Gabby startled at the sight of the two men sitting on Zoe’s bed. She closed the door, a glare of both fear and anger directed at them. “How dare you let yourself into my room?”
“Easy, Gabby, we need one more thing,” Burke said. “It’s important.” He rose and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I have two pictures to show you. Let me know if either of these men is David from the camp up near Lake Isabella.” He brought the file up and showed her the first picture of Craig David.
“He looks familiar. I think he was there, but that’s not David.”
Burke showed her the second picture, the picture of David Greenwalt.
“Yes, that’s him,” Gabby said.
Tessman dialed Wilson. “We have positive ID on Greenwalt.”
“Thank you, Gabby,” Burke said. “Your friend is in trouble if she’s with them. Both of those guys have extensive police records. You have good instincts and were smart to follow them last summer. We’re going to find Zoe. I promise you.”
“Frisco would never do anything to hurt Zoe. I know he wouldn’t,” Gabby said.
“I’m sure he thinks he’s helping her,” Burke said. “Please don’t notify anyone that you identified David to us. Leave with your mom and have a nice Christmas. And thank you for your help, Gabby.”
The men left and drove north towards Lake Isabella.
“Wilson contacted HQ, and Smith is pulling everything he can on Greenwalt’s house. He’ll forward anything he finds to us before we arrive onsite,” Tessman said.
“At least it’s Greenwalt and not Craig David,” Burke said. “I feel a little better that’s probably who Zoe’s been hiding out with.”
“From his rap sheet, he appears to be the lesser of the two evils,” Tessman said. “We’ll soon see what he is in real life.”
The file arrived, and Tessman read off all that was in it as Burke drove. The last time the house had been listed for sale was fifteenyears ago. The room list and the size of the rooms led Smith to model the possible layout of the home. That would help.
About a mile from the address, they rendezvoused with Wilson and Rogers. Just as they were about to call into Ops, Burke’s phone rang an incoming call from Smith.
“Hey, Smith, what do you have for us?” Burke asked, answering his phone with it on speaker. He assumed Smith had found something else regarding the home or Greenwalt.
“A body,” Smith said.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Burke teased. “And here I didn’t get you anything.”
Wilson, Rogers, and Tessman chuckled.
“In Richmond, a body showed up that fits the description of the one your girl saw being choked out.”
Burke wanted to correct him. She wasn’t his girl. “COD?”
“Manual strangulation,” Smith reported.
“Do they have an ID on him?”
“No, listed as a John Doe,” Smith said. “Hispanic male, mid-thirties, wearing a gray skull cap, a blue and gray flannel coat, and blue jeans. Black, longer hair, unshaven, and a largespiderweb tattoo on his left hand. Coroner noted it’s a prison tat.”
“Where was the body found?” Burke asked.
“Behind a dumpster, about three miles from your girl’s place,” Smith said.
“She’s not my girl,” Burke corrected him.
Both Wilson and Tessman flashed him smirks that called bullshit on that claim.
“Can you get me a picture of the Vic to run by her?” Burke asked.
“I anticipated the request. Where should I send it?” Smith asked.
