Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,21
have a plan.
“I know someone in the ME’s office who might have something,” she improvised. “And I’ll interview the lead detective and find out where everything stands. I heard they were going through parking lot footage looking for leads.”
He nodded. “Have they scheduled a presser for today?”
“No.”
He stood. “Well, try that dispatcher again. Just in case that detective blows you off. Who’s the lead on this one?”
“Jacob Merritt.”
Max scoffed. “You won’t get crap from that guy. Try his partner. Kendra something.”
“Porter.”
“Yeah, try her. Merritt’s tight as a drum. Expect him to stonewall.”
* * *
* * *
DANA SMITH LIVED in a spacious one-bedroom unit on the fourth floor. The apartment faced west and had a narrow balcony barely large enough for a chair. If Jacob leaned out far enough, he could see a partial view of the lake, including the stretch of shoreline that had been a crime scene Saturday night.
Just one more strange circumstance in a list of strange circumstances that was growing longer by the minute.
Jacob stepped into the bathroom now and looked around. The counter was clean and uncluttered. With a gloved hand, he pulled back the shower curtain. A row of high-end hair products lined the tub, and a pink razor sat in the soap dish. He turned to the mirrored cabinet above the sink. Opening it, he found mouthwash, dental floss, and about a dozen bottles of vitamins. Under the sink he found a stack of beige bath towels and a teeth-whitening kit.
Jacob returned to the living room, where a dark gray sofa and matching armchairs were arranged around a wooden coffee table. Fuzzy pink throw pillows added some color, but the entire place had a bland, staged look, like an IKEA showroom.
Jacob poked through a stack of mail on the coffee table—all flyers and catalogs addressed to Current Resident. Set apart from the stack was a Lululemon catalog with several pages earmarked. It also was addressed to Current Resident but the street listed was Mockingbird Cove. Jacob took out his phone and snapped a picture of the address.
Stepping into the kitchen, he opened several cabinets to find plain white dishes. No coffeepot, but on the stove was a red teakettle. The kitchen drawers held the usual assortment of flatware and utensils. He opened another cabinet to find a hodgepodge of chunky ceramic mugs in different shapes and colors that looked like they’d come from a garage sale.
Jacob opened the dishwasher. The top tray held a cereal bowl and two wineglasses. Dirty or clean? He held one of the glasses up to the window, and sunlight illuminated several fingerprints. Either she’d used both wineglasses herself or she’d had someone over. A CSI could tell him.
Jacob replaced the glass and moved to the breakfast bar, where a short black charger was plugged into the outlet.
Jacob’s phone buzzed with a call from Kendra.
“What’d you find?” he asked her.
“You said Dana Anne Smith, Anne with an e, correct?”
“That’s what the paperwork says,” he told her. “She’s listed as the occupant, but the apartment is leased to an LLC.”
“Okay, get this. The name ‘Dana Smith’ came in over the tip line.”
“You’re kidding.”
“The caller saw the story on the news and recognized the pictures,” Kendra reported. “She says Dana works for her, but she didn’t show up today and hasn’t answered her phone all weekend. This woman lives over in Hyde Park and says Dana’s her nanny.”
“Four sixty-two Mockingbird Cove.”
Silence.
“Kendra?”
“How the hell did you know that?”
“There’s some mail to that address here in the apartment.” Jacob opened the fridge. An array of flavored soda waters filled the top shelf. Underneath was a six-pack of yogurt and a cardboard take-out container from Red Pagoda.
“Okay, so that’s confirmation,” Kendra said.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean? Everything lines up.”
“Something feels off.” He closed the door and zeroed in on a piece of paper stuck to the side of the fridge with a magnet. It was a drawing scribbled with green and pink crayon. Jacob had no idea what it was supposed to be. A tornado? A heart? Maybe the kid she took care of had drawn it for her. The magnet was from a local art museum.
“How do you mean ‘off’?” Kendra asked.
“This apartment’s odd. It’s in a prime location and it’s filled with nice stuff, but Dana Smith’s name isn’t anywhere. I’m not finding any bills, letters, check stubs, prescriptions. No financial paperwork, no receipts. No photographs in the place. No pictures on the walls. The closet’s half-empty, and she only has four pairs