Part 19 (1/2)

Greg's chins were quivering as he spoke. ”It was a dare,” he said in a raspy voice. ”I don't do this normally.”

”I'm going to give you a warning,” said Jordan. ”No ticket this time. Just slow down.” He handed the papers back through the window, with Greg practically weeping in grat.i.tude, promising that if Jordan ever needed anything... if he could ever be of service to the department...

Jordan had called on him twice in the last three years, in cases where he needed financial information and didn't have-or couldn't get-a warrant. The first time Greg had been eager to help. The second time, he'd pursed his lips until they looked like the knot at the bottom of a big white balloon. Now it looked like he was prepared to dig in his heels-his high heels, Jordan thought, and smiled to himself. ”You look good,” Jordan offered, helping himself to a second miniature candy cane from the bowl on the desk. ”You lose a few pounds?”

Greg puffed out his lips. ”Look, it's not that I don't appreciate what you did for me, but this... I just can't...”

”Or maybe it's your s.h.i.+rt,” said Jordan, eyeing the other man's b.u.t.ton-down. ”I think blue is your color.”

”Fine.” Greg leaned forward and worked his thick fingers over the keyboard. ”Valerie Adler. I got nothing. She must bank somewhere else.” Jordan sat back, silent, waiting. ”Adelaide Downs, Fourteen Crescent Drive. Recent activity: we've got an eighty-seven dollar payment to FreshDirect. Nineteen dollars to Netflix.” Greg waved his fingers, jazz-hands style. ”Ooh, suspicious.”

”Keep going,” Jordan said.

”Visa, three hundred and nineteen dollars. Lakesh.o.r.e Athletic Club, a hundred and ninety-nine. That's a recurring payment. Um.” Greg leaned forward and closed his mouth. ”She took out ten thousand dollars in cash yesterday.”

”Ten thousand dollars,” Jordan repeated.

”Not here, though. Branch number 1119...” He leaned closer to his computer, tapping away. ”That's in St. Louis.”

”She just went in and took out ten thousand dollars in cash?”

”She had plenty in her account. She's got, like, sixty thousand bucks in checking, another forty in savings...” Greg shut his mouth, perhaps realizing he'd said too much.

”Ten thousand dollars,” Jordan repeated.

”And there's one more charge. A gas station in...” He paused, squinting. ”Nashville.”

Heading south, thought Jordan, writing it down. ”You should go now,” said Greg.

”I'm gone,” Jordan said, getting to his feet. ”You have the thanks of a grateful nation.”

Greg looked surprised. ”This is a national matter?”

”International,” said Jordan. ”Extremely important. Very hush-hush.”

”You're welcome. Oh, and congratulations,” Greg said.

Jordan paused, his hand on the door. ”What's that?”

”Your little girl. I saw your wife at the Whole Foods...” He must have also seen something in Jordan's expression, because he shut his mouth fast.

”We've been divorced for a year and a half,” Jordan said. ”Patti's remarried.”

”Oh,” said Greg. ”Oh, I'm sorry.”

Little girl? ”Stay safe,” said Jordan, pus.h.i.+ng the new information to the back of his mind.

”Will do,” said Greg. ”Hey, I'm sorry...”

”It's fine,” said Jordan, and then repeated the words, as if he was trying to convince himself. ”It's fine.”

FORTY-TWO.

Jordan drove back to the station, fighting the impulse to call Patti, or her mother, or her sister, or Rob Fine, DDS, or just turn the car around and drive to their house and get to the bottom of this. Had Patti finally had a baby? Had they adopted? Hired a surrogate?

Never mind, he thought, swinging into his parking spot, feeling the new knowledge settling in like an infection. Focus. Gary Ryderdahl was at his desk. ”What've you got, chief?” Gary called.

”Maybe something.” Jordan sat down in Holly's chair and wheeled it to the room's far wall, where he paused, pulling himself back and forth with his toes.

Gary's face lit up. ”Do it,” he said.

”You're a bad influence,” said Jordan.

”Aw, c'mon, Chief, n.o.body's gonna see.”

Jordan shrugged. Maybe it would cheer him up. He looked left, then right, then pushed off from the wall and spun down the length of the room, rolling to a neat stop in front of Gary's desk.

Gary high-fived him. ”How do you do it? Every time I try I hit the wall.”

”Years of practice,” Jordan said, forcing himself to sound casual. ”Listen. Adelaide Downs took out ten thousand dollars in cash in St. Louis. There was a gas station charge in Nashville. What does that tell you?”

Gary rubbed his hair. ”Um. She's gone country?”

Jordan waited patiently. When Gary looked blank, he said, ”Tell me what we know for sure.”

”That she has money. That she was in St. Louis and Nashville.”

”She had money,” Jordan corrected. ”It could be gone, and she could be anywhere by now. Why don't you start calling hotels in Nashville? See if any of them have two women registered as Valerie Adler and Addie Downs, or two women who sound like they fit the description.”

Gary thought this over and finally asked, ”What's the description?”

”Early thirties,” said Jordan. ”Blond hair. No southern accents. Maybe driving an old station wagon with Illinois plates. You can find Val's picture on her station's website.”

Gary nodded. ”One more thing,” he said. ”Holly and I were doing a...” Jordan looked at him sternly. Gary flinched and swallowed. ”We were searching on the Internet, and every year, Addie Downs donates a painting to this auction that raises money for cancer research.”

Jordan shrugged. That didn't mean much, other than that his suspect was charity-minded.

”I had a hunch,” Gary continued. ”Holly called the doctor who runs the auction. Dr. Elizabeth Shoup. She's an oncologist. Holly said she was Adelaide Downs's a.s.sistant and that she was calling to confirm her next appointment.” Gary was so flushed with pleasure that he was practically glowing. ”And guess what?”

”She's got an appointment?”