Page 72 of Ultimate Justice

Evan took a deep breath to calm his bowstring-taut nerves from snapping in two. Using his thumb and forefinger, he expanded the image, gripping the phone so hard the tips of his fingers turned white.

Like Mrs. Constantino had said, the image wasn’t particularly clear, but it was clear enough. Standing second from the left was the pool cleaner he’d known as Manny, aka Frank Manello.

He handed the phone back, then dug out one of his business cards and wrote his cell number on the back. “Would you forward that photo to me?”

Mrs. Constantino looked to her husband, who shrugged. “Do it, Marianne. Whatever trouble Manny’s in is his own fault. You know that.”

A moment later, Evan’s phone buzzed with the photo Mrs. Constantino sent him.

Barely able to keep it together, he focused on the essentials. “When’s the last time either of you saw or heard from Manny?”

Constantino shrugged as he looked at his wife. “What would you say? Close to five years ago?”

Mrs. Constantino nodded. “When Artie retired, he gave all his supplies and tools to Manny. After that, Manny started his own company. Artie helped him set everything up and convinced him he had to do it legally. I don’t think we’ve seen him since, although my sister talks with him occasionally.”

Brett took out a small pad from his pocket, along with a pen, and handed both to Mrs. Constantino. “Ma’am, could you write down your sister’s name, address, and telephone number for us?”

“Well, I guess so.” She looked at her husband, who nodded. A few moments later, she’d scribbled on the pad and pushed it back to Brett.

“Do either of you have Manny’s number in your phones?” Evan asked.

“I do.” Constantino tugged a phone from his pocket, then pulled up the number for Brett to copy down.

“Call him, please.” If the guy answered, he’d try to get Constantino to find out where he was. “Don’t say anything about us being here with you. Subtly, I need you to find out where is. If he won’t say, invite him over for a beer, or a family reunion barbecue. Think you can do that?”

After a moment, Constantino nodded and placed the call, which went immediately to a computer-generated voicemail recording.

Knowing he was in water hot enough to boil his nuts off, Evan didn’t think Manello would be so stupid as to walk around with his phone on, but they could keep trying to ping it later for a location.

He indicated for Brett to hand the Constantinos back their passports.

Mrs. Constantino’s eyes filled with worry. “Is Manny really involved with these missing children?”

More than Evan could say. He resisted the urge to clench his hands into tight fists.

After nearly a quarter century, he finally knew who was responsible for Gracie’s disappearance. Now he just had to find the sonofabitch.

Chapter Twenty-One

“How did your meeting go?” Marlie asked.

“Fine.” He turned onto the winding road that would take them back through Morrison.

That was it? Fine? Something was bothering him, and she wanted to help. Going back to helping people was something she wanted. Needed.

It was nearly eight o’clock. Between the moonless night and the tall conifers, the road was dark, forcing him to slow into the first turn.

Other than “fine,” he hadn’t said a word since they’d left Tori and Deck’s house, and he was wound tighter than a yo-yo. They’d never discussed seeing each other when this was over, but was this what it was like every time he worked a case? All gloom and doom? The very things she was trying to distance herself from, now that she was on the emotional mend. “Didn’t you and Brett go to the airport to interview someone?”

“Yeah. We did.” He shoved a hand through his hair. She could almost hear the gears turning in his head, and she knew him well enough already that if there was enough light to see his face, his jaw would be clenched, a slight crease over the bridge of his nose.

“I wasn’t trying to pry,” she said, “but as Noah’s guardian, I need to know how the case is going. I’m only asking because I have to get him enrolled in school this week. I can’t put it off, and I need to get my truck, so I can get him to school and back.”

He flipped the rearview mirror. “Your truck stands out too much. You can take my personal vehicle.”

“When can we go get Caleb?” Noah asked from the back seat.

Evan glanced in the rearview mirror, hesitating a moment before responding, “Soon.” A noncommittal answer that told her he didn’t know and didn’t want to lie about it.