I busied myself combing through the statements from Becky’s parents and her friend she’d been studying with. There had to be some detail I was missing, I thought, there had to be something I could use to solve this case and save this kid. I paused to text Damon back about rescheduling practice because the forecast called for a ninety percent chance of rain that afternoon. Then my mind swung back immediately to the problem of Becky Simms, and the problem of rain driving people indoors. If she were still alive, eyewitnesses were crucial to the tip line we were hoping would pan out with a lead.
Laura had been sharing photos of Becky Simms on social media, and Clint had posted printouts of her picture all over Rockford Falls. People knew what she looked like, what she was wearing, and they could spot her. But wet weather could keep a southerner indoors when scorching heat never did. Fewer people out and about meant fewer possible sightings of the missing girl.
I rubbed my forehead and decided we should put up posters in the neighboring towns as well to cast a wider net. I started a list of places they should go up—the high schools, the fast-food places, the convenience stores—when I heard a knock. I knew it was Laura because I already knew the sound of her step and the difference of her knock from everyone else’s. My ears alert for her voice, her movements. I looked up as she entered.
“Max called me,” she said.
“Tech boy from Charleston?” I asked.
“Yeah. He traced the burner phone. Which is damn near impossible from what he tells me. It was sold at the gas station on the west side of Overton at 2:28 pm last Tuesday.”
“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my keys.
Laura shared the contact info with me, and I dialed up the store and asked for a manager. “Pull the video footage from last Tuesday afternoon. The department needs it and I’ll bring a warrant.”
I hung up.
“Who’s gonna swear out a search warrant on such short notice?” she asked. I shook my head.
“The store has nothing to hide. It was a perfectly legal transaction. I offered to get a warrant, and the manager said it wouldn’t be a problem. Local businesses like to cooperate with law enforcement.”
“So you were bluffing?”
“I could get one. It’d take about three hours if I was lucky though.”
“All right. You’re the chief. I’ll take your word for it,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here and work on getting her picture out? One of the other guys could—”
“You ride with me,” I said. ”We started working this case together and we’ll finish it that way.”
“Thanks, chief,” she said.
“You’re welcome, Vance,” I said, holding the door for her.
13
Laura
Brody’s office had seemed small until I saw what passed for the manager’s office at a convenience store. It was roughly the size of the fried chicken display and it smelled just as greasy. We were wedged behind what had to be a junior high-sized desk staring at a desktop computer monitor as the manager ran store surveillance video footage for us. It was tedious. Since we weren’t looking for anything dramatic—not a robbery or a hostage grab or even shoplifting-we didn’t have a visual on a suspect unless it was her ex-boyfriend. We just watched a lot of really dull video of people staring at the soda and chips and beer, sidling over to the counter and choosing scratch-off lottery tickets and vape refills. My head started to throb with the beginning of a low-level headache.
I glanced over at Brody. His squint of concentration made it seem like he was willing the screen to produce something important and useful. I could almost believe he could make it appear, the definitive lead we were desperate for. The manager got called to the front to deal with a cash register problem, leaving us alone in the cramped office, our two plastic chairs smashed against each other so close our thighs touched if I didn’t keep my legs tightly together. I relaxed a little, my leg brushing his.
“If I fast forward?” I ventured.
“We can’t. We’re only running it up to 2:30pm, and if the buyer makes an appearance early, leaves and comes back for more supplies or lingers and makes a call or anything, we’d miss it. The video is pretty good quality, so we might even get a zoom-in on his phone screen.”
“He doesn’t have a phone until he gets the burner,” I said.
“Yeah he does. He just doesn’t use it for crimes, kid,” he said wearily. I rolled my eyes, annoyed at myself for assuming the buyer needed a burner phone for anything other than something he wanted to cover up.
“It might not be a guy,” I ventured.