Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,12

too, because suddenly he sounds engaged and interested.

But the caller hangs up. I listen to the operator try a callback. No one answers. But the operator did manage to snag a number, and I look at the entry on the transcript. Bingo. Kez was almost certainly right, it’s likely a burner phone, but at the very least I can trace other towers where the cell pinged, if the caller keeps it on.

I log in to the J. B. Hall system and access the proprietary program; it’s plugged into all carriers in the area, and it works like a charm. Like I said: Not exactly legal, but not illegal either. It’s a dark shade of gray that sooner or later will be completely erased by new legislation, but the government moves too slowly to keep up with a lot of innovation in the tech industry. Private investigators don’t need warrants, just access agreements since we’re paying for the data use.

I put the phone number into our reverse database on another screen, but as expected, it comes back without a registered name and address. I switch back to the tracking and try that.

I watch the program as it highlights the path of the call. Not surprisingly, it’s hitting towers close to Stillhouse Lake, but the interesting thing is, when the call comes in, it’s already moving away from the spot where the car was discovered in the pond—and along a different road than the one where the pond is located. Logically, it’s already made at least one turn away from the crime scene . . . if it was ever on that road to begin with. It keeps moving, but not toward the lake, and not toward Norton. It navigates narrow back roads, then turns east.

I get a sinking feeling as I watch it steadily move forward. I know where it’s heading, and sure enough, the signal pings near a major freeway.

Then I lose the track completely. He’s almost certainly switched it off and removed the battery; he would have pulled off to do that before entering the freeway. Heading north or south? I have no way to know unless he activates the phone again.

Unless he’s already ditched it, I think. I imagine him rolling down the window and tossing the phone off on the side of the road. I mark the coordinates of the last signal. It might be worth a look. If Kez can retrieve the cell itself, it could reveal call logs, photos, texts, DNA, all manner of interesting information. Not to mention old-fashioned fingerprints.

He was enjoying himself. That impression makes shivers move over my skin. He said just enough to tease, not enough to give anything away. I’m honestly a little amazed the 911 operator sent a patrol at all, or that the county cop was lucky enough to spot the drowned car. God wanted those girls found. But what about the driver of the car? I imagine a mother bound and gagged in the back of that second car, screaming for her children. Not knowing, hopefully, what’s happened to them . . . though I don’t know which would be more torturous, knowing the fate of her babies, or not knowing at all. I can’t imagine. I don’t want to. I identify way too closely with it. I’d honestly thought that as my kids grew up and became more independent, I’d be less anxious. Instead, I find myself endlessly cycling through a horrific what-if catalog of disasters now more than ever, because I can’t protect them like I once could.

Maybe I’m wrong about the abduction. The other, colder possibility is that the woman was the one who rolled her own car into that murky water and watched her children struggle and die. That she had a ride waiting to take her away.

I don’t want to place bets on which scenario is worse.

But in that case, why make the 911 call?

I put everything I’ve got into an email and send it to Kezia, along with a note that I’m available if she needs anything, anytime. No immediate answer, but I don’t expect one. I’m hoping she’s finished up at the crime scene, and heading to rest a little . . . but I know it’s unlikely. A homicide is a ticking clock.

I shake it off with a sigh and prepare to shut down the laptop, but a message alert catches my attention. It’s not from an email I recognize, but I do get things in from other investigators,