“Phyllis,” her husband said, “we can’t keep something that important away from these men, something that might help them bring Bobby’s killer to justice.”
Mrs. Edels looked at her husband for a long time, almost as if she were trying to see through him; then, slowly, she nodded.
Rossi said, “I assure you, Mrs. Edels, we’ll make every effort to keep this information confidential.”
“I appreciate that,” she said.
Karen Edels turned to her mother and said, “If us being open about Bobby’s sexual orientation helps their investigation… if people knowinghelps some other ‘Bobby’ out there keep from being victimized… then, Mother, we haveto do it.”
“I know!” her mother snapped.
Rossi took a few moments for everything—and everyone—to settle.
Then he said, as casually as he could, “Was there someone special in Bobby’s life?”
Both parents turned to Karen, and Rossi realized at once that the sister was the only one who’d been privy to this part of Bobby’s life. These were parents who hadn’t wanted to know such things and, accordingly, had never asked.
“No one in particular,” Karen said. “To the general public, Bobby was in the closet. He was working in what was kind of a hardware store, and that’s a pretty conservative environment. Of course, I knew, and our folks knew, but it was ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ around here.”
“Karen,” her mother said sharply.
“Well, it is. It was. Mother, Dad—can you imagine Bobby bringing somebody home for you to meet?”
They said nothing.
Rossi asked, “Did he have a lot of friends? Straight? Or gay?”
“Hardly any,” Karen said.
“Where did he hang out?”
“Either here or at work, mostly,” Karen said. “If he was going anywhere else, if there was somebody or somebodies he was seeing, he kept it to himself. He knew I was supportive, and he appreciated that— but he was very private.”
“Did he have a fake ID?”
“Not that I know of. I never even saw him drink.” Rossi turned to the parents and asked about the fake ID and they both shook their heads. Looking past them, he glanced at Reid, standing on the periphery with Tovar. The younger man’s eyes held a silent question and Rossi gave him the barest hint of a nod.
Reid took a half step into the room. To Rossi, the young man always looked as if he was about to raise his hand and ask permission to go to the bathroom. And yet this eternal nerd also happened to be one of the smartest men Rossi had ever met. If not thesmartest…
Tentatively, Reid asked, “Would it be all right if we looked at Bobby’s room?”
Mr. Edels nodded, but Mrs. Edels asked, “Why?”
Reid said, “The more we know about your son? The more information we have to try to understand how he came to be singled out by this UnSub."
“Unknown subject,” Rossi said. “The killer.”
Frowning, working the hanky in her hands furiously, Mrs. Edels asked, “Shouldn’t you be learning about this monster instead of Bobby?”
“Everything we learn about Bobby,” Rossi said, “tells us something about that monster.”
Any reservations the woman had melted away and she rose, to lead them up the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was long, the bedrooms of the kids on the left, the bathroom and the master bedroom on the right. The corridor contained a few more family photos on either side wall: Bobby in Little League, Karen in a cheerleading uniform (probably junior high), a family portrait of the four when the kids were still in elementary school. They passed Karen’s bedroom and she opened the door for them to enter Bobby’s.
The room was small and dark. Mrs. Edels opened the curtains wide and let the sun in, then—without a word—left Reid, Rossi, and Tovar alone in the room, closing the door behind her.
The window took up most of the wall opposite the door, the bed against the wall on the right; the floor was hardwood. A desk and chair squatted beneath the window, the chair neatly pushed underneath a desk that was home to a small pile of books (novels, Tales of the Cityon top) and a laptop computer.
“Reid,” Rossi asked, “can you get into his computer?”
“Possibly,” Reid said. “But I’d still feel better calling in a computer tech.”
“All right,” Rossi said.
Shelves on the left held a TV, a few books, a video game console and assorted games and CDs. A poster over the bed was of a pasty guy with long, unruly hair with only the words “The Cure” at the bottom to give Rossi the slightest clue what the poster was supposed to represent. Another poster above the shelves and TV was of another musician, this one with black hair and pale skin as well—“Nine Inch Nails,” it was labeled. He wondered how one man could be a whole band (all nine of them?), but rock music had left Rossi behind some time ago. Around “Pleasant Valley Sunday.”
Tovar said, “Seems normal enough.”
“We can only hope the computer gives up something,” Rossi said. “Or maybe his car—”
The word was barely out of his mouth when Rossi realized they had all skipped a major potential clue. Opening the door, he went into the hallway. The Edels were standing there expectantly, father, mother, daughter, like a party waiting to be seated in a restaurant.
Rossi asked, “How did Bobby get around?”
“Well, his car,” Mrs. Edels said.
“Which is where?”
“We wish we knew,” Mr. Edels said.
Rossi frowned. “How’s that?”
“It hasn’t turned up. God, it seemed like every day after he disappeared one of us thought we sawthat car, and phoned the police. I think they finally got tired of us bothering them, but they never found it. Must be a lot like it out there.”
“What kind of car is it?”
“Ninety-five Honda Civic.”
“Navy blue,” Bobby’s sister added.
Rossi said, “Thanks,” and got out his cell phone and hit a number in the speed dial.
“Hotchner.”
“It’s Rossi. We need to find Bobby Edels’s car. It went missing when he did.”
Hotchner was ahead of him. “The local cops up there ran it when he disappeared. They came up empty.”
“Well, hell, let’s put Garcia on it. We need to know what happened to that vehicle.”
“I’d like to know myself, but we don’t gather the evidence, Dave.”
“With all due respect, Aaron, remove the stick from where you’re sitting and get real: Bobby Edels disappeared. Wherever he disappeared from, he got there in his car. That car is a clue that we need to find so we caninterpret it.”
“Agreed,” Hotchner said. “I’ll get Garcia on it right away. Anything else?”
“Not yet,” Rossi said, “but you’ll be the first to know when there is.” He clicked off.
With a curious frown, Mrs. Edels asked, “If the police haven’t been able to find Bobby’s car, what makes you think you can?”
Rossi gave her a half smile. “Because we have a secret weapon.”
Named Penelope Garcia.
Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan and Detective Tate Lorenzon had spent the last three hours interviewing Fix-It Mate employees.
They started with the assistant manager and worked their way slowly through coworkers of Bobby Edels. The assistant manager, highest-ranking person on duty, had shown them security videos of the parking lot. They had watched Bobby Edels get behind the wheel of his Honda Civic and pull out of the parking lot.
Then Bobby disappeared down the road, out of sight and, seemingly, off the planet.
Even after twenty-two employee interviews, the agent and the detective knew no more than what they’d seen on that video.
They were in the employees’ break room now, where they had conducted the interviews, and Lorenzon got up to pour them what seemed like their twentieth cup of coffee. Or maybe thirtieth.
“Do we know anythingnew?” Lorenzon asked as he returned to the table and set their cups on the table.
“Sure,” Morgan said, sipping the coffee.