Part 8 (1/2)
She looked at the screen. ”Where is that?”
”It looks like the outskirts of San Diego County.” He switched on the graphic map overlay. ”Ocotillo Wells.”
”Where?”
”About a hundred miles east. It doesn't appear that there's much in the area. Looks like an airstrip and maybe a couple of stores.”
Kendra took the tablet computer and looked at the screen. ”You've read the case file. Does it have anything to do with anything you've seen? Maybe a victim's family member who lives there?”
”No. That's why it stood out for me. Everything else in Jeff's browser history corresponded to this case. Then, just a little while before he goes missing, there's this.”
She nodded, gazing at him thoughtfully. ”What do you want to do about it?”
He took the tablet and turned it off. ”I'm going there.”
”When?”
”Now. If Griffin and his team hadn't already studied Stedler's search history, they will now. I'd like to get out there and take a look around before they roll into town and start flas.h.i.+ng badges and asking questions.”
”I'm going with you.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had even decided to say them.
He looked at her. ”You're a busy woman. I thought you would have an appointment.”
”I do.” It was with nine-year-old Bridget Finley, and she wasn't at any crucial point that would damage her if Kendra postponed the appointment. ”I'll have to cancel it and rebook.”
He nodded. ”Good. Thank you, Kendra.”
”Look, I'm still not committing to anything. If this place was somehow important to Jeff during the last hours that we can track, it's worth a shot.”
He started the car. ”I agree. Let's get on the road.”
CHAPTER.
4.
Ocotillo Wells, California LESS THAN TWO HOURS LATER, Lynch and Kendra pulled off State Highway 78 and studied their arid surroundings. There were no other cars in sight, and the only sounds were from harsh winds blowing sand over the car's roofline. Other than the two-runway airstrip to their immediate left, there were only a gas station, a general store, and a small diner.
”This doesn't even qualify as a town,” Kendra said, peering out the winds.h.i.+eld. ”Not a single traffic light, not a single resident. Are you sure this is right?”
Lynch nodded. ”The exact coordinates point up ahead, but that looks even more deserted. This is our best bet. Let's ask around.”
They climbed out of his car and walked across the gravel parking lot. ”You do the talking,” he said.
She wrinkled her brow. ”Why me? You're the agent here. Aren't you supposed to be a master of getting people to do and say what you want?”
”Yes. Which is why I want you to do the talking. Few things tug at the heart more than a woman who can't find her missing man. If I talk, they'll think maybe I'm a cop, and he's in some kind of trouble. They won't be as quick to get involved. But with you, they'll think he might be some kind of deadbeat who skipped out on you and your four hungry kids.”
She smiled. ”Four kids?”
”Four hungry kids. Starving. And if you don't find your man, poor little Jimmy Bob won't be able to get those braces he needs.”
”Is that really the image I project?”
”The first rule of persuasion...”
”Don't you mean manipulation?”
”You must remember that others project on you more than you ever do on them. Their a.s.sumptions, their biases, the way they look at the world...”
”If they see that we pulled up in that Ferrari of yours, they're going to know that little Billy Bob-”
”Jimmy Bob.”
”Pardon me, Jimmy Bob, will never have a problem getting those braces.”
”You're right. I should have driven my boring car today. Let's hope no one saw it.” He shot her a sideways glance. ”But I still want you to do the talking.”
”Fine.”
They stepped inside the diner and saw that the place was empty of customers. The one waitress leaned against the counter watching an episode of The People's Court.
She turned around. ”Two for lunch?”
”No”-Kendra noticed that the waitress's name on her ID badge was Sylvia Warnot-”but I wonder if you could help me, Ms. Warnot. I think my boyfriend may have come through here a few days ago, and he's missing. We're worried sick about him.” She pulled out her phone and used the touch screen to scroll through her photographs. She showed the waitress a shot of her and Jeff on Coronado Island, then pinched the screen to enlarge his face. ”Does he look familiar to you?”
Sylvia Warnot stared at the image, then finally shook her head. ”I'm sorry, hon. I'm pretty sure I haven't seen him.”
Kendra's expression became pleading. ”Are you sure? It probably would have been last Thursday.”
The waitress's eyes lit up. ”I'm off on Thursdays.” She pointed at Kendra's phone. ”Can you use that to e-mail the picture?”
”Sure.”
The waitress reached into her ap.r.o.n pocket and produced a pen and notepad. She scribbled an e-mail address, tore off the page, and handed it to her. ”Send that picture to this address. My cousin, Patsy, was working that day, so she might have seen him.”
”I'll do it right now.” Kendra keyed in the e-mail address and sent the photo along with Jeff's name, the make and model of his car, and the date he might have driven through.
Lynch pointed toward the east. ”What's down there? Anything?”
Sylvia Warnot shook her head. ”Devil's Slide is just down the road a piece. It's an old mountain that the kids use for off-roading. Too hot for anyone this time of year, though.”
”Thanks for helping,” Kendra said. ”It means a lot to me.”
”Don't let it mean too much, hon.” The waitress's expression was sympathetic but a little cynical. ”Some guys just don't want to be found. They get tired of us and head for new pastures.”