The Lost Girls (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 6)

by Elle Gray

  “Sure beats the dorms.”

  “You’re not lyin’,” she says with a small laugh.

  “May I help you?”

  We both turn and see a thirty-something woman with short, dark hair cut in a bob, dark eyes, and cool, pale skin. She’s dressed in a simple black pantsuit with a cream-colored blouse beneath the jacket, and is standing behind a marble desk that’s topped with a dark oak counter cut in smooth, flowing lines. Astra and I walk over to her and flash our badges. She’s wearing a golden, oval-shaped nametag that announces her as Missy.

  “We’re with the FBI—SSA Wilder and Special Agent Russo,” I start. “We need to see Selene Hedlund’s condo, please.”

  She clears her throat and gives us an awkward smile. “I hate to sound so dramatic, but do you have a warrant to enter her premises? The privacy of our residents is of the utmost importance to us. I’m sure you can understand.”

  I nod. “I do understand. And we don’t have a warrant, but we do have the permission of Representative Kathryn Hedlund, who is the papered owner of the condo, to enter the premises. If you’d like, I can get her on the phone and let her explain the situation.”

  The woman goes even paler, and an expression of near terror crosses her face. She’s obviously dealt with the Congresswoman before and is having some sort of a PTSD-fueled flashback. I can’t say I don’t understand.

  “Of course,” she says. “That won’t be necessary—calling her, I mean.”

  She picks up the phone and punches a couple of buttons. I glance over at Astra, who’s stifling a smile. The woman turns her back and speaks in a low tone, making it difficult to listen in, but she turns back around and hangs up the phone, a trembling smile on her face.

  “Rodrigo will meet you at the unit to let you in,” she tells us. “It’s unit twelve-oh-four. Just take the elevator up to the twelfth floor.”

  “Thank you for your help, Missy.”

  She nods and gives us a courteous smile as we turn and walk over to the bank of elevators. We step into the car, and I hit the button for the twelfth floor.

  “You were pretty quick to name drop the good Congresswoman,” Astra remarks with a chuckle as the doors slide shut.

  “Some situations require a surgical scalpel and others require a blunt sledgehammer to get things moving,” I shrug. “I use whatever tools I happen to have.”

  “Well, you just dropped an atomic bomb on that poor woman.”

  “Sometimes that’s what the situation requires.”

  We get off at the twelfth floor, and there’s a man in dark green coveralls standing beside the door. He’s about five-five, with thinning dark hair, russet-colored skin, dark eyes, and a warm, friendly smile.

  “Rodrigo?” I ask.

  He nods. “Yes ma’am,” he says. “The Bureau, huh? What’d Miss Hedlund do this time?”

  “This time?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not one to talk out of school…”

  That’s usually the phrase people use right before they talk out of school. That’s fine with me, though. I happen to like chatty people. Especially when the subjects of their gossip involve my cases. You just never know what you’ll learn.

  “You didn’t hear this from me, of course,” he says.

  “Of course,” Astra confirms.

  “Well, Miss Hedlund is a bit of a party girl, if you know what I mean,” he goes on. “People in and out of here all the time. Lots of men. She’s even had the cops called on her a few times when the party got too loud. Most of the other residents don’t like her much. They’ve been trying to get her thrown out, but she owns the place, what can they do, y’know?”

  “You said the cops have been out a few times,” Astra says. “She ever been taken in?”

  He scoffs and shakes his head. “A girl like that? With that kind of background?” he says. “She ain’t gettin’ arrested for a noise complaint. Or much of anything else. All those problems tend to just go away, if you know what I mean.”

  I nod. I do know what he means. When you’re rich and well-connected, crime somehow doesn’t ever stick to you. It’s like magic.

  “Anyway, I should let you in,” Rodrigo says.

  “Thank you,” I say. “We appreciate it.”

  He nods and unlocks the door for us. Astra and I step inside, and she closes the door as I walk down a short hall, passing the door to the kitchen and into a living room that seems about twice as large as my whole apartment. The space is richly appointed. Opulent, really. To my left is a spiral staircase that leads up to what looks like an informal den of sorts. The living room is done in black and white, the floor beneath us solid marble.

  A pair of plush sofas sit across from one another on a richly colored rug, separated by a glass coffee table that could pass as a piece of art. The entire rear wall of the condo is glass, and there’s a balcony just outside. The view is absolutely stunning. Downtown Seattle sprawls below her condo, and in the distance, I can see the peak of Mt. Rainier. The wall to our right holds a gas fireplace that seems to be more for show than functionality, and beyond the staircase is a hallway that I assume leads back to the bedrooms.

  “This place is—wow,” Astra comments. “I would have loved to live in a place like this when I was in school.”

  “Right?”

  We both pull black nitrile gloves out of our pockets and snap them on as we spread out and start searching the front rooms. We don’t find anything too useful, though. I go up the narrow spiral staircase and into the den. There’s a large flat-screen TV on a stand against the wall and a sofa that’s got a pile of pillows and neatly folded blankets in front of it. The wall opposite the television is one large bookcase, and I scan the various titles. They mirror the inventory I saw in Dr. Crawford’s office—lots of classics and literary fiction. But I also come across quite a few books on philosophy and simpler, cleaner living.

  I recognize some of the titles on simpler living from some of the prepper compounds we’ve raided. People big on getting back to nature and living off the land and all that. Also, those who want to be prepared for the fall of the government, civil unrest, general national—if not global—chaos, and in some cases, the zombie apocalypse. These books are almost a guide to off-the-grid living, which makes me wonder about Selene. Did she drop out on purpose? Is she living in some prepper commune now?

  Taking one of the books with me, I head back downstairs and find Astra in Selene’s room, going through some boxes on her desk. She looks up as I enter, and I toss her the book. She looks down at it and frowns.

  “Living Clean, Living Free,” she reads the title. “Where’d you find this?”

  “Upstairs.” I nod my head back toward the other room. “It looks as if Selene spends a lot of time up there. She’s almost nesting up there.”

  The bedroom is immaculate. Like everywhere else in the condo we’ve looked, it’s pristine. The bed is perfectly made, and there’s not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. I’m sure there’s a maid service, but this bedroom doesn’t feel lived in. Not the way that upstairs den did. You could practically feel Selene in that den. But I don’t feel her here.

  “Nesting?” Astra asks.

  I nod. “Pillows and blankets on the sofa. Seemed as though she was sleeping up there.”

  “Why would she do that?” Astra asks.

  “No idea,” I reply.

  Astra picks up a small wooden box. The rich, red wood is intricately carved. She opens the lid and frowns. Without a word, she hands it to me, and I see that it’s filled with a small baggie of pot and some other paraphernalia. I also see a couple small glass cylinders that are filled with a fine white powder.

  “Want to take bets on what that powder is?” she asks.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not baking soda.”

  She frowns and puts her hands on her hips. “Something about this is bothering me. Why would she go off and leave her party kit?” she asks. “If this were some, ‘I’m going to go live off the land for a while’ kick
she was on, you think she’d take her goodies.”

  I shrug. “Unless they’re serious about that living clean thing.”

  “Yeah, maybe. It still doesn’t quite pop for me though.”

  I don’t disagree with her. It’s a flaw in the argument that she just dropped out of society. Somebody doing that will usually either use up her existing stash as a last hurrah or will give it away. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me that she would just leave her drugs right there on her desk. I check her closet and her dresser and see that they’re full. Her clothes are still neatly folded and hanging. But then, most of her stuff is club-wear. Probably not so useful out on some off-the-grid prepper compound.

  As I try to imagine her living with people like that, though—so paranoid or isolated that they cut themselves off from society—I just don’t see it. The image falls apart for me. Granted, I don’t know Selene at all. But what I do know of her, along with the image I have been able to construct based on what we’ve found so far, doesn’t mesh with that kind of life. I just can’t see her voluntarily dropping out of the world to live out in the dirt. Maybe I’m wrong and she’s become somebody totally new, but that image just does not ring true for me.

  “Hey, check this out,” Astra calls over.

  I turn and walk over to the desk. She’s holding a loose picture of Selene with a young man—early twenties, I’d say—dressed in khakis and a blue polo shirt. In the photo, he’s got his arm around her shoulder and she’s leaning into him. Judging by the way she’s looking up at him, her eyes locked onto his, there seems to be a mutual affection between them. Far more affection than you’d expect to see from somebody who changed partners as often as Selene supposedly did.

  “What am I checking out?” I ask.

  Astra taps the logo on the guy’s shirt—the emblem of the local aquarium. It’s then I see what she’s really showing me. She wanted me to see the nametag on the shirt. It says Spencer.

  “Looks as though we might have found our missing man,” she says.

  “Well, then, how about a day trip to the aquarium?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  I still don’t have a lot of hope that Spencer will have anything too useful for us, but you never know. People can surprise you. I’m already surprised by the fact that Spencer is not one of the rich Marchmont kids. He actually has a job—a job most of the trust-fund brats at Marchmont would consider menial. And yet, the way Selene looked at him in that picture makes it appear she was entirely besotted with him.

  It’s something that doesn’t quite fit in the picture we’re constructing. And it’s those puzzle pieces I always find the most interesting.

  Thirteen

  The Pacific Emerald Aquarium; Seattle, WA

  “No offense, but you don’t look like the typical Marchmont kid,” I say.

  He quirks a grin. “No offense taken. Actually, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  We’re sitting with Spencer at a table near the outdoor cafe adjacent to one of the shark enclosures. He’s a tall, lean kid with an unruly mop of dark curls, green eyes, and the tawny skin of somebody who spends a lot of time outdoors. He’s one of the aquarium’s docents—he gives tours and lectures mostly about the sharks they have in captivity. We learned that he’s got a degree in marine biology and is pursuing a Master's in the subject.

  He’s smart. Articulate. And obviously passionate about his field, given that he spent the first fifteen minutes of our introduction explaining the difference between the blue shark and the brown cat shark to us. It was the longest biology lecture I’ve had since college. He’s immensely likable. That much was clear from the start. So, too, was his affection for Selene.

  “How long has she been missing?” he asks.

  “Almost two weeks,” I answer honestly.

  He seems to deflate, and there’s an expression of agony etched upon his face that’s heartbreaking to see. I can see how much he cares for her.

  “How did you two meet?” Astra asks.

  A wan smile touches his lips. “This aquarium is owned by the Hedlund Foundation. Selene’s mother likes to come out for photo ops now and then, and Selene was with her for one of them. We started talking and hit it off.”

  “And how long did you two date?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Six months, maybe? She really was unlike anybody I ever met before. She’s a—force of nature,” he says. “She really can do anything she sets her mind to.”

  Astra and I share a glance, recognizing the phrasing Crawford used to describe her. It could be coincidental. I mean, there are only so many ways to describe somebody with as big a personality as everybody says Selene has. And I’m honestly not picking up on a creepy, stalkerish vibe from him. He seems like a decent guy so far.

  “Why did it end?” Astra asks.

  “That’s….complicated.”

  “Explain it to us,” I say.

  He sighs heavily, and I can see a sadness in his eyes. “Well, as I got to know her better, I discovered her life up at Marchmont—the drugs, all the guys—all of it.”

  “And I take it that didn’t sit well with you?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No. I’m not about that kind of life. It surprised me. When we were together, she was so down to earth. Calm. Fun. We’d have a few drinks, but we wouldn’t go out clubbing or partying. She didn’t do drugs or anything like that. At least, that’s what she always told me,” he says. “It was a shock when I found out what she was like at school.”

  “And how did you find out?” Astra asks.

  “Somebody sent me a video. Anonymously, of course,” he says. “In the video, she was drunk or high—I couldn’t tell. But she was—she was with a couple of guys. They were…”

  His voice tapers off, but he doesn’t need to say it. I can guess where he was going with it. I frown and take a drink of the soda I grabbed from the kiosk nearby.

  “You have no idea who sent it to you?” Astra asks.

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t even know anybody at Marchmont knew we were together. I’d never met any of her friends from school.”

  “And what did you do when you received the video?” I ask.

  “I confronted her about it,” he replies. “She and I argued about it, and she broke it off.”

  “We’ve been led to believe that you’re still a part of her life,” Astra says.

  He shrugs. “Not really. We still talked and all. She wanted to get back together, but I wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it,” he tells us. “I mean, she said she wanted to change and that she didn’t want to live that life anymore. But how could I trust her when she hid that side of herself from me? If I’d known what she was really like, I probably wouldn’t have pursued her to begin with. I’m just not about that life. Never have been, really. I’m a simple, quiet guy who’s passionate about fish.”

  I laugh softly at his last line, earning a small smile from him. There’s a sadness in his eyes more profound than I would have expected from somebody whose relationship lasted about the length of a hockey season. But then, I’m not one to judge. When it comes to matters of the heart, I’m about as skilled as I am at ice skating—and I’ve never been ice skating. As if he’s reading my mind, he looks up at me.

  “I know you think I’m too torn up about a six-month relationship,” he says. “But as I said, she’s different from anybody else I’ve ever met. It sounds utterly ridiculous to say out loud, I know. But I really thought she was the one. Or at least, I thought the side of her personality I was falling for was the one.”

  Astra clears her throat. “Tell us something Spencer….we were also led to believe that you had—difficulty—letting go. That you may have been turning up in places you weren’t expected—”

  His laughter cuts through her words, drawing a surprised expression from Astra. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his thick curls.

  “Stalking her? Is that what you were going to say?” he asks.

  “Well—ye
s.”

  “No. I was not stalking her. If anything, it was the other way around,” he says. “Selene would show up at places where I was. She came by here a lot. She texted me, begging me to give her another chance.”

  “Do you still have those texts?” I ask.

  He shook his head. “No, I deleted them all and eventually blocked her,” he sighs. “It was just too painful for me.” A wry smile crosses his face. “Not that she let that stop her. She got another phone and started texting me again. She was determined. But I just ignored her after that.”

  “When she showed up places, what happened?” I ask.

  “She’d beg me to take her back and give her another chance. She’d make a scene. She got me into trouble here a couple of times, to be honest,” he admits. “I had to have my boss’ boss call her mom and have Selene barred from the aquarium.”

  “Ouch,” I wince.

  “Yeah.”

  A strained silence descends over us as we sit there, and I can see the pain he’s in. I can see his regret.

  “Didn’t you think she could change?” Astra asks gently.

  “I don’t know. All I know is she broke my trust by not being straight with me from the start,” he tells us. “The fact that I found out through some anonymous video that she’s got this double life—that hurt, Agent Russo. That hurt a lot. I really thought she cared for me as much as I cared for her.”

  “Do you know if she was having any difficulties with anybody, Spencer?” I ask. “Did she mention having troubles with anyone?”

  He shook his head. “No, not at all. But she didn’t tell me much about her life at school. Obviously,” he says. “The last time I saw her was—a couple of weeks ago. I was out to dinner with a few friends, and she showed up with a pack of people from Marchmont, I assume. She was drunk and made a big production of hanging over the guys in the group. Making a spectacle of herself. I knew she was trying to get under my skin, so I ignored her. Tried to, anyway. I left early and she ran me down in the parking lot, screaming at me. Some older guy who was with her group had to come out and pull her away. He apologized for her and got her back into the restaurant.”