Dr. Pressley studied the photos, looked up, and shook his head. “I don’t remember them.”
Was the man lying? Connor eyed the doctor, looking for any clue that he was uncomfortable or nervous. Not even a twitch.
“But you signed off the medical notes.” He passed over the file.
Once again, the doctor studied what was in front of him. And once again, he shook his head. “If I only saw them once, I may not remember them. Do you know how many people I see in a week? The regulars, I know, of course, but if I get a new person . . .” He shrugged. “That’s my signature, but I don’t know what else to tell you.” He frowned. “It’s kind of odd that I don’t at least recognize their faces, but nothing’s ringing a bell. I’m sorry.”
Open, honest eyes stared back at him from behind the desk, and Connor realized he wasn’t going to get anything more from this guy. His gut told him the man was telling the truth. Either he never saw the girls, or he just didn’t remember them.
Time to move on to the next doctor. He rose and held out his hand. “Thank you for your time. If you think of anything more or remember anything, would you give me a call?” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it over.
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks.”
Connor stepped out of the office to find Samantha sitting in a chair waiting on him. She popped up, a questioning look on her face.
“Nothing.”
Crestfallen, she sighed. “Yeah, me neither. That girl wasn’t even interested in modeling. I don’t think she’s here for the same reason our girls came.”
“This isn’t making any sense. Let’s go talk to all the doctors in the practice. There’s a connection somewhere, we just have to find it.”
“That’s going to take a while.”
“I’ve got the time.”
An hour and a half later, his stomach grumbling its hunger, he and Samantha trudged out to the car, their questioning netting them zilch.
His cell phone buzzed and he propped it on his shoulder to listen while he shifted his paperwork. “Hello?”
Samantha took it from him and held it to his ear for him.
He stilled as he listened, shot his gaze to hers, and said “thanks” to the person on the other end.
Sam hung up the phone for him and asked, “What is it?”
“That text I got about Jenna?”
“Yeah.”
“It came from Sydney Carter’s cell phone.”
“Sydney Carter’s?”
“Uh-huh.” Connor slammed the door and cranked the car. “They’re tracking it down now. I’m not holding my breath that he still has it on him. I’m sure he’s dumped it by now, probably tossed it the second he pressed send. But while we’re waiting to hear about that, let’s rehash what we learned inside.”
“Or didn’t learn.”
“Right. I can’t believe no one recognized those girls. Not even one of them.”
Samantha shook her head in disbelief as Connor pulled out of the parking lot. “Somebody’s lying. Has to be, but I swear, I don’t have a clue as to which one.”
“They all agreed the signatures on the physical form were their own. And none of them claimed the signature looked like it had been forged. Yet, they don’t remember the girls.”
“If they’re forgeries, they’re good.”
“I guess we need to get a handwriting expert to tell us for sure. I’ll get Dakota working on that one.”
“This case is taking all kinds of crazy turns. I feel like I’m on a theme park ride. Spinning in circles while I go up one side then the other. And nothing makes any sense.”
Connor actually laughed. A small one, but at least it was a chuckle. “An excellent analogy.”
“Connor, I talked to Jenna, questioned her about the guy who stopped her in the hall. She said he tried to ask her about Andrew, but she wasn’t interested in saying much. How is she . . . really?”
Guilt coated his features. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen her much since . . .”
Samantha didn’t bother saying anything. She didn’t have to.
Sighing, Connor flicked a glance in her direction, then looked away. “I don’t know what to do. I’m scared to death for her right now. I know how to tell her to be careful, I can even put a guy on her to watch out for her, but on an emotional level . . . I’m just not sure how to reach her.”
“Be there.”
“How?” He went transparent and she saw his agony—the deep, gut-wrenching pain of being pulled between wanting to keep other girls from falling into a killer’s hands and the knowledge that he was losing his daughter because the case consumed his every thought, his every waking moment.
“You have a task force. Let them do their jobs. You’re so busy trying to cover every aspect of this case when you’ve got trained help waiting for orders. Let go a little.”
“I’m delegating,” he protested weakly.
“Not enough.”
“Right.” He paused, then said, “Okay. So, what do we know? Let’s go through it.”
Sam could take a hint. Change the subject. Deal with it later. Or not. “Dakota went through Sydney’s journal, right?”
“Right. And came up with nothing viable. She talked big about wanting to make it in modeling, but we’ve already figured out that this guy most likely has a slew of screen names and is pretending to be an agent or scout or whatever for a modeling agency. He’s luring these girls in, convincing them he’s legit.”
Making a left at the next light, Connor tapped the wheel as he thought out loud. “You would think with all the girls who have gone missing and turned up dead, the teenagers around here would be a tad more cautious.”
“He’s promising them big bucks, fame, an awesome career. I guess they think it’s worth the risk. The sheriff is going to do another press conference, explaining exactly how this guy is working and what to look for. And to ask parents to please monitor all computer activities, to call us with anything suspicious.”
“You know, all of these girls had web pages, Facebook, a MySpace account, or something. It’s possible this guy is cruising their pages before he initiates contact. I checked and all but one of the girls have a public page that accepts comments and friends from people they don’t know.”
“Huh?” Connor pulled into the parking lot of the police station and cut the engine before turning to face her.
Samantha shot him an amused look. “On MySpace and Facebook, you can choose to have only people in your network of friends have access to your page. It’s called a private account. Or, you can allow anyone to look at it. All of these girls were open accounts. Meaning anyone had access to their pages.”
He blinked. “Okay, I know what MySpace and Facebook are and everything, but why is this important?”
“I’m wondering if it’s his way of getting to know them before he makes contact with them. His way of sneaking in the back door, so to speak. Unfortunately, teens put all kinds of personal information out there, and this guy could have figured out how to use it to get past defenses.” She shrugged. “Just a theory.”
“A real good one.”
Admiration deepened his eyes, and she shivered at the look. As though he could see much more than she wanted him to. Then he shifted, looked away, and while she felt relief, she also realized she was disappointed. She wanted that connection with him. The fact that he was a cop almost didn’t matter anymore. She found herself thinking about letting him in. Wondering what it would be like to open up and make herself vulnerable to him.
And that scared her. Because if he knew her deepest secret, her darkest guilt, he’d think she was a horrible person; he’d never look at her with admiration, respect, or in any other positive way ever again. Because she still hadn’t dealt with the anger that still overtook her on occasion. Anger at Jamie for her being so defiant and impulsive back then and putting her family through what they’d experienced. Anger at the fact that she couldn’t seem to stop the thought that maybe Jamie had deserved what happened to her. And then anger at herself for thinking it. Because mentally she knew it wasn’t true. No one deserved that. And it was certainly something she’d never shared with Jamie. Or anyone for that matter. It was just something that she had to continue to take to God. Sadness invaded her. Regret. Sorrow.
“I wonder if Jenna has a MySpace or Facebook page,” he muttered.
Shrugging off her dark thoughts, she told him, “It’s easy enough to find out. All you have to do is type her name in the search box.”
“Scary.”
“Very.”
“So what you’re saying is that this guy does his homework.”
“Absolutely.”
“But why? What’s his motive?”
“I think you’re on the right track with the black market babies theory.”
Connor blew out a breath. “So do I. I still say there’s a link somewhere between that doctor’s office and the missing girls. I find it mighty weird that none of the doctors remembered even one of them. Although, they were only there one time, just for that physical. But there has to be a reason they were referred to that office, and it’s probably as plain as the nose on my face. Unfortunately, I can’t see it.”
“Somebody in that office is involved up to his or her eyebrows. How many people would you say work there?”
“A bunch. You’ve got twelve doctors, fourteen, fifteen nurses, lab techs, secretaries, janitorial staff. I’d say well over thirty or forty people.”
“Could you delegate some of your task force to doing background checks on everyone employed there?”
He groaned. “It’s scary how much we think alike. I was just considering that very thing. And to answer your question, it would take a long time.”
Sam raised a brow and Connor reached for his phone, ready to do a little delegating. She led the way into the station, wondering how much longer they had before the next girl went missing.
The Agent watched from his car parked around the corner of the doctor’s office. For the first time since he and Boss had started this little endeavor, he felt . . . nervous. A tad anxious. How had they found this doctor’s office? What had he missed? Somehow, a clue had been left on one of the computers and Samantha Cash had found it. And that led them here.
But what? How much did they know? And who else besides them knew something? Probably everybody working on the case. He picked up the phone and hit the speed dial.
“Hello?”
“Did you see them?”
“Yes.”
“Did they talk to you?”
A sigh. “Yes. They talked to every doctor and nurse here, showing everyone pictures of the girls. But they didn’t learn anything.”
“They learned something. They’ve got a connection now. Something that each of the girls had in common. They’ll be doing background checks on everyone in that office. Will they find anything?”
“No, nothing criminal on me anyway. You know that as well as I do. But how did they know to come here?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out. Were you able to listen in on any of the conversations?”
“No, but I’m sure they were asking the same questions of everyone. They wanted to know if any of us recognized the dead girls. And they were asking about the signatures.”
The Agent swore. “They got the medical records.”
“What?”
“They compared all of the girls’ medical records. There must have been a notation in there about this place when you requested them from each of the other offices. I should have figured out a way to cover that up.”
Silence on the other end. “Is it safe to continue?”
“I think so. For now. I need that dark-haired girl you just saw. She’s got the perfect shade of hair and eyes. We’ll get at least a quarter million.”
The person on the other end sucked in a deep breath. “I know, but I think it’s too risky. I’d hold off on her. Don’t contact her anymore.”
“Maybe you’re right. They’re getting too close.”
“We’ve got enough money to live like royalty for the rest of our lives.”
“Or at least start over in another country. I’ll talk to Boss, see what direction I need to take next.”
“Whatever. I’m ready to cut all ties and get out of here. They’re making me awfully nervous.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them. Buy us some more time to get everything wrapped up before moving on. Yeah, just a little more time, a lot more money, then we disappear. It’s as simple as that.”
“Be careful. If they find you, they’ll probably be able to find me.”
“Have I let you down yet?”
The voice lowered. “Not yet, but I sure don’t want there to be a first time.”
“Go back to work. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
Friday morning, Jenna stared out the window, her geometry teacher once again droning on about the merits of angles and rays. Her mind drifted effortlessly. 2COOL had finally talked her into meeting him. Patty didn’t know yet, and Jenna hadn’t decided whether to tell her or not. She’d agreed, now she had to figure out if she was going to follow through and show up. Her father’s warnings continued to echo in her mind whether she wanted them to or not.
And she couldn’t discount the fact there was a guy in her town out there killing girls her age.
Then again, what were the chances that the guy she was going to meet would be that killer?
Of course, Miranda probably wondered the same thing. That thought chilled her enough to send goose bumps pimpling up her arms. She rubbed them, then bent to copy the diagram from the whiteboard. She’d have to study it later and see if she could figure out what it meant. Or maybe she could ask Bradley. But he seemed to be keeping his distance from her.
Then there was the matter of the sleepover thing tomorrow night with the church group. They’d changed it to Saturday so they could watch the sun come up one week after the shooting. Proof that hope exists, Maria had said, and they wanted to praise God for another Sunday.
Jenna wasn’t so sure about praising a God who had allowed Andrew to be killed, but part of her was intensely curious about people who had the capacity to actually do that.
Maria had called her last night to tell her it was still on. They weren’t going to let that gunman win, let him destroy their church. Jenna didn’t know what to tell the girl. She’d avoided talking to her in the halls, afraid one of her friends would see her and demand to know what she was doing talking to a geek like that. Secretly, Jenna liked Maria, but wasn’t willing to give up her coveted position of popularity to be friends with the girl publicly.