Undaunted, Nicki’s class had gone onto Google and entered the words Devin Highnote rapist Saint Petersburg FL into the search engine. This had produced a short newspaper article from the Saint Petersburg Times that had focused on the officers who’d tracked Highnote down. There was no mention of any witnesses at the trial.
The class had hit a dead end. The teacher, whose name was Ms. Edie Bachman, had gone around the room, and posed a question to each student: “If this was your case, how would you move it forward, knowing that time is of the essence?”
One student had suggested hiring a private plane and flying to Saint Petersburg. Several others had taken a pass. Then a student named Sasha Clarke served up an idea. Her uncle Albert was a reporter for the Tampa Bay Times, which was what the newspaper was now called. Sasha offered to call her uncle, and ask him if he knew the reporter who’d written the Highnote article.
Ms. Bachman liked the idea, and told Sasha to do it. Sasha made the call, and spoke to her uncle. Her uncle knew the reporter quite well, their cubicles being a few feet apart. Sasha’s call was transferred to the reporter, whose name was Ernie Ross.
Ernie Ross had no trouble recalling the details of the Highnote trial. He’d called Devin Highnote a monster, and said that the woman who’d testified against him deserved a medal for bravery. Her name was Rachel Baye, and she lived in Saint Pete Beach.
Had Lancaster been in the same room with Nicki, he would have given her a hug. Instead, he promised to return to her school and give another talk. He thanked her and ended the call.
“She’s a natural,” he said.
“It drives my sister crazy that she’s so into police work,” Daniels said.
“Think she’ll grow out of it?”
“I sure hope so. Can’t have two of us in the family.”
“Maybe she’ll join the FBI, and you’ll report to her someday.”
“That’s not funny.”
They were still parked at the Starbucks with the engine running. Daniels retrieved her briefcase off the back seat and took out her laptop. The FBI was famous for tracking down suspects, and had access to driver’s license information in every state, as well as access to the databases of every major credit card company. Using the two pieces of information that they had — the name Rachel Baye and the city of Saint Pete Beach — she was able to pull up an address in under a minute.
Using his cell phone, he pulled up Google Maps and entered the address. An automated voice said that Baye’s home was forty minutes away by car in light traffic. The voice continued to give directions as Daniels weaved through traffic.
He did a background check on Baye without breaking his connection to Google. She was on Facebook with a profile photo that showed an athletic woman doing yoga on the beach. She was originally from Cleveland, and had studied holistic medicine at Ohio University. She listed her profession as yoga instructor.
He did a search of her address. A link to the real estate site Zillow appeared. Baye lived in a four-bedroom house a block from the ocean with an estimated value of $2.1 million, the property taxes more than thirty grand a year.
“You’re way too quiet,” Daniels said.
“Rachel Baye lives in a two-million-dollar house,” he said.
“Is that a problem?”
“In my experience, wealthy people don’t testify at criminal trials.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I think they’re afraid of retribution.”
“Maybe she isn’t wealthy, and rents a room.”
They made good time, and Daniels parked at the curb. They got out and had a look around. Not that long ago, Saint Pete Beach had been a wasteland of flophouses and the homeless, the area barely scraping by. The area had gone through a renaissance, with new construction on every block. The place looked alive again.
They walked up the front path. The house was a McMansion and dwarfed the other homes around it. Daniels pinned her badge to her jacket and rang the bell. The door opened, and a well-dressed older woman stuck her head out, scowling.
“Did you see the sign when you drove down the street? No solicitors.” Her eyes fell on the badge. “Oh! My mistake. May I help you?”
“I’m Special Agent Daniels with the FBI,” Daniels said. “This gentleman is Jon Lancaster. Are you Rachel Baye?”
The woman brought her hand to her mouth. “No, I’m not. Has something happened to poor Rachel?”
“Please let me ask the questions. What is your name?”
“Harriet Ward. I told Rachel she needed to move away, for her safety.”
“May we please come in?”
“I don’t know. Do you like dogs?”
“So long as they don’t bite.”
“My babies won’t bite you.”
Ward ushered them inside. The interior reeked of money. The lobby had a checkered marble floor and a glistening chandelier, and that was just the entranceway. A pack of well-groomed dogs stood at rapt attention a few feet inside. They ranged in size from teacup to small pony, and had the alertness of circus animals.
“My husband passed away several years ago, and I went to the pound to get a new friend. This is what I came home with,” Ward said with a smile.
“I own two rescues myself,” Daniels said. “Now, I need to ask you some questions. Does Rachel Baye currently live here?”
Ward knelt down. The pooches surrounded her, and she petted them while they licked her face. “Not anymore. Rachel rented the apartment above the garage. She was a wonderful tenant, used to help me walk the dogs. A few months back, she started being threatened by that horrible man. He sent her emails, then called her. She went to the police for help, but there wasn’t much they could do.”
“Do you know his name?”
“He never said who he was. Rachel was sure that it was a man she’d helped send to prison. I believe his name was Devin. Rachel was running on the beach one night years ago, and saw this monster raping a teenager. She called the police, and they arrested him. She was the only witness at his trial.”
“Was his name Devin Highnote?”
“That sounds right.”
“Do you know where she moved to? We need to get in contact with her. Her life may be in danger.”
“Rachel didn’t give me a forwarding address. I think she’s still living near the beach. She’s having her mail sent to a post office box.”
“Do you have her cell phone number?”
“It’s in the contacts in my cell phone. Let me go get it. May I offer you and your friend something cold to drink?”
“We’re fine,” Daniels said.
Ward retreated into the back of the house. The pack followed her, except for a Saint Bernard that tipped the scales at two hundred pounds. He parked himself in front of them and lay down. Resting his head on his paws, he gave them a hostile stare.
“He doesn’t like you,” Daniels said.
“He’s looking at you, not me,” Lancaster said.
Ward returned with her cell phone and two bottled waters, which she handed to them. “You both look thirsty. I have two numbers for Rachel, work and personal. Would you like both?”
“Please.” Daniels wrote down the numbers on a small notepad. Flipping it shut, she said, “Would you mind giving Rachel a call? I’m afraid she won’t answer my call, since it’s a strange number. But she might answer yours.”
“I’d be more than happy to,” Ward said.
Ward called the personal number, and got voice mail. Then she called the yoga studio where Rachel worked. She got a live person this time, and asked for Rachel. A moment later, her face crashed. She thanked the other person, and ended the call.
“Rachel called the owner this morning, said she was stopping at the mall before she got to work,” Ward said. “She asked the owner if he wanted a smoothie, and he told her to bring him one. She never came in. I hope to God nothing has happened to her.”