“Okay, awesome,” Blake said. “Did you find Dylan yet?”
“Not yet.”
“All right,” he said. “So, like, when you do find him, tell him, like…my compliments to the chef.”
“Huh?”
“Gonzo,” he said. “It’s actually delicious.”
“I thought you hated Gonzo.”
“I don’t think I gave it a fair chance,” he said. “I saw one of my favorite skaters on YouTube drinking it, and, you know, with you taking the case and all…I thought I’d give Gonzo another try.”
“That’s charitable of you.”
“It’s super-good, Sunny. I really feel energized.”
“Well, I guess that’s what it’s supposed to do,” I said.
“You should try one. I bought a twelve-pack for the breakroom fridge. Maybe when you come in tomorrow morning…”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Your loss, dude,” he said.
“Yeah. I think I’m just too old for that stuff.”
“Okay, so after I lock up I guess I’ll head out to the gym. Take advantage of the energy. Pardon the pun.”
It wasn’t really a pun, but I didn’t point it out. “Great,” I said.
“Where are you right now?”
“On my way to a crime scene on the waterfront,” I said.
“Wait, what?”
“Lee Farrell called me. There’s been a murder.”
“Not Dylan.”
“No,” I said. “I believe it’s a drug dealer, actually. But from the looks of things, Dylan may be a suspect.”
“Seriously?”
I told Blake I’d let him know what happened, but that cases like this one were often full of surprises, and that if things turned out the way I feared they might, it wouldn’t be the firsttime I dealt with a missing person who morphed into a person of interest.
Blake was quiet for a long time. “Morphedis a sick word,” he said finally. “I’ve gotta start using it more.”
“Have a good workout,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Sunny.”
We hung up. I saw a gas station and pulled into it, parking the car momentarily. I grabbed my steno pad out of my purse and scrolled through Dylan’s contacts, copying down names and information. I was 99 percent sure that Lee would ask me to turn over the phone, so now was the time to take everything from it that I could. It was interesting to me that very few of the contacts on this phone matched up with the names on Lydia’s list. I did recognize one of them, though. Anna Horton. Under “relation,” Lydia had referred to her asProm Date—Junior High. When I’d called her from my office, I didn’t think she’d know or care about what Dylan had been doing for the past fourteen years—let alone the past two weeks. And sure enough, the call had gone straight to voicemail, so I’d put her on Blake’s list of people to email. Yet here she was among his iPhone contacts.Interesting…On impulse, I hit speed dial again. Again it went to voicemail, and again I left a quick message. Couldn’t hurt, I reasoned.
I looked at Dylan’s photos next. More dick pics. A few shots of fancy cocktails. An artful photograph of massive amounts of white powder on a glass-topped coffee table, Dylan’s face shown in the reflection.
Lee’s going to love this,I thought.
