Miranda blinked at Parker. Audrey had been telling the truth about being in the movies? Or was the guy in black lying to her to get her to go with him? Taking advantage of where she was most vulnerable? Miranda was starting to feel more defensive of Audrey.
“Did she mention which movie?” Parker asked.
“Or which production company?” Miranda added.
“No, she didn’t give me any details.”
“How about a name?” Miranda said.
“A name?”
“The name of the guy she was with.”
“She didn’t introduce him to me. He stayed in that chair the whole time, like he didn’t want to talk to anyone.” Zane put a hand on his head. “Wait. She said his name once or twice. It started with a D. Drew. Yes, that was it. Drew.”
Drew. A shiver went down Miranda’s spine. Drew had been one of Tannenburg’s aliases. “First or last name?”
“First, I think. Yes, first. She said she was staying in Atlanta with Drew, but she’d be back when the shooting was done.”
Oh, she’d done some shooting, all right. “Did she come back here? Has she contacted you?”
“No. Yes. I mean, she called me this morning, but she hasn’t come back to Austin. She told me her role was extended, and she’d be staying in Atlanta another week. She begged me to keep the part of Mrs. Gibbs open for her.”
“What time did she call?” Miranda said.
“It was around nine.”
But Audrey and the guy named Drew had been spotted at the airport at six-fifteen. Was Audrey lying about staying in Atlanta? Was that guy forcing her to lie? If she and the mystery man hadn’t gone to Austin, they could be in Cancun or Venezuela. Or on Mars.
“Do you happen to have the number she called from?” Parker asked. He was having the same thoughts she was.
“Yes.” Zane reached into his pocket for his phone. “It’s right here.”
Miranda watched Parker’s face and knew he was memorizing the number.
Parker handed the phone back to the man, then gave him his business card. “If she calls again, would you be so kind as to let us know?”
“Sure. Of course.” The director’s face suddenly showed some concern for his former actress. “Is Audrey in trouble?”
She might be in a whole lot of trouble if the guy in black was what she thought he was. Suddenly Miranda wanted to protect the woman’s career hopes. Not that Audrey Wilson would be coming back here to play the role of Mrs. Gibbs. When she was caught, she’d be going to jail.
“We’re not sure yet,” she told the man and extended her hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Zane. You’ve been very helpful.”
As they turned and made their way past the seats, she heard the director getting back to work.
“C’mon, people. This play is about connections. About life and death. About cherishing every moment. Let’s try to get that across.”
Cherishing every moment. How many moments were left for Audrey Wilson?
Chapter Nineteen
Miranda climbed into the Corolla and watched Parker deftly punch keys on his phone. She knew what he was doing. Keying the number Audrey had used to call Zane into his tracker app.
He pressed the final key and waited for a connection.
Miranda thought of calling the number Holloway had for Audrey yesterday and getting Erskine. “She must have gotten another phone,” she said.
“Probably a prepaid.” Parker’s voice was dark.
“Will that work with the app?”
“Possibly.”
While the circles spun on Parker’s phone, she sat back and laid her head against the headrest.
Was Audrey Wilson a victim in all this? Hard to believe the woman who’d fired several shots at South Exchange Bank yesterday, and who’d tossed spike strips onto the highway that destroyed several cop cars and Parker’s Lamborghini was passive. Was she doing it for attention?
Do something outlandish, go to jail, write a book about it, become famous. Was that her scheme? But she’d just landed the role in Our Town, something she’d been striving for for years. Maybe she didn’t like the part. Maybe she wanted to play the young girl instead. Maybe the mystery man had convinced her he knew a shortcut to fame and fortune.
Too many unanswered questions. Her head was starting to ache with them when Parker’s phone beeped.
She sat up. “What is it?”
His face was hard as granite as he handed the phone to her. “Her cell is turned off, but this is where she placed the call to Zane this morning.”
She stared at the map on the screen. Her heart started to pound with anger. “She’s in Atlanta.”
“On the east side.”
She studied the orange dot on the map indicating the location. “That’s only about six or so miles from Avondale Estates, right?”
Parker nodded. “Where the white van was abandoned yesterday.”
Miranda pressed a palm to her temple. “What were they doing at the airport? Trying to throw us off the scent?”
“Making us believe they went back to Austin.”
And just like a hound on the scent of a rabbit, off she went. She felt like a dupe. “We’ve got to get back to Atlanta.”
Parker started the car. “As soon as possible.”
“I’ll get hold of Holloway and tell him to meet us at the airport.”
She called him. Luckily he was in his rented Jetta on 130, almost back to the city. As he told her he’d stay on the highway and meet them at the terminal in thirty minutes, Miranda could hear the anxiety in his voice.
She hung up and stared out the window as Parker whipped around a Sysco truck, changed lanes and made the turn onto Riverside.
“At least we saved Erskine the cost of a hotel.”
Chapter Twenty
Just before boarding the flight back to Atlanta, Parker called Erskine and filled him in on what they’d learned. The lieutenant said he’d round up another SWAT team and check out the location where Audrey had made the call to Zane that morning.
Miranda wished they could take a supersonic jet to get there in time to go with them.
Instead, they landed at Hartsfield International a little after eight-thirty in the evening. The sun had gone down hours ago and dropped the temperature low enough for a blast of cold moist air to hit Miranda in the face as she hurried across the parking lot with Parker on one side and Holloway on the other.
It had rained, making the roads sloppy.
Holloway had taken MARTA to the airport from his apartment, so Miranda told him to get in the backseat with his duffle bag.
Her heart in her mouth, she listened to the whooshing of tires and watched the Mazda’s headlights veer in and out of the traffic as Parker raced over the shimmering wet pavement on I-85. He turned onto I-20, and after another ten minutes they reached Memorial. They zipped past a Family Dollar, a package shop, and then Parker turned left into a huge parking lot.
He came to a halt in the middle of it.
Miranda looked up at a large rusted out metal framework where store signs had once been displayed. Under the buzzing lampposts, she could make out a strip of a dozen shops along the edge of the property lined up in a row set back from the road.
Every store was dark.
The parking lot could hold maybe a hundred and fifty vehicles, but the only ones here now were cop cars.
“It’s abandoned,” she whispered, dismay tightening her throat.
“So it seems.”
Holloway leaned in from the backseat. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
Parker scrolled to the map his tracker app had produced and handed the phone to Holloway.
He stared at it a long time.
Miranda craned her neck to study it as well. “It’s pointing to this side of the street.”
Holloway handed the phone back. “Maybe they pulled in here when Audrey made the call. It was hours ago.”
He might be right. Why would they stop for long an
d risk being seen? Or tracked like this? They were on the run. On the other hand, one of those vacant stores would be a good place to hide.
Holloway gazed across the street at the residential homes. “Maybe she’s in one of those houses.”
Parker rolled over to where a cluster of uniforms stood and stopped the car. Spotting Erskine, Miranda got out and trotted over to him, rubbing her arms against the chilly air.
Erskine nodded solemnly when he saw them approach. “Ms. Steele, Parker, Detective Holloway.”
“Good evening, Hosea,” Parker said.
Holloway broke in. “What have you got so far, Lieutenant? Have you found her?”
Erskine studied the detective a moment, taking in his distraught and disheveled condition. Then he turned to Parker. “My men and I arrived here about thirty minutes after your call. We got a key from the owner and have been checking all the stores. No trace of anyone.”
Miranda’s heart sank down to a pothole in the pavement.
Holloway waved a long arm toward the road. “What about the surrounding area, Lieutenant? There are plenty of houses along these streets.”
Erskine nodded. “I have a team canvassing the area house-to-house.”
Parker turned to her. “Miranda?”
Her call. Pursing her lips, she squinted at what she could see of the surroundings under the streetlights. Rows of small clapboard and brick houses spaced unevenly within fairly well-kept lawns. A church down on the corner. A red-brick two-story apartment down the other way. Two police officers were heading up the steps of one house, another cop and his partner moving toward the church.
No sense questioning all the residents along with the police.
“Let’s go through some of these shops again. Maybe the officers missed something. No offense,” she said to Erskine.
“My people are thorough, but you’re welcome to look.”
They got flashlights and hardhats and booties from one of the uniforms and started at the far end.
The place was a mess. Must have been vacant several years, and the tenants didn’t bother to clean up when they left.
In the dim light Miranda picked her way around piles of broken sheetrock, rotting beams, and stray pipes. Everything was covered in cobwebs and at least an inch of dust. The cool damp air had a moldy smell that reminded her of that house in Jasper County.
Didn’t need to dwell on that now. Stubbornly she pushed the thought away and focused as they moved to the next unit. They went through the compartments one by one.
A space that had been one of the smaller stores now featured peeling wallpaper, rusted window panes, and a ratty reception area. In a back room, they found a desk somebody had left behind with broken drawers yawning open. Might have been a dental office long ago.
They moved in and out of the doors, finding remnants of a jewelry store, a hair salon, a dry cleaner, but no signs of recent life.
At the end of the row of shops stood the last unit. The biggest by far, it must have been the anchor store of the shopping center.
Their footsteps echoed as they slowly inched through the large space. The high ceiling was supported by concrete beams that had once been used to divide the store into sections. Watch out for booby traps, Miranda thought as she dodged broken floor tiles and another pile of wood and sheetrock scraps.
Covered with dust, a sagging mattress lay on a broken frame as if too tired to care. It hadn’t been slept in lately. At its foot was a turned-over nightstand with a fallen bookshelf resting on it. About ten feet away stood a couch that would send up a cloud of dust if you dared to sit on it.
Furniture store.
There were a lot more couches and mattresses strewn along the far walls. Good place to sleep if you’re on the run. But there was no vehicle in the lot. Might have parked somewhere nearby and walked. Maybe in the back? On the other hand if someone had been here, there would be some sign of life. Footprints. An empty glass or bottle. A fast food bag. Something.
But as Miranda made her way toward the back of the store, she saw nothing like that. No one had been here in a very long time.
She was about to turn back when she spotted a set of overhead doors that must have been used for a loading dock. A few feet away was a regular door she supposed led to the rear area of the mall.
She turned the knob. Locked.
She took the key Erskine had given her out of her pocket, opened the door, and stepped out into the night air. It had gotten even chillier while they’d been searching through the stores.
To her left a small concrete ramp with an iron rail descended from the loading doors to a stretch of pavement wide enough for one truck. Beyond the asphalt stood a cyclone fence. A slope of grassy weeds led to the highway on the other side. Mounted wall lamps with rusted metal grids illuminated the grungy brick wall that was the back of the building. It was scrawled with the obligatory graffiti.
Making her way along the wall, Miranda ran her flashlight over the pavement. No car or truck or van here now.
A trash bag floated past her feet and into a dirty puddle. A deserted shopping cart was jammed cockeyed against the bricks. Scattered beer cans and broken bottles pointed the way to a rusty green dumpster like a reveler’s breadcrumbs.
Suddenly a chill went through her. It wasn’t from wind.
Something odd lay on the ground a few feet away. Carefully she inched toward the far corner of the dumpster. She stopped as she came to it, staring down, unable to believe her own eyes.
She crouched to get a better look. Her stomach started to churn. Her eyes hadn’t been lying to her.
It was a toe. A severed big toe.
Dried blood had coagulated along the nail, and the skin where it had been removed was jagged and bloody. It wasn’t a clean cut. Looked like it had been hacked off with something not quite sharp enough for the job.
Her temples pounded with heat, then cold. She shivered with a surge of nausea rather than a chill. Her mind reeled, whirling back to Paris. She’d never forget the sight of Becker’s fingertip in that pastry box. Never forget what he’d gone through. What they’d all gone through.
But it was no good reliving the past now.
Did this toe mean Audrey was alive? And if not, where was the rest of the body?
As she was eyeing the dumpster and wondering whether she’d have to climb down into it, she heard the door creak behind her.
She turned and saw Parker frowning at her in the dim light.
“Don’t let Holloway come out here,” she called in a hoarse half-whisper.
Parker’s frown deepened as he shut the door and came toward her. “What is it?”
“Memories of Paris.” She pointed to the bloody lump on the ground.
He stopped short as he reached the spot. His jaw went tight. “Dear Lord.”
She waved toward the dumpster. “Give me a leg up.”
They moved to the side of the container and Miranda put a foot on one of the fork pockets. Parker remained grimly silent as he hoisted her up.
Holding her breath, she raised the dumpster lid and did a sweep of the inside with her flashlight. More debris on the bottom, but the container looked basically empty. She let herself take a sniff. No telltale dead body smell, though the odor wasn’t good.
She let the lid go and climbed down.
Before she could decide what to do next, Erskine and another officer came around the side of the building.
“Have you found anything?”
“You’ll want to see this, Hosea,” Parker said.
Erskine hurried over and stopped at the small mound. He blinked just once. His lips went back and forth for a moment.
Finally, he spoke in a dark quiet voice. “Dear God.”
The officer with Erskine bent down to study the appendage with his flashlight. “The bone is exposed, the skin pale. Subungual hematoma under the nail.” He rose and turned to the dumpster. “Anything in there?”
“We didn’t see anything,” Miranda told him. “
Not much in there. It doesn’t look deep enough to cover a body.”
With a nod Erskine took out his cell. “I’ll get a CSI team over here to confirm that and take care of this—appendage.”
Just as he was dialing, Holloway appeared in the back door of the furniture store.
“What’s going on?” he called.
“Get back, Holloway,” Miranda barked at him.
Ignoring her, he rushed forward. “Why? What is it?”
“Holloway, I said get back in there. Have you finished with that last store?”
He brushed past her and looked down at the spot where everyone was gathered. The glimmer of the wall lights reflected sudden moisture in his eyes.
He put a hand to his head. “Oh, dear God. No. No. No.”
“Holloway.” Miranda touched his arm.
He brushed her off and stepped back, shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he said again. Then he turned and ran back through the door.
“Holloway.” She started after him.
Parker reached out for her. “Let him go, Miranda. Give him some space just now.”
She stopped. Parker was right. She wouldn’t be much comfort to him now. Nothing would.
Erskine hung up. “The team will be here in a few minutes. We’ll take over from here and analyze this evidence.”
It was a dismissive remark, but Miranda knew there was no use offering the Parker Agency Lab. Not for this.
“Is there anything else we can do, Lieutenant?” she asked.
“You can help us sort through the three hundred bogus leads coming in from the Crime Stoppers line.”
Her head went back. Phone work? While the mystery man named Drew and a mangled or possibly dead Audrey Wilson was out there somewhere? And she had a distraught, grieving detective on her hands?
On the other hand, what else was there to do? Becker hadn’t turned up any more leads. They were at a standstill.
She turned to Parker. “What do you think?”
Parker gave Erskine a hard steady look. “I can spare some of my staff for that, Hosea. We’ll get started tomorrow.”
“Okay. Agreed.”
Parker turned to her. “Why don’t you go find Detective Holloway. I need a moment to speak to the Lieutenant.”
Mind Bender Page 10