Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“This number is no longer in service. Please call back or check the number again,” an automated voice informs us.
Gritting my teeth, I run it through our system and find that it is a pay-as-you-go number. Another fucking dead end.
“What now?” Martinez asks, still leaning against my desk.
“We go to the storage unit all of Anna’s stuff was placed in. Maybe there’s something there that will give us a clue who this guy is, and since we’re going to be over there, we’ll go talk to the dean and see if he can give us a lead or tell us something we don’t already know.”
“Are you driving, or am I?”
“I’ll drive.”
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” He pushes away from my desk.
“You taking off?” Tucker asks, walking to his desk.
“Yeah, Martinez and I are heading down to Murfreesboro.” I stand and shrug on my jacket. “What are you up to?”
He glances toward Deputy Chief Stedman’s office. “Just checking into a few things. You up for having a beer later tonight?”
“Sure, I’ll let you know when I get Win to sleep.” I grab my gun out of my drawer and holster it. I look over to tell him bye and find him watching me with an odd look. “What?”
“You look exhausted.”
“Thanks.”
He shakes his head. “Are you good? Winter, Emma?”
“Everyone’s good.”
“All right.” He pats me on the shoulder as I walk past him. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you tonight.” I leave without sparing him another glance and walk through the station. When I get outside, Martinez is grabbing a bag from his car. “Ready?”
“Yep.” He walks around to the passenger door and gets in.
“What’s in the bag?”
“I brought us a picnic,” he mutters, and I sigh.
It’s going to be a long fucking day.
It takes us about forty-five minutes to make it to the storage building in Murfreesboro, where Anna’s parents asked for her stuff to be moved to until they’re able to come pick it up. When we arrive, I give them a call, and with their permission, the girl working behind the counter passes us a key. The unit is small—ten by ten feet at most—but the entire thing is filled from top to bottom with boxes and furniture.
The two of us make quick work of getting everything outside, then we slowly begin the arduous task of going through each box, one by one, then stacking them back inside the unit. When we are down to just a few boxes and the largest pieces of furniture, I come across a small notebook tucked in with schoolbooks, pens, paper, and other odds and ends. Likely things from the desk sitting outside the unit.
Opening it up, I scan the first page and read what sounds like poetry. The next page and the next are more of the same. On the third—another poem—but in the corner of the page there are hearts and stars scribbled in a circle, with the name Kelce in pretty handwriting in the middle of it. A doodle you would maybe make if you like someone. It’s not much, but it’s more than we had, and knowing what bar the girls were at the night they were killed, there is a chance someone there might know who Kelce is.
“Thatcher.” I turn and find Martinez holding up a small white box.
“Shit.”
“The test is in it,” he says, and I walk toward him.
“The medical examiner’s report didn’t show a pregnancy.” I take the pregnancy test box from him.
“But did the guy she was seeing know she wasn’t pregnant?”
“That’s the question.” I pass him the notebook I came across.
“These look like song lyrics,” he says, flipping through it, then his eyes meet mine. “Kelce?”
“Could be the boyfriend,” I mutter, then add, “Let’s keep looking and see if we find anything else.”
Unfortunately, those two pieces of information are the only ones we come across as we go through Anna’s things. After we finish getting everything put back in the unit, we head to the college, where we meet with the dean and get a list of both Anna and Grace’s teachers, along with their email addresses, so we can set up meetings directly with them.
When we get back to Nashville, it’s almost four, so we go to the bar the girls were last seen at. Only one of the bartenders that recognized them is working, so we ask if she knows if any of the bands that play at their location have a member named Kelce. She doesn’t but, tells us the manager would since she does all the bookings for the bar.
As we’re leaving, I notice a band setting up, so I stop to speak with them. As soon as I show them the girls’ pictures, they all recognize them from the news coverage. Unfortunately, none of them ever had any contact with them. On a whim, I ask if they know anyone by the name of Kelce, and the lead singer swears, he knows a singer by that name who plays in some of the bars on the strip from time to time. Never with a band, always alone with just a guitar.