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He skimmed the lines, long conversations about what one of the texters planned to do to the other. Or, even more graphic, what was happening to their bodies as they communicated. “People really get off on this?”
“All the time,” Voss told him. “It’s like they touch themselves with their free hand or just imagine the other person and, voila, an orgasm. But look at the end of the communication, the last couple of lines.” She rounded his desk and pointed to the screen where the conversation got precise.
Caller: Meet me at St. Augustine’s. You’ve got keys.
Annessa: Why there?
Caller: Old times’ sake. Think about what all those nuns would say.
Annessa: Oooh. They’d want to punish me.
Caller: I want to punish you. You’ve been such a bad, bad girl.
Annessa: Okay. You’ve convinced me. What time?
Caller: Around midnight. The witching hour.
Annessa: That’s weird.
Caller: But you like weird, don’t you? You like things a little kinky. This is making you hot already. Just thinking about it.
Annessa: Clint is coming home. Tomorrow. Early. Possibly tonight.
Caller: Which makes it all the more exciting. Dangerous. And you like danger, don’t you?
Annessa: You know I do.
Caller: I might come just thinking about it.
Annessa: Don’t. Wait for me.
Caller: Oh, I’ll be waiting.
Cade stared at the screen. “So who is the anonymous number? Anyone we know?”
“Oh, yeah,” Voss said, nearly bursting. “That number belongs to Mr. Nathan Moretti. Single. Self-employed. Sells medical equipment in Astoria.”
And one of Rachel’s classmates. Best friend of Luke Hollander and son of Dr. Richard Moretti, the doctor who had pronounced Luke DOA.
“I figure Annessa didn’t tag him with a name or have his picture in her phone just in case good old Clint picked up her phone.” Voss crossed her arms, pleased with her discoveries. “So I assume you want to interview him.”
“Oh, yeah.”
He was already pushing his chair away from the desk, grabbing his sidearm. “Want to come along?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She slid her phone in her slacks pocket and slipped on her shoulder holster. “And by the way, Ryder?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m the lead on this one. You just may be a little too close to the investigation. If it weren’t for the fact that we’re so small, I’m pretty sure the chief would kick your ass off this one.” She was reaching for her jacket. “So mind your p’s and q’s.”
“What the hell does that mean anyway?”
“Hell if I know. My translation: Don’t get in my way.” She slid her arms through the sleeves as they began walking.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, in step with her as they walked through the back door near the lunchroom.
“Yeah, right.”
