Page 56 of Chasing Creed

The waitress noted their positions and said, “Always working. Always watching, huh?”

“Yup, you got that right. Christin, this is Maggie O’Dell with the FBI.”

She raised an eyebrow as she set the menus in front of them. Then to Maggie she said, “He never brings his wife. Talks about her. But we’ve never seen her. You might look into that.”

Pakula laughed again. “She’s not a Mexican food connoisseur.”

Still looking at Maggie and ignoring Pakula, Christin said, “Yeah, we’re not sure a wife really exists.” Without missing a beat, she asked Maggie, “Can I get you started with a margarita?”

“Actually, a beer sounds good.”

“Make that two,” Pakula chimed in.

“Your regular brand?”

He nodded.

“I’ll bring some chips and salsa, too.”

Maggie peeled off her jacket. Mexican music played from the speakers. The place was warm and colorful. And smelled good.

“Nice change,” she told Pakula. Usually when they worked a case, they grabbed hamburgers to go.

It didn’t take long, and Christin brought the beers and chips with four different salsas. After she took their orders, Maggie pulled out the flyer. She smoothed it out on the table between them while Pakula brought out a pair of eyeglasses. The restaurant’s light was dim but much better than the SUV.

The block printing looked as if it had been scribbled in a hurry, but there were four distinct columns, despite the slant and the lines being uneven.

Maggie’s index finger pointed out the top reference of each column, reading aloud and gliding her finger across from left to right.

“Charlotte#, original name, PLS, and DOE. DOE has numbers and slashes that look like dates. Do you suppose PLS is place last seen?”

He pointed to a line in that column, “Chalco.” “If this is what I think it is, then yes.”

“What is Chalco?”

“Chalco Hills Recreation Area. That’s where they pulled the woman out of the lake. The one we saw in the morgue.”

She took a gulp of beer and stared at Pakula. “It can’t be the same woman, can it? Didn’t they just find her yesterday?”

He moved his finger to the next column on the same line. “DOE is yesterday’s date.”

Maggie stared at the numbers. “So, DOE is what?”

“Date of…”

“Elimination. Or Expiration. How does this person know that?”

“It might have been in the news.”

“But no one’s released her identity yet, have they?”

He pulled out his phone and started checking messages. Then tapped out his own and sent it.

Maggie slid her finger from column to column. “According to this, she was Charlotte #8. Her name was Nina Wrobel.”

Pakula’s phone already dinged a response.

“No one’s identified her yet. According to Jules, they haven’t had any inquiries, media or otherwise. He submitted the DNA like we asked.”