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“Are you going to ask to be put back on the Palmer case?”
“Not exactly. I’m going to tell him about the sex-trafficking ring and pitch it as I’ll focus on that and its possible connection to the cold cases of Ritter and Webb while you’ll follow leads directly related to Palmer, such as the Caprice, the taxi service, possibly the sobriety coin, etcetera.”
“Okay, makes sense. So we’ll tackle all that tomorrow?”
“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”
She leaned against the headrest and ran through what tomorrow morning was going to look like. “Ah, shit.”
Trent glanced over but didn’t say anything as she pulled out her phone and brought up the notepad app where she’d keyed Motel Guy’s plate.
“There’s actually one thing I should probably get a start on tonight. My alibi.” She turned the keyboard of the onboard computer so she could reach it in the passenger seat and keyed in the tag.
Amanda stared at the DMV results. Motel Guy was legally known as Logan Hunter. She dug a little deeper and pulled up a simple background. Unbelievable. He was married! That made Amanda a homewrecker. But she hadn’t known he had a wife. No criminal record—a small plus at least.
Logan had lived and worked in Dumfries for the last two years. Before that, a Podunk in Nebraska. His current place of employment was listed as Precise Construction in Dumfries.
She swung the keyboard back in place swiftly enough that Trent looked at her again, but he didn’t say anything.
She was going to throttle Mr. Hunter the second she got the chance. She had half a thought to show up on his doorstep tonight and tell his wife all about their night at the Dreamcatcher Inn, but that wouldn’t be to Amanda’s advantage. She needed Logan to verify her alibi. No, she’d surprise him at work first thing tomorrow morning.
Thirty-Three
Amanda’s head pounded like a tiny man with no sense of rhythm was playing steel drums in her skull. But she didn’t have time to lounge around wallowing in agony. She was a little slower moving than yesterday morning, but she was still out of bed by seven thirty.
She stuck a pod in her coffee machine and, while it got to work, so did she. She called Trent to let him know to carry on with what they’d talked about last night and she’d be in a bit later. She fired off a quick text to Malone letting him know the same and added that she would be getting her alibi sealed up. He came back with an immediate, Wonderful.
Next, she grabbed her personal laptop and cracked it open on the kitchen counter. The thing was a few years old, but it still worked for whatever tasks she’d needed it for.
It was still working on signing her in when the coffee machine spewed and sputtered and let out a loud whoosh as it finished topping up her cup. The aroma was intoxicating, and if she homed in on it enough, she might be able to forget that her career was hanging by a thread; that a crazy man could have shot her yesterday; that she’d gone and seen her parents; and that shortly she’d be face to face with Logan Hunter. The thought of those poor girls suffering out there never left her mind.
If she was a drinker, she’d add a splash of bourbon this morning, but she left the coffee unadulterated, blew on it, and took a tentative sip. Perfection. One deep inhale, eyes closed to savor, then she brought up Google and searched Precise Construction.
In seconds she knew their basic business model: construction of residential subdivisions. That information only got her so far though. She had no idea what Logan Hunter did for them. She called the number on the header of the company’s website.
“Precise Construction, Barb speaking.”
“Barb, I’m Detec—” She stopped there. With her name plastered in the paper, it might be best to use a little deception, and really, she didn’t need to give a name. “I’d like to speak with Logan Hunter.”
“I can leave a message for him, but Mr. Hunter is on a jobsite today until six.”
Did Logan work in the office and was simply out to inspect a jobsite or was he blue collar? She saw the tab for “Meet our Team,” that would probably show faces and names for administrative positions—something she might have benefited from visiting before calling, but there was no going back in time. “Oh, I thought I might reach him in the office,” she said, hoping to recover.
“I don’t see why. He works on jobsites…” There was a leeriness to Barb’s voice. “Who did you say this was?”
“I didn’t.” Amanda quickly hung up. She could have asked the woman where Logan was working, but she highly doubted she’d be getting anything else out of Barb.
She returned her attention to the website. Maybe there was a blog or something to indicate their current projects…
“Aha!”
There was a link to a trade article on the company’s media page. According to it, Precise Construction had been awarded the contract for the development of a government-funded, affordable-housing community going up near Interstate 95. It was described as “one of the largest construction developments underway in the area,” and Amanda knew right where to find it. Logan might be working somewhere else, but she’d rule out this jobsite first.
Amanda would say the construction project was well underway but far from finished. She recalled from the article that it had been slated for completion at the end of last year. She spotted Logan’s Dodge Ram—so he was here somewhere—but she had to hunt for a parking spot.
A sign at the entrance boasted of affordable housing with luxury perks, such as walking trails and a dog-grooming station, and directed interested parties to a trailer clearly marked Sales Office. Next to it was another trailer, likely the one belonging to the site foreperson. She found a place to park and went in the foreperson’s trailer. Nothing luxurious in there. Purely functional and a no-nonsense work environment with only the staples necessary to get the job done: three cheap, melamine desks, each of which had trays piled high with paper. Blueprints pinned to the wall seemed to qualify as artwork, but no one was home.
She grabbed the door to leave and a man in a hard hat ran right into her. “Whoa!” She lost her footing and faltered backward. He caught her arm, and she brushed free of him. “You should watch where you’re going.”
