“You mean a prostitute?” Keller was on her feet now, pacing.

“Not quite. I checked into it, and her employer is basically like a leasing company. But instead of renting products, it’s pretty girls. Nightclubs and resorts pay to have American girls hang out at their establishments; it’s like a temp service.”

“That’s an actual thing, go figure.”

“In my day, the clubs had ladies’ night, but I guess that’s not enough anymore,” Escobar said. “I suspect some of the girls make money on the side doing more than looking pretty, but it’s otherwise a legitimate business.”

“Did you speak with her?”

There was a long beat of silence. “No. The reason we identified her so quickly was that some of the other girls in her troupe—they’re all working out of a club called Moloko—they reported her missing.”

Keller felt her stomach drop. She stopped pacing, opened the curtains, and looked outside for no reason. Several news satellite trucks were parked in the lot. “Let me guess: no one has seen her since the night with Matt Pine.”

“That’s right.”

“I suppose she could’ve taken off. Matt said she got cold feet, so maybe she’s hiding from whoever she was working with.”

“She and the other girls stayed in rooms above the club. We searched her bunk and locker. She left her passport. And the rental car—she shared it with two other girls—was found abandoned in Chan Chemuyil, about fifteen minutes from Tulum.” Escobar paused. “I’m sorry.”

Keller let out a breath. “What else do we know about her? Any priors? Known associates?”

“She had a prior for cocaine possession in Oklahoma, but that’s it. Nothing that identifies the man with her in the photo. She’s had a tough run, Ms. Grace. Her father died in the Oklahoma City bombing when she was young, she spent her teenage years in foster care, then worked at a gentleman’s club, which is where she probably got hooked up with the party girl company.”

“Nothing on the man with the cleft lip scar?” Keller’s blood pressure was rising, her jaw clenched. She shut the curtains and sat on the bed. She needed to calm down, think clearly.

“He’s a ghost. It does look like he rented the place at the address you sent me.”

The address tenacious Maggie Pine had found through a cell phone aggregation service. Keller had a random thought: Maybe Maggie would’ve become an FBI agent.

Escobar continued. “He gave the last name Smith, paid in cash. The owner never dealt with him in person—he sent the money by messenger—but the neighbor saw him a few times. And the rental property, it was scrubbed down with bleach. I don’t think it has ever been so clean.”

“Cleaning crews usually aren’t that detailed. I can send a team and—”