Alexander Death(45)
Another thing that didn't quite fit for Seth: Jenny probably wouldn't have picked the Space Needle postcard that her dad had received. That was the one image everybody knew, from TV or the movies. Jenny would have chosen a more colorful and unexpected image, like a postcard featuring this huge totem pole in front of him. Or the giant stone troll under the George Washington Bridge. Or any of the statues of settlers, firemen, factory workers or Native Americans around town—Jenny, who enjoyed pottery and sculpture herself, would have picked any of these over something as bland as the Space Needle.
On the other hand, the postcard was exactly the sort of touch that Ashleigh would add, if she'd kidnapped Jenny and didn't want people looking for her. If that was the case, then Jenny was certainly not in Seattle, or anywhere close. She would be hundreds or thousands of miles from here.
Still, Seth didn't have any clues except for the postcard. He would continue asking around, and if nothing came up by tonight, he'd get a hotel room and start fresh in the morning. Seattle was a big city, with lots of little places to look.
He could only hope Jenny was safe. If she'd fallen into Ashleigh's hands, she would be in terrible danger. Seth couldn't stop worrying about her.
***
“Jennifer Morton's father received a postcard from her today. Postmarked Seattle,” said Chantella Williams, the investigator who was Heather's contact at Homeland Security.
Heather was currently working out of a borrowed office at the Medical University of South Carolina, keeping tabs on those patients who'd exhibited symptoms of Fallen Oak syndrome after the riot. She leaned back in her chair, listening to Williams on the phone.
“Seth Barrett left on a plane for Seattle this afternoon,” Williams continued.
“He went to join her?”
“We borrowed somebody from the Seattle office to tail him for a couple of hours. He was showing pictures of Jennifer to the locals, asking if they'd seen her.”
“So he really doesn't know where she is,” Heather said.
“Or they're going to a lot of trouble to make it look that way. He just made a hotel reservation from his phone, so it looks like he'll be staying overnight.”
“Any luck on Jenny herself?”
“Nothing there. She has no credit card, just a small checking account at the Fallen Oak Merchants and Farmers Bank, with less than forty dollars. That hasn't been touched. She's traveling with cash or someone's paying her way. We have her car's VIN and tag number flagged, so we'll hear from any police who might encounter it.”
“So that's it? We're just waiting?”
“We'll have our Seattle people check around some more. But until she does something to draw attention to herself...”
Heather sighed. “What about her father? What's he doing?” Neither Jenny nor her father had been home when Heather arrived with the Homeland Security people on Monday, so they had moved on to Seth's house. Later, they'd determined Darrell Morton had been hospitalized with some kind of nervous breakdown on Saturday night, checked in by his daughter Jenny. That was the end of Jenny's paper trail.
“Darrell Morton was released from the county hospital on Monday evening with a recommendation to seek psychiatric care,” Williams said. “Given the state of his insurance, though, I doubt he'll follow up.”
“Has he made any unusual phone calls? Or purchases?”
“If he had, I would be telling you about them, Dr. Reynard. I obviously don't have time to fill you in on everything that didn't happen.”
“Okay, sorry, Jesus,” Heather said. Williams was snappy today.
“Don't swear in my ear.”
“Fine. What else do you have? Any luck with the hospital footage?”
“We ran it through our best image-matching software, but there wasn't much to work with. The security camera was low-resolution, he had sunglasses and hair covering most of his face, no distinguishing marks—”
“Did you find anything or not?” Heather asked.
“Nothing so far. They're still trying.”
“So we don't have any idea where to find them.”
“There are still a lot of cracks in the world where people can disappear, Dr. Reynard. Now, Assistant Director Lansing wants me to get an update from your end.”
“The update is that it's over,” Heather said. “All symptoms of Fallen Oak syndrome faded from those rioters in a few days. No infections, no scarring, and of course no pathogen. We're keeping up with them on an outpatient basis. Maybe something will crop up.”
“But there is no remaining evidence that anything unusual happened in Charleston?”
“Just those videos from the hospital. And your people took them into evidence.” Heather sighed. “You can tell Nelson Artleby that there's no threat to the President's poll ratings on national security.”