Two missing person reports in a week, and he’d blown off both of them. Was it possible?

He scrolled through his email trash until he found what he was looking for, jotted down a number, and then made another call to Dr. Mason. “Hey, Doc, this is weird, but I submitted a DNA sample for databank hits on June sixteenth.” He recited the sample number from the blood collected from the Stansfields’ foyer. “Can you compare that profile against Alex Lopez?”

“Easy-peasy, but what’s the connection?”

One missing woman and one murdered man, where the local paper’s usual crime blotter fare might be a DUI or a house alarm set off by possums. “Probably nothing.”

“Can’t be nothing, or you wouldn’t be asking. I’ll run it now. Usually takes a couple hours.”

That night, the Applied Biosystems RapidHIT ID System was especially rapid. Mason called Carter precisely ninety-two minutes later. The blood he had located at Hope Miller’s last known location belonged to Alex Lopez. One missing woman, one murdered man, now connected.

He found himself wanting to call Lindsay Kelly. He wanted to prove to her that he was doing the job, that he wasn’t the complete sack of shit she assumed him to be. The blood from the Stansfield home did indeed suggest that something terribly wrong had occurred after her friend staged that open house. But criminal defense lawyer Lindsay Kelly was now the last person with whom he’d be sharing information regarding either Alex Lopez or Hope Miller. If he owed an apology to anyone, it was Jocelyn Hodge, who had reported her boyfriend missing.

One murdered man. One missing murder suspect with a two-week head start.

19
Tuesday, June 22, 10:22 a.m.

Jocelyn Hodge pressed the two ziplock ice bags against her eyes. Oof. Bitter, burning cold. She tried a washcloth as a buffer, but lost the chilling effect altogether.

She took another quick look in the bathroom mirror. She looked rough. Her face was bee-stung. Not like glamorous, sexy swollen lips. Her entire face, like the elephant man. She could not take appointments looking like this, especially in the summer. Seasonal clients expected her to look Insta-ready, or how could she possibly do the same for them? Her Yelp rating would be toast if she reported to work looking like ass.

She pulled two tissues from the box on the vanity and placed them between her eyes and the ice packs. Almost there. Then she added a tiny bit of water to the ziplocks and . . . bliss.