They went down in the elevator and through the lobby in silence. Once outdoors, Duckworth stopped. “Go home,” he said.

“What do you mean, go home? I’m not going home. What’s going on?”

“Trevor, really. I mean it. When I know something, I’ll call you.”

Trevor stood up straighter, defiant. “I won’t. Whatever that call was about, wherever you’re going, I’m going too.”

Duckworth sighed. “They found a car.”

Trevor followed his father’s unmarked cruiser to an industrial district on the south side of town. Duckworth turned down Millwork Drive and drove past a storage unit operation, a cardboard manufacturer and a cement products place before hitting his blinker out front of a one-story plant that made and sold floor tiles.

A Promise Falls police cruiser, lights quietly flashing, was blocking the way in. When the uniformed cop behind the wheel spotted who it was, he pulled out of the way, allowing Duckworth, and Trevor, to drive in.

Duckworth parked in a spot near the entrance, and Trevor pulled in next to him. As Trevor got out, he called over to his father, “I don’t see Carol’s car.”

“They say it’s around back. We walk from here.”

The two of them headed down the side of the building. When Trevor started to break into a trot, his father said, “With me.”

Trevor held back and walked alongside his father.

As they came around the back, they encountered another police car, this one with a female officer behind the wheel. When she saw the two men approach, she got out.

Duckworth didn’t need to flash his ID. Everyone on the Promise Falls force knew who he was.

“Detective Duckworth,” she said.

“Officer Stiles, right?” Duckworth said.

She nodded. “Yes, sir.” She cast an eye at Trevor.

“This is my son, Trevor,” Duckworth said. “He’s been trying to reach Ms. Beakman since last night without success. Where’s the car?”

She pointed. “Just the other side of that Dumpster.”

“How did we hear about it?”

“The manager here, he spotted the car there this morning, and when he had a closer look he got concerned. He called it in about the same time as you were trying to get a plate for Ms. Beakman’s car.”

“What was he concerned about?” Trevor asked.

Duckworth held up a finger. Trevor went quiet.

“Let’s have a look,” the detective said.

Officer Stiles led them around a rusted open-topped trash container that was a good five feet tall. It had been blocking the view of a silver Toyota Corolla. The driver’s door was wide open.

“That’s the car,” Trevor said urgently. “That’s it.”

“Okay, so I’ll ask Trevor’s question,” Duckworth said to Stiles. “What was it that raised the manager’s concern? Was the car like that when he found it? With the door open?”