Another twelve-hour day had come and gone. Hour by hour and inch by inch, we were getting closer to the killers, but we still weren’t there. We needed that warrant to access Cliff’s dating-site messages, then we would be home free—I hoped. Tomorrow we should have answers about the messages and about what Cliff had in his safe that he’d wanted so well hidden.
I didn’t know if we would ever identify our second victim due to his head injuries, but when the killers were behind bars, and if they wanted a deal, perhaps they’d give up his name and the names of all the other victims in North Carolina and California.
It was after eight o’clock by the time I pulled into my garage and dragged my body up the stairs. Bandit greeted me the same way he always did—enthusiastically. After he got a good head pet, a run around the backyard, and food in his belly, he was content.
I ordered takeout since I wanted to spend the rest of my waking hours searching the dating sites for Cliff Howard and Robert Smith. For that night, a calzone would suffice.
Even though I couldn’t access Cliff’s messages, or log in as a female since I’d already opened my own account with my home IP address, I could search female profiles to see if any looked like the type who would have interested Cliff. In light of Liza Wakefield’s description of him as a full-of-himself, arrogant man, he had probably gone after younger, beautiful, and cosmetically altered females.
In the search bar, I typed in the age parameters—twenty-five through forty—since chances were slim that anyone younger would be a well-established professional. I doubted that Cliff had wanted anybody older than forty on his arm either. I wasn’t sure whether their occupation had mattered to him or even their salary, unless it was solely for bragging rights. He seemed well-off on his own. I also typed in that the match would have to live within twenty-five miles of Chicago. Cliff didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have traveled far for a date, and he would likely have expected women to be drawn to him instead. With those parameters set, I began my search, starting with the youngest group of women who insinuated they were interested in older men to serve as “sugar daddies” in exchange for companionship. I understood what that meant—they were both using each other. Cliff would have a hot babe on his arm, and the woman would benefit financially with gifts and vacations. I set the first group search for those between the ages of twenty-five and twenty-nine. After that, I would move to thirty through thirty-five, and I’d end with thirty-six through forty. The first group consisted of eighty-seven women.
You’ve got to be kidding me!
I’d had no idea how daunting that task would be, and waiting until tomorrow for that warrant would probably save me hours of searching for a needle in a haystack. I was about to log off when I noticed I had three new messages. Curiosity got the best of me, and I began reading what they wrote. The first woman, CallingMyOwnShots, was a work-from-home sales administrator for a large cosmetic firm. I had no idea what that meant. She said she was thirty-seven—my own age, which was fine—divorced, and had two kids under ten. I would pass on that one. If I ever did get married, I’d want my own kids. Being the stepdad that kids didn’t listen to wasn’t in the cards for me.
The next woman, NinetoFiveChick, was twenty-four—a bit young for my taste—the assistant manager for a high-fashion boutique downtown, and lived in the northern burbs. That was a hike from my home. Although both women were extremely pretty, I didn’t feel we’d find the connection I was hoping for. I was about to close my computer and forget the whole dating scene since I knew deep down I’d never find that compatible woman. I told myself she didn’t exist, but I knew I was really looking for an excuse to give up on the marriage-and-kids chapter of life. Although I was already dozing off, I forced myself to check out the third message. At least then I could delete all three and probably my account too. I clicked on the third message, from TravelingBabe90.
Interesting username. Maybe she’s a photographer for National Geographic and travels the world for that once-in-a-lifetime shot, my own dream that never came to fruition.
I imagined the ninety stood for her birth year.
What else could it be? That would put her in my age group.
Her profile sounded nice. She traveled for work, like I’d thought, although she didn’t say what her job was. She was twenty-nine, never married, and had no children. She grew up in Bismarck, North Dakota, and even though she was an only child, she’d spent a lot of time with her extended family. Her parents, unfortunately, had parted ways just over a year ago. She’d recently moved to Chicago and wanted to meet new people and experience big-city living. Even though Bismarck was a nice size, it was still under one hundred thousand people. She said she enjoyed reading my profile because we shared similar interests, like football games, running, hiking, sightseeing, dining out, and the fact that I had a dog was definitely a plus. I sounded like a well-rounded person, she’d said, with family values, much like herself.
Hmm… she sounds compatible.
Before I responded—if I did—I felt the need to check out her pictures. With that wannabe photographer’s eye, I would notice if something looked staged, copy and pasted, or if stock photography had been used. I pressed the photos tab and opened her gallery. Inside, I found eight pictures—ten was the limit for free. I’d posted three on mine. Two of hers looked to be from family gatherings years earlier, but the others looked current. One was of her standing in front of what appeared to be a capital building, and several more seemed to be travel-related photos, including candid shots at restaurants and several shots of hiking trails. She did mention she liked hiking. She was a pretty blonde, and her hair color appeared natural. She looked fit, as if she could be a runner, and her profile stated she was five foot six and weighed one hundred and twenty pounds.
So far, so good, and none of the pictures appear to be doctored.
I didn’t know—I wasn’t sure. Could I be opening up a can of worms by typing in my credit card number and posting a response? My life was busy, even too busy to justify having a pet, although Bandit and I made it work, especially with my neighbor Dean’s help. I sucked in a deep breath, weighed the pros and cons, pulled my credit card from my wallet, and tapped the computer keys.