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A good rule in looking for a missing person is to investigate where they were last seen. My visit with Tyrell Evans narrowed that down for Ashley Holland from somewhere up North to a specific lake house in Maine. I accepted the news as progress.
Before heading into Moose country, I decided to stop by Ashley's condo. I would feel pretty silly traveling to Maine and back only to discover Ashley hanging out at home binge watching her favorite shows on Netflix. Another good rule in detecting is to eliminate the easiest explanation first.
I hopped on the Silver Line from South Station to Courthouse Station. It was a short walk from Courthouse Station to Ashley's building in Boston's burgeoning Seaport District. I wasn't sure if her rich parents or earnings as a high-priced escort paid for the luxury residence in the new art deco building overlooking the harbor.
The luck of my Irish ancestry was continuing as I knew the doorman, Frank. He had been a longtime doorman at the Taj Boston, back to when it was the former Ritz Carlton. Frank had been an amateur heavyweight boxer back in the day. Not a bad guy to have manning the entrance to your building.
“New gig?” I said to Frank.
“Hey, Drew. Yeah, the management here poached a lot of us service folks from some of the better establishments around Boston.”
“They couldn't do better than you,” I said.
“Appreciate that. The new job has its perks. We were treated to seats at Fenway for Game 1 of the World Series.”
“I'm in the wrong line of work,” I said.
“Being a PI suits you. I can't picture you in a uniform.”
“The Oxford and chinos have been a stretch.”
A well-groomed couple approached the building. Frank opened the door for them.
He said, “Good afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton.”
The Pendleton's gave a modest nod of their heads as they entered the grand lobby. Frank closed the door.
“They are first class assholes,” Frank said. “But it's my job to be nice.”
“I take back what I said about wanting your job,” I said.
“I'm sure you run into your fair share of wisenheimers in your line of work.”
“But I don't have to be nice to them.”
Frank smiled. Then he said,” So how ya been?”
“Can't complain. Except for not getting tickets to the World Series.”
“Those might require you to be nice to assholes.”
I smiled. A woman approached and Frank opened the door for her.
“Good afternoon Ms. Randall.”
“Hello, Frank,” she said. “Thank you,” she added as she walked through the open door. Frank closed the door behind her.
“She's one of the classy ladies,” Frank said. “So, I take it you're not just out for a stroll. You investigating someone in the building?”
“I'm looking for one of the residents. Ashley Holland. She's been missing for a few days. When did you last see her?”
Frank considered my question for a moment. Then he said, “About five days ago. Said she was going to Maine. Didn't say when she'd be back. You suppose something happened to her?”
“I don't know,” I said. “Her parents are concerned that no one has heard from her this week.”
“She goes away a lot,” Frank said.
“According to her parents, she has never gone more than three days without checking in.”
Frank leaned in toward me and said, “You know she works for one of them executive escort services?”
“I just learned that at a previous meeting.”
“They say it is legit, but I imagine more goes on with some of the clients. Extra-curricular stuff.”
“I've heard that theory as well,” I said. “She ever bring clients by her place?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Frank said shaking his head. “Of course I work the day shift, and most of that business would be at night. But I'd probably hear about it from the other doormen.”
I nodded my head. “Any chance I could check out her place?” I said.
“I can't let you in a resident's unit unless you're on the list,” Frank said. “But you're free to look around the lobby and pick up materials from the sales office. Although they are at lunch for another half-hour.”
“Since I'm here, I'll just have a look around until the sales agents come back from lunch,” I said.
Frank smiled and nodded as he opened door.
“Thanks, Frank.”
“I expect you'll like the building,” he said. “High end all around. Could use better security, though.”
“Good to know,” I said.
“I guessed it might.”
I walked through the open door, past the closed sales office, and got on the elevator. I checked my notes for Ashley's unit number and hit the button for the fifth floor.
The fifth floor was quiet. I located Ashley's unit and picked the lock rather easily. Frank was right that security could have been better. For million dollar units, it should have been harder. Of course, most people wouldn't get past Frank.
Ashley's condo was modern with marble countertops and high-end stainless steel appliances. She had modern-chic furniture. The large picture windows offered a sweeping view of Boston Harbor. Most boats were already away for the coming winter season.
From the few contents in her fridge, it didn't look like Ashley did much cooking. The living room was neat and tidy. Modern art hung on the walls. They looked to be originals. A small bookcase displayed photos of Ashley with friends in Europe, the Caribbean, and trendy Boston bars and clubs.
A small stack of fashion magazines sat on a glass and steel coffee table. A matching desk in the corner had some open bills on top. A lease for a BMW; a credit card with charges at various fashion boutiques on Newbury Street, Starbucks, Netflix, Amazon Prime, and some takeout restaurants in the area. I glanced at her monthly mortgage statement.
Ashley would need a hefty bank account to cover just the bills I had seen on the desk. I poked around and found direct deposit pay stubs from Premier Escort Service. Ashley made more than enough. Anything she might get from mommy and daddy would be icing on a very lucrative cake.
I walked down a short hallway to her bedroom. The bedroom furniture was the same modern-chic as the living room. More modern art hung on the walls.
Ashley's closet was filled with pricey evening gowns, cocktail dresses, and casual slacks, jeans, and shirts for everyday wear. The labels matched many of the expensive boutiques listed on her credit card statement. Drawers in the closet contained shorts, fashionable bikinis, and undergarments. Also from boutiques on Newbury Street.
She had larger pieces of luggage for longer trips. An empty space next to a large suitcase would fit a smaller piece of luggage for shorter trips.
All the evidence pointed toward Ashley having not returned home. That wasn't a surprise but confirmed she was somewhere other than Boston.
I left Ashley's building before the leasing office re-opened. I would have just been a Lookie Lou. Ashley's building was well out of my price range. Besides, I had inherited a great old house in Cambridge from my grandmother. One of these days I might even get around to remodeling it.
I headed back to Cambridge and picked up my car. I would have enough daylight remaining to begin my search for Ashley in Maine.