Page 18 of Shadow of Death
Amy glanced at Hunter.
This—whatever this was—had begun some time ago.
Jay Hughes hit a button on the computer, showing the man’s driver’s license, social security card, and even a likeness of his insurance information.
“Has the family been notified?” Amy asked Andy.
He nodded grimly. “The detective on the missing persons report informed the estranged wife and the man’s kids and his college.”
“I think we need to see Loretta Peterson and find out why they were separated,” Amy murmured.
Andy nodded. “I figured that was something you wanted to do yourself. As far as Jay has found so far, the man wasn’t into groups of any kind, and he had a stellar work record.”
“Okay, second victim identified—” Jay said and then paused and shot another image and info up on the screen “—is Rodney Marks. He’s a contractor, no children, fifty-five, known to be a bit of a man about town. Liked to party—I was able to get onto one of his social media sites. No criminal record, a few parking tickets, and that’s it. He wasn’t reported missing until a woman complained of an odor coming from his house. Poor cat died trapped in there. His car was in his driveway, no sign of foul play—he was just gone. Medical examiners’ office estimates he’d been in the pit approximately three months.” Jay flicked another key on the computer. “Our third person is Estelle Benedict, forty-nine, rising in political circles. Again, she had no children and was not married. She was a bonds attorney and earned a place on the city council and was aspiring to go much further. She was reported missing by her partner. I don’t know if this is relevant in this day and age, but partner is a woman. She didn’t hide the fact she was gay, but she didn’t put an emphasis on it, either. Her focal points in her political career had to do with insurance and medical attention for all and fair wages that allowed for even entry-stage workers to afford living quarters.” He was quiet for a minute. “I would have liked her. Oh! Sorry, I know, that’s neither here nor there—”
“Hey!” Amy said softly. “It’s okay to admire the woman. She must have been great. What about her girlfriend?”
“Brenda Hayes, freelance art restorer. She must be good. Most of the major museums in the west have used her artistry at one time or another.”
“We need to see her, too,” Amy murmured.
Hunter nodded. “And Dr. Adler estimates she was killed approximately seven weeks ago,” he said as he read the screen. “There seems to be a month between killings. Of course, there are many more bodies to go, but I’m curious if they don’t coincide with religious holidays or others,” Hunter said.
“I’ll study that this afternoon,” Jay said solemnly.
“And if this does have anything to do with a purist cult, her sexuality could be important. It could be why she is dead, why she waschosen,” Hunter murmured. “Jay, have you found any dirt on the two men you showed us?”
“Not yet. I can dig.”
“Well,” Amy said, “we can finish out the day with a few trips. We can see Loretta Peterson and Brenda Hayes. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson were separated. If there was something, Loretta might be willing to tell us. And it sounds as if Brenda and Estelle were close—Brenda may know something about Estelle’s activities.”
“Right,” Hunter said. “So, about our last two identified bodies—and do we have hard copies of this info?”
“Depending on what you call hard copy,” Hughes said. “Andy sent it all to your emails. And our last two are...? First, Xavier Alexander, musician, unmarried, scores of conquests, reported missing when he didn’t show up for a gig. He’s been dead three to four weeks. He was one of the victims...with bite marks. Thirty-one years old. Lived alone, but, again, a wellness check showed nothing out of order—and his car in the driveway. He was just gone. And last but not least this fellow, Arthur C. Graves, inherited millions, lived in a dozen mansions in a dozen places, and so his family doesn’t even know when he went missing. He was sixty-six, left behind four children and ten grandchildren, and three estranged ex-wives. Uber-rich. Adler said he’s been dead about a month.”
Amy quickly checked her phone. As promised, all the information had been emailed to them. She pushed her chair back.
“Jay, you are great. Thank you so much,” she said.
“Not that great! I’m going to find out more for you, of course.”
She grinned. He was young, eager, and not aware of just how much of what he did helped to save people out on the streets.
“We’re going to swing by to see Carey Allen and then slide on over to Barrington Advertising to get a lay of the land. Then we’ll stop by and see Loretta Peterson. Maybe there’s something she can give us. And we’ll get to Brenda Hayes. Andy, if—”
“Jay and I will work on finding out who may know something about the others,” Andy assured them. “We are working in tandem with the police, so we will have plenty of people out there.”
“Thanks,” Hunter said. “Shall we?”
“Ready!” Amy agreed.
They greeted others as they left the local headquarters and returned to the parking garage. The hospital was their next stop. Hunter drove this time; Amy studied her phone.
“I believe they have something in common,” she murmured, “but what? They’re such a mixed group with a musician, a politician, gay, straight, superrich, just working the American dream...”
“Sins,” Hunter said.
“What?” Amy asked.
