computer. It showed that they’d stayed only one night, checked out at ten on Tuesday morning, and paid their bill in full. The guy said he’d chatted with them and that both girls had been excited about their impending trip into the Painted Desert later that day. I thanked the guy, tossed him a few dollars off the roll handed to me earlier by Jameson Walker, and asked him where there was a good place to eat. He directed me back along the highway to a diner making the most of its Route 66 association. There was a huge sign outside so Technicolor-vivid it reminded me of the graphics from an old Warner Brothers’ cartoon, but it appeared that burritos and tacos were the only items on the menu. I continued until I found another diner advertising eggs and ham and suchlike. A waiter led me to a table at the window, and I had a great view over the highway to a huge railroad depot where dozens of freight carriages were parked on the sidings. Red dust billowed on the breeze. Some of it had adhered to the glass, giving everything a pinkish hue. I ordered a special from the menu, plus a large coffee. It was approaching evening, but it would be hours before the sun went down over the desert, so I’d time for a few calls, for filling my stomach, and for making it over the border into Arizona before nightfall.
While I forked down scrambled eggs and rashers of bacon, I used my cell to call Rink.
Jared Rington’s more than a friend to me; he’s like a brother. Sometimes he even acts like he’s my mother. ‘Where the freakin’ hell are you, goddamnit?’ Then again, my mum, Anita, wouldn’t use language like that.
‘Gallup, New Mexico.’
‘What the hell are you doing there?’
‘I’m on that missing person case that came in, the Walker job. I told McTeer to let you know I’d pick it up.’
‘I didn’t go back to the office today.’
‘So it’s your fault you’re not up to speed.’
Rink was the owner of Rington Investigations, based in Tampa, but when I’d signed on it was as an invisible partner. Although I didn’t have to answer to him for my actions, there was rarely a thing that we kept from each other. We had both been in the same Special Forces unit, had fought side by side, saved each others’ lives on a number of occasions, so there was little that we didn’t know about each other. Rink knew how impulsive I was; he wasn’t that surprised that I’d jumped straight into a job. He just liked to be a mother hen; like I’d get myself in hot water if he wasn’t holding my hand. Trouble was, he was usually right.
‘The Walker job? I thought you were helping out with Maria Purefoy’s problem?’
I explained how I’d fixed that one on my way to the meeting at Panama City. ‘So it was one of those “for the love of” jobs?’
‘Rink, the Purefoys could scarcely put food on the table, let alone pay for my services. I told Maria it was on the house.’
‘Jesus! Tell me this one isn’t a pro bono case you’ve taken on, brother.’
‘I’ve already done my charity work for the month,’ I reassured him. ‘Walker’s paying top whack. Don’t worry, Rink, he’s rich enough to afford it.’
Unlike Maria Purefoy, Jameson Walker was incredibly wealthy. He owned a chain of steakhouses ranging all the way down the Eastern seaboard from Maine to North Carolina. He was rumoured to be edging billionaire status.
‘You don’t think this is about his money, Hunter? Kidnap for ransom?’
‘Nah, it’s too random. Why would kidnappers wait until his daughter was halfway across the States before lifting her? Plus, there’s been no contact, no demand for cash. Truth is, Rink, I’m not that concerned yet. Jay — that’s the name his daughter Joan goes by — has been planning this trip for over a year. She and her best friend, Nicole, don’t get out from under the eyes of their parents that often. I get the impression that Jameson’s the protective type and this is the first opportunity the girls have had to enjoy a little freedom.’