“Kirby.”
Nothing.
“Hello? This is Dane Kirby.”
Still nothing. Dane was about to end the call and redial the number when he heard a female voice cut in on the line.
“Hello? Can you hear me?” The voice sounded familiar. It didn’t take long for Dane to recognize Clementine Richland from the Cobb County DFCS office.
“Yes, Mrs. Richland. I can hear you. I’m sorry. I’m up in North Georgia and the reception is awful.”
“That’s okay. I can hear you fine now. Listen, I hate to bother you, but you said to call if I found out anything useful about your case—about finding William.”
“Of course, go ahead.”
“It may be nothing, but I don’t know.”
“Please, Mrs. Richland, I’m listening.”
“The school I mentioned when we met—Morningside. The special school that William attended before his brother pulled him out.”
“Yes. What about it?” Dane switched the phone from one ear to the other.
“Well, I had them get in touch with me like you asked, and it took a while—most of the afternoon actually—because they were apparently dealing with their own situation this morning.”
“What situation?”
“They were vandalized. Someone broke into the main offices last night and smashed up the place pretty good. They busted up the computers, knocked over filing cabinets, and broke all the phones. That’s why they took so long to call me back.”
“And you think the break-in had something to do with William?”
“Well, I don’t know, but when I asked if they could send over all the files they had on William and his particular curriculum, they couldn’t find them.”
“Because the offices were in disarray, or because they’re missing?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that it’s been several hours and I’ve spoken to several people over there and everything else seems to be intact—except a few files that are still missing—including William’s.”
Dane sat up in his seat and tried to get a better look through the glass door of the store for Ned. How long did it take to get a pack of smokes? “Mrs. Richland, did William have a special teacher? Someone who worked with him one-on-one. Or did he go to several classes like normal middle school students?”
“Oh, no, William had a specific teacher. That’s how the school is set up. Her name is Dawn Jeffers and she specializes in kids with Asperger’s. We actually work with her from time to time here at my office. She’s a wonderful person. She’s a doctor of child psychology.”
Dane sat up straighter in his seat. “Would Ms. Jeffers’s home address be listed with the missing paperwork you mentioned?”
“Um, I suppose it would. Do you think that she could be in some sort of danger?”
Dane cut the truck’s engine and reached over to the glove box. “You said you worked with her from time to time in your office. Do you have her contact information there with you?”
“Yes, I think so. Agent Kirby, is she in danger?”
“Listen, Clem, I don’t know, but I need to reach her ASAP, so please, if you have her contact—”
Clem recited the number over the phone and Dane used a Sharpie from the glove box to write it on his hand. He read the number back, and Clem confirmed. “Thank you, Mrs. Richland. Please let me know if you find out anything else.” Clem began to answer him, but Dane quickly ended the call and tried the number written on his hand. It went directly to voice mail. He tried again—and again—before he dialed August. By the time he answered the phone, Dane was already out of the truck. He opened the door to Pollard’s and scanned the small shop for Ned.
“What is it, Kirby?” he heard August say through the phone.
“August. I need you to get as many men as you can to the personal address of someone named Dawn Jeffers.”
“Who?”
“Call the local PD down there. Again, her name is Jeffers—Dawn Jeffers.”
“Who is that, Kirby?”
“She’s someone in the crosshairs of this mess and I think she might be in danger—right now. I think our killer vandalized the school she teaches at to get her address in order to get to William.” Dane walked each aisle of the small grocery, bait, and tackle shop frantically looking for Ned.
Where the hell did he go?
“What’s this Dawn Jeffers’s address?”
“I don’t know, August. How many can there be? She’s a doctor. Find her address and get some people out there—now—please.”
“Okay, I’m on it.”
Dane stuffed his phone in his pocket. He banged the bell on the counter by the register. It startled the kid on the floor stocking cigarettes under the counter.
“Damn, Chief, you scared me.”
“Bailey, where’s Ned?”
“Who?”
“Ned. Ned Lemon. He just walked in here five minutes ago to buy some cigarettes.”
“Skinny dude—long hair?”
“Yeah.”
“He bought a pack of Camel Lights, told me to keep the change, which was pretty sweet, and then told me to tell someone named Dane he was sorry.”
“I’m Dane, Bailey. That’s my name.”
Bailey looked baffled. “Really,” he said. “I ain’t known you as nothing but Chief Kirby my whole life.”
“Then what happened, Bailey?”
“Well, then he asked for the key to the john.”
Dane leaned over the counter and looked behind the cigarette rack. Nothing else but a folding chair with an open copy of Hustler on the seat filled the small gap where Bailey stood. Dane leaned down heavily on the counter and squeezed his eyes shut, then walked over to the bathroom door. He pushed it open but knew it would be empty.
“What’s the deal?” Bailey said. “Did I miss something?”
“Where’s the back door?”
“Right there, but it’s locked up tight, sir.”
“Is the key to the back door on the same ring as the one to the bathroom?”
“Um,” Bailey said. Dane made his way over to the back door and saw the twelve-inch sawed-off pool cue dangling from the key still stuck in the lock. “Goddamnit.” He barely had to press the security bar for it to open. “Goddamnit,” he said again.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bailey said over Dane’s shoulder. “I’m glad he didn’t steal the key. That’s why I put that pool cue on there. I’ve had to replace those keys three times already out of my own pocket.”
Dane just stared at him.
“I dodged a bullet there, huh, Chief?”
Dane didn’t say anything. He marched back to the front door and nearly broke the glass pushing it out of his way.
Bailey followed him outside. “Hey, you want me to have him call you if he comes back in? You want to leave a number?”
Dane didn’t answer. It took a few minutes before he was calm enough to drive.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The man in black set his gun down on the counter and peeled off his rubber gloves. He always wore gloves when he worked, but the thin powder-blue nitrile material had snagged on something as he was coming in the back door and ripped it, causing him to get blood on his left hand. He set the wadded-up gloves down next to the gun and gently lifted the handle to the faucet with his elbow. Once the stream of water was hot enough, he rubbed his hands together, letting the blood mix and swirl down the drain of the kitchen sink. He used his elbow again to mash the pump on the bottle of fancy hand soap.