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“All that bullshit is the law, Z. We’ll get it as soon as we can.”
“Not soon enough.”
Rob Landon walked over with a fresh cup of coffee. He wore a reflective jacket over his SPS t-shirt. “We’ll find her, Zachary. Too many people out there looking not to.”
“She’s not in town,” I said. “If that piece of shit took her, and we all know he did, they’ve been gone for hours. Who knows how far they’ve gotten.”
“We’ve got people out on the highways in every direction. They’ll ask around everywhere. Diners, gas stations, hotels.”
“State patrol is on it too,” Garrett said.
“Shame we don’t know what he’s driving,” Rob said, then took a sip of his coffee. “It would help if we knew what we were looking for. Did his car turn up?”
“It’s in Seattle, parked at his building,” Garrett said. “Whatever he’s driving, it isn’t his.”
“How is this guy so fucking elusive?” I asked. “There’s been a warrant out for his arrest since he assaulted Marigold. How is he just out there doing shit and no one can track him down?”
Rob’s brow furrowed. “Do you think…”
“What?” I asked.
“Sorry, my memory isn’t what it used to be. But do you think he could be using an alias?”
“He could be,” Garrett said. “But what does that have to do with your memory?”
“He came in here quite a few times. The whole town was buzzing about him, he was hard not to notice. I could have sworn he used a credit card with a different name one of those times. It struck me because Preston Bradford isn’t a name you hear around these parts. Has a city ring to it. But that time, he used a card that said John something-or-other. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
It was all I could do to let Rob finish talking. “John what? What last name did he use?”
“I wish I could remember.”
“Damn it,” I muttered. “Do you have receipts? Could we find it?”
“That would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, especially without a date or last name.”
“I’ll do it. It’s the closest thing we have to a lead.” I glanced at my brother. He looked uneasy. “Just walk away. If there’s anything illegal in going through restaurant receipts, I don’t want to know and you don’t need to know what I’m doing.”
He shook his head and wandered over to where some of the other SPS members had congregated.
“Show me the way,” I said to Rob.
I followed him to a back office that made my childhood bedroom—that I’d shared with two of my brothers—look organized by comparison. Stacks of paperwork covered the two desks, and shoe boxes of various sizes were stuffed in the shelves along with random utensils that were undoubtedly meant to be in the kitchen.
“Let’s see here.” He ran his finger along a row of boxes. They were labeled with the month and year in black marker. “This would be easier if we were sure of the dates, but this will get us started.”
He handed me several boxes and took down more. We brought them out to the breakfast bar and I took a seat. I opened the first box and found a mess of receipts and paperwork.
Rob slid a coffee across the bar. “Sorry about all that. I’m not the best at staying organized. But the receipts are in there and they should be in the right box according to date. Hopefully.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’d probably mess up your organization anyway.”
I took a sip of coffee and got to work. Rob helped from his side of the breakfast bar. The early morning sun streamed in through the windows and people came and went around me. I was running on caffeine and adrenaline, pure determination keeping me alert.
“Here’s a John,” Rob said. “No, this is John Miller. He lives over on Evergreen.”
I sorted through receipts, trying not to thumb through them too fast. The names started going by in a blur until I got to another John Miller. I put his receipt aside anyway, just in case.
The next few stacks produced nothing. I pulled out another one and toward the middle, I finally found something.
