Noel was driving a four-door KIA sedan, with heated black leather seats. While it didn’t have that new-car smell, the interior was meticulously detailed. A pair of rosary beads hung from the rear-view mirror.
He had insisted on picking her up. He didn’t get into specifics – just asked her in a tone that was both urgent and angry to park the sheriff’s borrowed SUV in the driveway of Karen’s home and stay out of sight until he got there, which would be in five minutes or less.
‘He called,’ Darby said after she shut the door.
‘What?’
‘The Red Ryder. While I was at the Lee house.’ She told him what happened. ‘He was watching me.’ And probably still is, Darby added to herself.
‘That’s evidence,’ Noel said. ‘We can give that call to the lab, ask them to compare –’
‘There’s nothing to compare it to. The Vallejo police didn’t record phone calls back then.’
‘Right.’ Noel sighed, rubbed at his face. ‘Right, I forgot. Still, we should get the recording.’
‘Agreed.’
They drove back to the Lee house. The lights were still on, the truck was still parked underneath the carport and, behind it, was a battered Honda Civic. The trunk was open, the interior packed with plastic grocery bags.
The woman who came out of the house looked and dressed the way Darby guessed a retired nun would: bone-white hair and orthopaedic shoes with a heavy wool skirt and sweater. She was overweight – obese, really – and clutched the railing as she moved down the steps, taking one at a time.
Noel introduced himself. The woman was Camilla Lee, Caitlyn’s mother.
‘We’d like a moment of your time,’ Noel said. ‘But first, how about we help you with these groceries.’
‘God bless you, that would be wonderful.’
Then, when they were inside, the bags loaded on to the kitchen counter, Noel and Darby both looked at the phone, its red message light blinking.
Darby took the lead. ‘Mrs Lee, do you know where Caitlyn is?’
‘Out with her friends, I would imagine. She’s very social.’
‘What’s her cell phone number?’
‘She doesn’t have one.’
Actually she does, Darby thought. A burner.
The woman looked slightly embarrassed. ‘We don’t own any,’ she said. ‘We’re on a very tight budget here.’
‘I understand.’
‘Is Caitlyn in some sort of trouble?’
‘No. I’m just trying to get in contact with her. Have you listened to your messages yet?’
‘Not yet. Why?’
‘I was wondering if we could listen. I think Caitlyn may have left a message for me here.’
Camilla Lee blinked in confusion behind her thick glasses. ‘On our house phone?’
‘I’m sorry for the confusion. May we just listen? It will only take a moment.’
The woman waddled over to the phone and pressed the ‘Play’ button.
Beep.
‘Patty, it’s me. Bob Pinkerton’s truck broke down again, and I promised him I’d help get it back on the road before morning. I won’t be home for supper.’
Another beep and a computerized voice came on and said, ‘End of messages.’
Darby’s brow furrowed as the woman said, ‘That was my husband, John. He’s a mechanic.’
‘May I look at your phone?’
‘Okay.’
Darby pressed the ‘Play’ button and held her finger down on it, to play any old messages that had been left on the machine.
Beep.
The answering machine’s robotic voice came on and said, ‘No new messages.’
Silence. Darby could hear blood pounding in her ears.
‘Where are my manners?’ Camilla Lee said. ‘Can I offer you water or a Sprite? It’s the store-bought brand but it tastes just like the real thing.’