He consulted Caitlin’s rape report. Even at twenty-one, her intelligence outshone all parties involved, but his favorite part was the recent note she’d added at the top of Troy Woods’s statement.

Miami Correctional Facility. Kokomo, IN.

He opened a web browser and typed in his search: Miami Correctional Facility visiting hours.

Chapter 67

CHAPTER

67

“YOU HAPPY NOW, Roman, or do you want to call the president?”

It’d taken a day, and no one was happy about being there on a Saturday night, but Mike was back in the BPD’s station house with Greenwood and Foreman, thanks to a few phone calls from Special Agent Martinez. Chief Renton scowled in the back of the observation room.

“Unless you’re a total dumbass,” Foreman said, pointing at a monitor, “you can see Bergman right there, driving into the rental return lot.”

Jerry Greenwood managed a smile somewhere close to pity and leaned over Mike’s shoulder to move the footage back. “Does look like Caitlin, doesn’t it?”

He played the clip for the fifth time. Three seconds at the gate showed the front license plate and the hood. Two seconds showed chin-length brown hair, sunglasses, and a black sport coat.

Mike tapped on the tabletop. “Find anything at the counter?”

Foreman answered. “Bergman didn’t go to the counter, only had to leave the keys in the drop. The automated system did the rest.”

Mike kept his eyes on Greenwood. “But nothing in the airport?”

Greenwood shook his head no. “Could have changed her mind. Does she know anyone in Indianapolis who might have picked her up?”

“Hell if I know. What about her phone?”

Again, Foreman interjected. “Last usage ended at the car lot. Nothing on her financials after that or since. Does Miss Bergman carry a lot of cash?”

Mike thought about the time she’d handed him five hundred bucks to buy fake IDs and Social Security numbers in MacArthur Park. “For certain stories. Still, she’s definitely a missing person.”

Renton spoke from her dark corner. “Since she’s obviously left Bloomington, the FBI will handle Bergman’s disappearance from here on out.”

Foreman stepped forward and turned off the monitor. “We’ve mobilized the Indianapolis office and are coordinating with IPD, in case you need to relay that information back to anyone.”

“Great.” Mike put on his team player face. “What’s our next move?”

Foreman planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Your next move is to leave this to the professionals.”

Mike stood up and gave the agent the old thousand-yard stare from inches away. Greenwood’s hands came up, open palms, cautious.

Mike smiled at the room full of ego. “And that’s who you guys are? The professionals?”

Foreman nodded. “Damned right. You can tell because we all still have our badges.”