She held up her hand. “Okay, I get it. I’m sorry, Mylas. I shouldn’t have jumped to the wrong conclusion. That was really dumb of me.”
“No, it wasn’t. I understand why you might have thought I was asking you to . . . I mean, you’re an attractive woman, and I—”
Whitney started laughing. “If I were you, I’d stop talking.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I should just shut up now.”
“But seriously, I’d be happy to take a look at Lizzie’s drawings if you think it would help you find her.”
“Well, to be truthful, it’s a long shot, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear what you think about her doodles.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
As we were leaving the restaurant, I thought about suggesting she ride over to the hotel with me, but in light of our earlier misunderstanding, I decided not to mention it.
But, much to my surprise, a few seconds later, she turned to me and said, “Mylas, how would it be if I left my van here and rode over to the hotel with you? You could bring me back here when we’re done.”
“That works for me.”
* * * *
As we drove over to the Hilton, I told Whitney about Lizzie’s obsession with politics, and I also mentioned she was a journalism student, and she’d been researching an article for The Columbian on Judge Cameron Woodard for the past month.
Naturally, I didn’t say anything about Woodard’s gambling issues, but I did tell her the President had nominated him for a position on the Eighth Circuit, and as part of my responsibilities as Senator Allen’s chief investigator, I’d been vetting the judge in preparation for his appearance before the Judiciary Committee.
Although I wondered if Whitney was going to ask me if I thought there was a connection between Lizzie’s disappearance and her interest in the judge, she didn’t bring the subject up.
Instead, she turned her attention to Lizzie’s personality.
“How would you describe Lizzie?” she asked.
“I can only tell you what others say about her.”
“I’d like to hear it. The reason I’m asking is that if I knew more about her personality, it might help me understand the meaning behind her doodles. A person’s artwork usually reflects their personality.”
“Well, besides being passionate about politics, Lizzie is very resourceful, and she’s particularly empathetic toward anyone who’s an underdog. There seems to be a consensus among her friends and family that she doesn’t mind taking chances, and she’s even exhibited some reckless behavior at times.”
“I took a few chances when I was her age, especially if I was with a bunch of my girlfriends.”
“I hear you. Peer pressure got me in trouble several times.”
Whitney and I spent the next few minutes swapping stories about our college days, but when we arrived at the Hilton, we stopped talking when we got on the elevator with an older couple who were arguing with each other about which one of them had forgotten to pack their toothbrushes.
When we got off the elevator, Whitney burst out laughing the moment the doors closed behind us. A few seconds later, I found myself laughing along with her.
“That couple should take their act on the road,” Whitney said.
“They were pretty funny,” I said, “and it’s obvious they didn’t mind airing their dirty laundry in public.”
As I waved my key card in front of my door lock, I suddenly remembered I hadn’t bothered to pick up my dirty clothes when I’d taken them off to jump in the shower.
“Speaking of dirty laundry, you’ll need to give me a minute to straighten up. I wasn’t anticipating bringing guests back to my room tonight.”
“Yes, I think we covered that earlier.”
* * * *
After picking my clothes up off the floor, I invited Whitney to have a seat in the living area while I grabbed the paper with Lizzie’s doodles on it from the bedroom.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, pointing over to the refrigerator in the kitchen alcove. “There’s bottled water and soft drinks in the fridge.”
She removed her wrap from her shoulders. “Thanks, I’m good.”
When I walked back in the living room, she was sitting on the sofa looking through the hotel’s glossy magazine about Columbia.
“I’ve lived here for almost twenty years,” she said, “and I don’t think I’ve been to half the places listed in this magazine as ‘Must-See Sights.’ ”
“Which ones have you missed?”
“Well, I’ve never been to Brown’s Farm, and I’ve never explored the Agricultural Park.”
I sat down beside her. “If I remember correctly, I went to Brown’s Farm on a third-grade field trip. Believe me, you’re not missing much, although I did enjoy milking the goats there.”
She smiled as she placed the magazine back on the coffee table. “I think I’ll skip Brown’s Farm. I’m strictly a city girl.”
She leaned in closer to me and looked down at the paper in my hand. Her hair had a faint scent to it, something I couldn’t identify, although for a brief moment it reminded me of fresh strawberries.
“So those are Lizzie’s doodles?”
I handed the paper to her. “Her roommate Savannah told me whenever Lizzie talks on the phone with someone, she doodles about the conversation she’s having with them.”
Whitney nodded. “I’ve done the same thing myself.”
She studied the drawings without saying anything for almost a minute.
I sat back on the sofa and watched her.
Finally, she looked up at me and said, “It looks like Lizzie draws an object, and then she keeps going over and over it again.”
“Maybe she keeps tracing over it until the conversation moves on to a different subject. As long as she’s talking about the same thing, she doesn’t draw anything new.”
“That’s probably it.” She leaned over and took off one of her shoes. “I hope you don’t mind if I take these off. I can’t wear them more than a couple of hours without my feet going numb.”
“No, of course not. Make yourself comfortable.”
Although I tried not to be too obvious about it, I watched as she removed her other shoe and settled back on the sofa with her feet tucked up under her.
“Okay, feel free to disagree with me,” she said, looking down at Lizzie’s doodles again, “but here’s what I think about her drawings.”
She pointed her finger at what Savannah and I had both identified as a camera. “This is obviously a camera. There’s no doubt in my mind about that, and I think this doodle right here is a piece of clothing; perhaps a cape or a coat. I believe this drawing is a stack of logs or a campfire.”
“That’s good. You’ve confirmed what I thought the first time I looked at these. Savannah said the same thing.”
“I admit her drawings are a little abstract, so it’s not easy to tell.”
“What about the other two?”
“I’m not as sure about them as I am about the others.”
She stared at the paper for a few seconds, turning it one way and then the other.
“I believe this object could be a laptop computer, although if I hold the paper at a different angle, it looks more like a book. However, I have to assume she was doodling on a legal pad, so she probably had it in front of her like this. That’s what makes me think it’s a laptop. Notice how she’s only traced over it a couple of times, whereas she’s gone over the logs and the camera several times.”
“Maybe Lizzie didn’t talk about the laptop as much as she did the other things, and that’s why she didn’t keep tracing over it.”
“I think you’re right.”
“And what about this?” I asked, pointing at a square object Lizzie had drawn at the top of the paper.
“I can’t be positive about it, and since it’s not bunched together with the other items, I wonder if that’s significant. I mean, why did she draw it up here at the top of the page? That looks
deliberate to me.”
I didn’t want to prejudice Whitney about the object, so I didn’t tell her Savannah had identified it as a monument. Instead, I said, “It could be something that disturbs her, or maybe she’s not comfortable with what it represents.”
“To me, it looks like it could be some sort of structure. I’m thinking a Southern mansion or an older building. These thick lines here are shaped like columns, and the way she’s drawn these smaller squares across the front makes me think they’re windows.”
“I hadn’t considered it could be a building, but yeah, I see it now.”
Whitney handed me back the paper.
“So tell me,” she said. “Why do you think these drawings have something to do with Lizzie’s disappearance?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but after talking to Savannah and also to Lizzie’s boyfriend, I don’t believe she had any plans to go anywhere on Monday except to class. However, something happened to change her mind, and the only thing I can think of is that she must have gotten a phone call that caused her to get in her car and head off somewhere.”
“I suppose she took her cell phone with her?”
“It wasn’t in her apartment, so that’s the assumption, but something’s happened to it, because it’s not sending out a signal.”
“And what about her laptop?” Whitney asked, pointing to the laptop Lizzie had drawn. “I suppose she had one.”
I nodded. “It’s also missing. Now that you mentioned it, I’m wondering if the reason she drew the laptop was because she was discussing it with her caller.”
“She must not have talked about it very much; she only traced over it a couple of times.”
I pointed at the camera. “Savannah said her camera was missing. I figured she took it with her, and that’s why she doodled it.”
“You said Lizzie’s a journalism student. If she took her laptop and her camera, then maybe she got a call from someone about a story, and she left the campus to check it out.”
“That’s more or less the theory I’ve been working on. Like I said, she’s been writing an article on Judge Woodard for The Columbian, and she’s pretty wrapped up in it.”
“Isn’t he the judge who used to teach here at Mizzou? Could she have gone to interview him about the article?”
“That’s definitely a possibility.”
As soon as I mentioned the judge’s name, I remembered the senator’s press conference, and I looked down at my watch.
“Would you mind if I turned on the television? Senator Allen’s about to hold a press conference on Lizzie’s disappearance, and I’d like to hear his statement.”
“No, of course not. Go ahead.”
I turned on the television set and clicked over to one of the cable news networks. A few minutes later, the senator appeared in front of the wooden podium in the Senate Gallery Studio where he was flanked by an array of American flags.
Nathan Lockett was standing behind the senator on his right, and Claudia Dyer, his press secretary, was standing next to him on his left.
They all looked a little harried.
Chapter 17
Senator Allen didn’t do any ad-libbing. He read directly off the teleprompter. Since this was unusual for him, I felt sure the reporters who covered him regularly would notice this change.
If they knew him at all, they’d realize he was sticking to every word of the script Claudia had prepared for him in order to hide how worried he was.
I figured questions would start flying as soon as one of the reporters noticed this.
I was right.
When he finished reading the press release—which basically said he’d been unable to locate his daughter Lizzie for the past twenty-four hours, and he’d decided to file a missing persons report with the Columbia Police Department—several hands shot up immediately.
“Are you concerned she’s in some kind of danger?” one reporter asked.
The senator gave a short laugh and shook his head. “No, not really. Lizzie’s an independent young woman, and I’m sure she’s just gone off for a few days to be by herself.”
“Then why did you file the missing persons report with the local authorities?”
There was a slight edge to the senator’s voice. “She’s the daughter of a U.S. Senator; I just wanted to make sure she’s safe.”
“But why would she leave campus without telling anyone?”
“Because that’s what college kids do. I’ll take one more question.”
“When you said you think she’s gone off to be by herself, do you know of any reason why she’d want to be alone?”
The Senator nodded. “I have a pretty good idea. When Lizzie’s trying to finish up a project, say an article she’s working on for The Columbian, she doesn’t like to be distracted, and I suspect that’s what’s happened to her in this case.”
The senator gestured toward his audience. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll let you know the minute I hear from her.”
With that, Senator Davis Allen turned and walked out of the room. Nathan Lockett and Claudia Dyer followed him a few seconds later.
I left the television set on for a few minutes to hear what the commentators had to say about the senator’s statement, and although a couple of them said it appeared the senator was worried about Lizzie, one of them mentioned he thought the senator knew more about his daughter’s disappearance than he was letting on.
While I didn’t think the senator’s announcement would set off any kind of media frenzy, I fully expected the Columbia Police Department would start getting a few phone calls, and I had no doubt some of the news organizations would send their own reporters here to Columbia to do some on-site reporting.
When that happened, Detectives Ross and Springer might be tempted to give out my name in an effort to direct attention away from their investigation. However, the prospect of answering reporters’ questions and seeing my face pop up on their news broadcasts wasn’t that appealing to me.
To avoid that scenario, I needed to find Lizzie as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, I had no idea how to make that happen.
* * * *
Whitney hadn’t said a word the whole time the television was on, but the moment I turned it off, she commented on the fact the senator looked worried about Lizzie, even though he sounded optimistic.
“You’re right; he’s more than a little concerned, and although there’s no evidence Lizzie was abducted, I’m afraid he’s starting to lean in that direction.”
“But you’re not?”
“No, I haven’t turned up any evidence Lizzie didn’t willingly get in her car and drive off of her own accord.”
“Do you have any—”
Whitney stopped in midsentence when my cell phone began vibrating. I didn’t recognize the number, but since it was a local area code, I took the call.
“Is this Mylas Grey?”
“Yes, to whom am I speaking?”
“This is Detective Ross.”
“Good evening, Detective Ross. What can I do for you?”
Whitney got off the couch and walked over to the kitchen alcove in her bare feet. I figured she was trying to give me the illusion of privacy, but maybe she was just thirsty since she opened the refrigerator door and removed a bottle of water before walking back over and sitting down on the sofa again.
“I wanted to update you about the Lexus someone reported seeing in Centralia on Monday. It turns out the car definitely belonged to Lizzie Allen.”
“Are you telling me you located her Lexus?”
“No, we were only able to make a positive ID of it on a video.”
“How did that happen?”
“After we sent out the missing persons bulletin, we were contacted by a patrol officer in Centralia who let us know he’d seen a Lexus in Centralia on Monday. Like Detective Springer told you earlier, Lieutenant Lawrence sent a couple of our detectives over to Centralia to check it out, and they were able to get some video
from the security cameras around the First National Bank. Once we ran the car’s plates, we saw it was registered to Senator Allen.”
“Where’s First National Bank located?”
“It’s on Main Street downtown. The bank occupies a corner lot, and their security cameras cover about one-third of the square. The officers are looking into what other businesses in the area may have also captured her vehicle on camera.”
“Thanks for the update, Detective. I really appreciate it.”
“Sure, no problem. Do you have anything for us?”
I debated whether or not I should mention the possibility Lizzie could have left town to run down a lead on a story she was doing about Judge Woodard, but then I realized Ross could have already learned this information from Dr. Richards, The Columbian’s managing editor.
In that case, his question might simply be a means of testing me to see if I was going to cooperate with him on the investigation.
“As a matter of fact, I do, Detective. I learned this afternoon Lizzie was writing an article for The Columbian on Judge Cameron Woodard, a former law professor at Mizzou.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Whitney lean over and pick up the piece of paper with Lizzie’s doodles on it. As she began studying it again, I noticed a change in her expression.
Detective Ross said, “So you think she could have gone somewhere to do some research?”
“I think that’s a possibility.”
“Would her research have taken her to Centralia?”
“That I wouldn’t know, but if you wouldn’t mind, I might drive over to Centralia tomorrow and make some inquiries.”
“No, we wouldn’t mind. Centralia might be our next stop as well.”
“How did your interview with Gus Montgomery go? Do you consider him a suspect in Lizzie’s disappearance?”
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