He sent a text to Rena, letting her know.
His phone rang in response. “Hey,” he said.
“Good news,” she said.
“Yeah. Where are you?” he asked.
“On my way back.”
“Did you find the store?”
“Yes. And the proprietress, a lovely English woman who married a Wisconsin farmer and opened the store to save her sanity, or so she said, did remember Coyote Frogg and his friend. Her recollection is that they were in a bit of a hurry and only interested in purchasing something to wear. Her selection was limited and they took what fit. It’s the type of store that writes their receipts by hand and she was able to find her copy of the transaction. They paid cash and purchased the clothes the afternoon of Emma’s disappearance.” She stopped. “Do not start without me.”
“You better hurry,” A.L. said.
“Ten minutes.”
It would take him that long to get things set up. “I’ll meet you in Interrogation Room 1.”
* * *
Coyote’s friend’s name was Peyton Dowl. A.L. was willing to bet his left nut that he was some relation to Pierce Dowl, the owner of the white Jeep. He was, however, more interested in Coyote so he left Peyton twiddling his thumbs in a conference room while he ushered Coyote into the interrogation room. Rena introduced herself and passed over a card. Coyote was already cradling A.L.’s card in one closed fist. He’d been advised that he’d been picked up for questioning in an ongoing investigation. He was not yet under arrest.
“Mr. Frogg, can you tell us where you were this past Wednesday morning between 7:00 and 8:00 a.m.?”
“I imagine I was sleeping.”
“Don’t want you to imagine. Want you to think. Where were you?” A.L. asked in his best I don’t tolerate bullshit tone.
“Okay, man. No need to flip out. I was at my house. Pey and I are renting a place east of Highway 94, north of Walnut Road.”
That would be north of the spot they’d intersected with Gi-Gi Thompson, which matched the Thompsons’ statement that the Jeep had headed north.
“Pey is Peyton Dowl?” A.L. asked.
“Yes.”
“Address of your house?” Rena asked.
“Sprint Trail. I have no idea what the house number is. It’s not like I’m having my mail forwarded. But there are only three houses on the road. Ours is the yellow one.”
It was enough. A.L. sent a quick text to get officers on the way. He didn’t hold out much hope. If Emma was there, or even had been there, it was unlikely that Coyote would have offered it up so quickly.
“Anybody be able to verify that you were at that address on Wednesday morning?” A.L. asked.
“Pey.”
“Anybody else?” A.L. asked.
“Ain’t nobody else living there.”
“Mr. Frogg, where were you on Monday of this past week?”
“Pey and me were in Baywood. We were able to pick up some hours at the Go and Glow.”
The Go and Glow was a full-service car wash, the kind where you got out of your car and waited while it went through the automated wash process and was then vacuumed and wiped off by real people. The work was heavily dependent on weather, and A.L. was aware that they hired lots of day labor. They literally doled out wages at the end of every day. “How long have you been working there?”
“Just a few weeks. Pey’s girlfriend lives in Baywood and she lets us stay at her house, especially if it looks like the weather is going to be good for business. Otherwise, we can’t get there very easily. No wheels right now.”
Rena leaned forward. “Let me make sure I understand, Mr. Frogg. You and your roommate, Peyton Dowl, were working at Go and Glow on Monday. Did you work there any other day this past week?”
“Yeah, we worked Tuesday. And I wanted to work on Wednesday but Pey and his old lady got into it and she didn’t want us staying at her place. We caught a ride back to our place with another guy who works at Go and Glow. Which was bullshit because three hours later, she ended up driving there anyway all apologetic and stuff.” Coyote looked up as if something brilliant had just occurred to him. “You can ask her about Wednesday morning. Because she had breakfast at our place. I don’t remember what time it was but I know it was Wednesday because that afternoon she drove us back into Baywood so that we could get to Madison.”
“Slow down,” A.L. said. “You were in Baywood Wednesday afternoon and then you went to Madison?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you get to Madison on Wednesday afternoon, Mr. Frogg?”
“Pierce drove us.”
“Who is Pierce?”
“Pierce Dowl. Pey’s brother. He drove from Madison where he lives and we met him in Baywood. He drove us back to Madison and dropped us at the train station. We barely made the train.”
“What kind of vehicle does Pierce Dowl drive?”
“He’s got a white Jeep.”
“You took a train on Wednesday from Madison to where?”
“Denver. We went to a concert at the Red Rocks. We just got back today. And I’m minding my own business, walking down the street and a cop picks me up and tells me that I’m wanted for questioning. I don’t know what you think I’ve done but I wasn’t here, man.”
“Do you know Emma Whitman?”
Coyote shook his head.
“Is that a no?” A.L. asked, his eyes going to the tape recorder.
“Yeah. I don’t know any Emma Whitman. I know an Emily White. I went to high school with her.”
A.L.’s gut was churning. He was starting to get a bad feeling that they were way off base here. “Emma Whitman is five years old.”
Now Coyote was frowning at him. “I don’t hang around with five-year-old girls,” he said. He looked first at A.L. and then Rena. “This is just like what happened to my dad. Just like it. Christ, what is it with you cops?”
“Have you read a newspaper or heard the news lately, Mr. Frogg?” Rena asked.
“No. I’ve been gone. I told you that.”
“Mr. Frogg, we have a report of you and Peyton Dowl driving a white Jeep last week and stopping to...help a woman and her two children on the side of the road. Is that correct?”
“Is that what this is about? That woman was a bitch. All we were trying to do was offer a helping hand. Pierce had let us borrow his ride to move some things.”