Threads of Suspicion(36)
“I’m meeting up with one of Saul’s neighbors and a longtime friend, Dell Langford. I’ve got calls out related to Everett that hopefully turn into conversations. I’ve got others on my list who work nights—delivery package sorting, bartender, bouncer—so I may try for some late-night conversations. I’d like to end today with the same kind of movement you’re getting with yours.”
“I’ve benefited from help. You are making progress, David.”
“It’s that this case seems stuck. The way through that is to get out talking with people.”
“How many people have you spoken with today?”
David paused a moment, then said, “Ten. His sister, along with the woman who worked the answering service and handled his business calls, his two landlords for the business location and rented home, a friend of Saul’s from his newspaper days, his regular auto mechanic to see if there was anything about his car that might help me find parts if it had been stripped, a taxi driver Saul paid occasionally to help him out, Everett, Everett’s cousin, the other three active-case clients. Make that twelve. The rest of the calls were trying to track people down.” David smiled at the look she gave him. “Busy is not productive. You know there’s a difference.”
“You never know where the right answer is until you locate that lead going somewhere. Don’t work too late is my advice, but I’ll likely be going until midnight so it would just sound foolish. We’re both sprinting when we should be doing a more settled jog.”
“Any idea how Sharon, Theo, and Taylor are faring?”
“I was going to ask you that. I really don’t want to be the last unsolved case in the county.”
David laughed. “We’re sprinting for a reason. It’s called ‘fear of looking bad.’ Or ambition. Or just plain stubbornness. These cases have remained unsolved for too long, and justice needs to be done. Take your pick.”
“Probably all of them. On that, I’m going back to work,” Evie decided, turning back to her laptop.
“I think we’re well-suited for these cases.” He turned to take the coffee mugs back to the break room. “I’m fixing another pot of coffee.”
Eight
Working at night was mentally more laid back, and Evie didn’t mind putting in the extra hours. She pulled out police reports from the first box and started reading again, looking for additional facts for her board. She liked the style of the cop who had written most of these reports—clear without being verbose. He had been putting in the extra effort to find out what happened. It showed in the depth of the questions he’d asked, the number of interviews conducted.
She turned the page, saw the next report had been misfiled with a date earlier in the search. Jenna’s driver’s license is missing from the wallet. Evie read that, stopped, shook her head at her own oversight—she’d walked right past this when inspecting the wallet’s contents herself.
She picked up her pad, added it to her Facts list and circled it twice.
20. Jenna’s driver’s license is missing
Evie leaned back in her chair and let the information play through her mind. First, could it be a fact unrelated to the disappearance? There were reasons Jenna might have taken her license out. She could have slid it into her pocket as proof of age, was dashing out for a quick trip and didn’t want to take her purse. But her car keys were still in her apartment, so she wasn’t driving somewhere, and she wasn’t a drinker according to the interviews.
How often did someone actually need to get out their driver’s license? Evie ticked off five possible reasons: after being stopped for speeding, ID when writing a check, at bank tendering a check for cash, entry to a club with an age restriction, proving age for buying alcohol. Maybe a number six with TSA ID requirements at the airport. Jenna likely hadn’t used her driver’s license in months, probably wouldn’t even have noticed it gone. This could be a months-earlier crime. How many other drivers’ licenses were reported missing among college students that year? If it were an identity-theft ring, it wouldn’t be just hers getting lifted. Evie flipped the page and wrote a note to look into this further.
The security chief at the Fifth Street Music Hall had shown her video of pickpockets working the concert crowds, security’s own variation of a top-ten tape since it was such a routine problem for them. Jenna’s license could easily have been lifted the night she went missing, or at any concert she attended before.
If whoever took Jenna’s license did so to find out where she lived, that would answer a major question regarding who and would eliminate anyone who already knew the address—the boyfriend, the ex-boyfriend, most of her study group, her girlfriends and their boyfriends.