“Of course,” he says. “AndC.B. Strike.”
“Cool.”
They bond over some movie calledKnives Out, testing every bit of my patience. But it’s what Max does best, flatter and cajole. Finally, he gets to the point. “Mind if we show you some photos and test your Nancy Drew chops?”
“I’d love it,” she giggles.
He presents Bates first. “Ever see him?”
Taking her role seriously, she picks up the photo and studies it diligently. “No, I’ve never seen him in here. Not yesterday or before that. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re doing great. How about him?”
She gives the photo of Hunt equal attention and then shakes her head. “I’m really good with faces and details. I feel bad that I couldn’t help.”
“You still can,” I say. “Do you remember processing this order?” I show her the envelope.
“Yes.” She beams like a game show contestant who’d just answered the question correctly. “He came in so well prepared. All the information was filled out for the label and ready to go. That’s unusual. Most customers aren’t that organized. I weighed the package. It was light and gave him a price. He paid in cash.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Around six feet, slim, not skinny, more like lean and muscular. He had on a navy blue Nike cap and dark sunglasses. I couldn’t see his eyes, but he was super good-looking. He was clean-shaven, with straight black hair that poked out from under his cap, about this long.” She points to the end of her neck. “The only thing he said was ‘same-day delivery.’ It sounded like he had an accent.”
“What kind of accent?”
“French…or Spanish, maybe. It was only a few words.”
“Thank you. You’ve been extremely helpful.”
We checked with the gas attendant again, only to learn he hadn’t heard from his manager, and despite Max’s skills of persuasion, he won’t let us look at the video without getting permission.
“Chances are our guy isn’t Bates or Hunt,” Max voices my thoughts as we walk to the Hummer.
I process my failure keenly. “How did I miss that?”
“Stiles, I was a cop for ten years. We followed the leads that we had. Now we follow this new evidence. That’s the way it works. Whoever he is, was shrewd enough to conceal his identity and use two different couriers. If not for Rashanda, we wouldn’t have this lead now—a partial description and an accent. Let’s find out if Ms. Sinclair can identify who he is. Chances are she knows him. Nine out of ten times, that’s the case.”
I try Jordyn’s mobile. She doesn’t answer. I try her office, and I’m told she took the day off. That doesn’t sound like her.
I book it with Max to Brockville, calling her mobile over and over again. It goes straight to voicemail each time, telling me she’s either turned it off or put her ringer on Do Not Disturb. Arriving at her brownstone, I don’t see her car. I call again and leave both a voice message and a text this time. “It’s Stiles; please call me. We have a lead I need to discuss with you.” I don’t mention any details, not trusting she won’t take matters into her own hands.
Max and I check around her house for anything suspicious. I don’t have the fob or key to her apartment to get inside. As we’re standing in the vestibule, Carol Bates pulls open the front door and halts at our presence.
She’s intrusive and overbearing, but had I unfairly suspected her and her son of criminal activity? Could there be more than one suspect? No more mistakes. I’m not ruling anything out until I know for sure who the fuck is trying to terrorize Jordyn.
“Mrs. Bates?”
She looks down the length of her nose at me with her usual disdain, then over to Max, not approving of what she sees there either.
“This is my colleague Maxwell Dunne. We are trying to locate Jordyn. Do you know where she is?”
“I have been told to butt out, thanks to you,” she huffs. “Before your sudden and most objectionable interference, Jordyn was friendly and kind to Freddy and me. I don’t have any daughters, and I looked at Jordyn as one. We just wanted to give her a hand around the place, especially after the vandalism. She’s too independent and takes on too much. Security cameras are fine, but, call me old fashioned, nothing beats neighbors looking out for one another. It takes a village, Mr. Stiles.”
“It’s unfortunate we started off on the wrong foot,” I say, contritely, taking a page from Max’s book. “You obviously care about Jordyn.”
“Very much.”
“It’s important that I speak to her. Do you know where she is?” I repeat.
