Reed fired off a note to an old friend he had in the Baltimore PD, asking for any insider information on the Vincent Frick homicide. The internet search he’d performed suggested it was unsolved.
Ashley and Tula appeared in front of him again with more shoes. “The sales guy said these are good to go with school uniforms,” Ashley said, indicating the sensible pair of navy shoes on Tula’s feet. They were buckled, not Velcro, so to Reed they seemed to pass muster.
“They don’t jump as good,” Tula said as she made a halfhearted attempt.
“What about for you?” Reed asked Ashley.
“I found some new Chuck Taylors. I can’t decide whether to get the red or the black.”
“Well then, both, obviously.” His sisters at Ashley’s age had rows upon rows of shoes in their closets. He suspected Kimmy still did.
“Oh, I can’t.”
“You can,” Reed said as he put away his computer and scooped up the original pair of sneakers that Tula had selected. “In fact, you both can.” Tula launched into a celebratory dance, and Reed reflected how easy it was to make her happy now with a single pair of rocket ship shoes. Sarit would be livid when she saw them, probably thinking he’d bought them just to spite her, but if she ever bothered to ask him he would tell her it had nothing to do with her. He’d cleaved his family at Sarit’s request, leaving the home and agreeing to see his daughter on a fixed schedule, like she was a dentist’s appointment. He’d willingly made himself smaller in her life because that’s what Sarit had argued was best for Tula. Stability. Harmony. But, oh, how his heart ached whenever he had to send her off again, when the weekend was up and he had to watch her face in the backseat of Sarit’s car, disappearing down the road. It seemed to him as though Tula grew two inches between visits. Gone was the chubby-cheeked toddler and the preschooler who always had paint on her nose. His daughter was growing up and away from him, eventually for good. At least now she’d be taking a piece of him with her when she left.
Reed paid for the shoes and then dropped both kids at his rented hotel suite. He gave the key card to Ashley. “Stay on the property, but feel free to use the pool or rent a movie. You can order room service for lunch and it will just go to my bill.”
“What should we get?” She looked anxious again. “Like, what’s the limit?”
He momentarily blanched, thinking of the six-dollar candy bars in the mini-fridge. Then he remembered he was leaving these girls to go in search of another one, a girl who had a fridge full of food at home but was perhaps starving nonetheless. Reed decided he would take whatever quick win the universe offered to him. He clamped a gentle hand on Ashely’s thin shoulder. “Order whatever you want.”
* * *
At headquarters, Reed checked in with Jeff Zuckerman to see if they had been able to identify the ball-capped figure from the security video he’d seen of Chloe. “We think we located him about an hour earlier, buying a bottle of water inside this convenience store. The hat’s still on, but he took off the glasses, so you have a better view of his face.” Jeff showed Reed a clip of what looked like the same man—white, trim build, mid-twenties, maybe early thirties—at the register paying for the bottle of water. The black Northeastern T-shirt appeared to be the same one from the earlier shots. Jeff drew up a still shot, zoomed in on the man’s face. “This is the best we can do.”
Reed leaned in to get a better look. The man had dark hair that curled out under the edges of his hat. No visible scars or tattoos that Reed could discern. Still, there was a familiarity to his eyes and nose that continued to bug Reed. “At the very least, he’s a potential witness,” he said to Jeff. “We should get it out to the media immediately. Try to ID him.”
“We’re already on it. Also checking with Northeastern to see if he could be a student there.”
The door behind them burst open and Ellery came in, radiating a kind of tense excitement. “I heard you were in here,” she said, looking to Reed with bright eyes.
“What is it?”
“We got a tip just now. Chloe’s been sighted at a Target store.”
Reed didn’t feel similar elation. “We’ve had dozens of similar sightings so far,” he reminded her. “None has panned out.”
“This Target is in Providence,” she replied. “Also, look at this.”
She went to an open computer and called up an image that was clearly taken inside of Target’s trademark red store. It showed a woman in shorts and a T-shirt, perhaps thirty years old, trailed by two children. One was a boy of about five or six. The girl was a blonde who matched Chloe Lockhart in build and coloring. “She’s quite similar,” Reed agreed.
“No, she’s a dead ringer.” Ellery showed him a still shot of the girl’s face taken from a moment when she’d looked almost right into the camera. Reed felt her stare like a blow to his chest. Chloe’s bright blue eyes bore right into him. “It’s her, right? It’s got to be.”
“Chloe’s hair was chopped off. This girl has her original shoulder-length hair.”
“The video is two days old,” she told him impatiently. “The manager just reported it this morning after a cashier saw Chloe’s picture on the news and remembered the girl.” She tugged on his arm. “Come on, let’s go.” He could feel his own excitement rising. He heard it in Ellery’s voice. “Let’s bring her home.”
22
Ellery flew down I-95, the wheels of her SUV barely meeting the road as she wove her way around the slower traffic. Dorie rode shotgun while Reed sat in the back, swaying with the body of the car and periodically clutching the door. “Let’s get there alive, okay?” Dorie said, looking up from her phone.
“Yes, please,” Reed called from the backseat.
“What’s the latest on this woman?” Ellery asked. “Jenna Desmond?”
“She’s clean,” Dorie replied as she checked her phone. “No record.”
“Nothing on our end, either,” Reed added.
“She’s thirty-two years old, married to a guy named Nicholas Desmond, and works as a speech therapist for the Providence schools. Address is listed as Gray Street in Providence per her driver’s license.”
Ellery shook her head. “None of that makes any sense. What’s her connection to Chloe? Could she have worked in the Brookline schools, too?”
“We’re checking, but no sign of that so far.”
“What about the Lockharts? Did anyone ask them about her?”
“Conroy ran the name Jenna Desmond past them and they deny knowing her.”
Ellery looked to Reed in the rearview mirror. “Help me out here, Reed,” she said. “What’s her deal?”
“Your guess is as good as mine right now. Perhaps she is not your kidnapper. She may be covering for someone else.” He hesitated. “Or perhaps it isn’t Chloe on the video—though I’ll admit, the likeness is impressive.”
Ellery tightened her hands on the wheel. It wasn’t just the likeness. Yes, the girl in the Target store had Chloe’s aquamarine eyes, blond hair, and fine bone structure. But Ellery had spent hours by now looking at the video of Chloe Lockhart leaving the Public Garden on the day she went missing. The girl in the store moved like her, too. They had the same walk, the same body posture. “No,” she said, more to herself than the others. “We’re right about this.”