Kaminsky nodded. “I’m on it.”
As she turned back to her computer, Tony stood aside for Charlie to precede him out the door. The buzz of activity in Central Command was so loud that she had to wonder if the War Room was soundproofed, because until now she hadn’t been aware of any of it. Phones rang. Volunteers manned the tip lines. A couple of sheriff’s deputies in orange vests—which meant they were part of the search party that was still combing the area for any sign of Bayley Evans—stood in front of the search grid that hung on the wall talking to Agent Taylor. Most of the squares had been X’d through by this time, and even as she watched, Taylor drew a big X through another section. Charlie must have made some sound, because he glanced at her as she and Tony passed. His beady little bulldog eyes were grim.
“I hope you’re having better luck than we are,” he said to Tony, who shrugged noncommittally. Charlie could feel Taylor’s eyes following them out the door.
The interviews took place in a plush condominium farther down the beach, where four of the girls had been staying with their mothers on what had been intended to be a two-week-long getaway before school started. The fifth girl, Hannah Beckett, who was also from Winston-Salem, was in Kill Devil Hills for the entire summer as a result of a custody arrangement between her recently divorced parents that required her to spend school vacations with her father and new stepmother. Like the others, she would be a senior in the fall at Winston-Salem’s Lowell High School. She was also Bayley Evans’ cousin.
“I feel so bad,” Hannah told Tony, tears welling in her blue eyes. Her long hair was a darker shade of blond than Bayley’s—more honey than platinum—but otherwise her resemblance to her cousin was strong. All the girls, in fact, were the same pretty, popular, cheerleader type. “Bayley—everybody—came here because of me. None of this would’ve happened if my parents hadn’t gotten divorced.” She shot a poisonous look at her stepmother, who sat with the other mothers on the two long, white-slipcovered couches that flanked the giant flat-screen TV. Along with Tony and Charlie, the girls huddled around the glass-topped dining table in the eating area of the combination living/dining room in front of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the beach. It was not a happy gathering. With the notable exception of Hannah’s new stepmother, who was a decade younger than the other women and dressed more like the teens in short white shorts and a black tee in contrast to the older womens’ country club chic, the mothers were somber and at the same time fiercely protective of their daughters. Sipping from tall glasses of iced tea, they talked quietly among themselves while watching the conversation at the table with nearly identical gimlet gazes. Every single one of the girls had, at one point or another during the questioning, started to cry, which had earned Tony and Charlie multiple glares.
“It’s not your fault, Hannah,” Laurie Cole, who was sitting beside Hannah, reached out to clasp her friend’s hand where it rested on the table. The thinnest, tannest, and most athletic-looking of the girls, Laurie had long, seal-brown hair sleeked back into a ponytail. “All of us wanted to come. Bayley too.”
“So besides the two boys whose names you already gave us, did anyone else pay any of you particular attention?” Tony asked. According to what the girls had already told them, the boys he was referring to had met the girls at the Sanderling, danced with them, gotten the phone numbers of Laurie Cole and Grace Rafferty, a doe-eyed, pigtailed brunette who was sitting across the table from Hannah, and subsequently called them. They would be checked out, but Charlie was almost sure they would be cleared—unless the girls were mistaken about their ages, those boys were too young.
“It was dark and everybody was dancing with everybody,” Monica James said. The only one of the girls with short hair and no tan, she was a redhead with delicate bones. “Guys would just come up to us and start dancing. Bayley”—her voice caught a little on the name—“Bayley was out there in the middle of it just like the rest of us. But I can’t remember anyone she danced with in particular.”
“What about that waiter?” Jen Merrick asked. She was petite, with inky black curls and blue eyes. “Remember, the really cute one? When we were leaving, Bayley forgot her purse. He came running after us to bring it to her.”
All the girls nodded.
“His name was Andrew,” Kristen Henry volunteered. Probably the least attractive of the girls, Kristen was tall, with a sturdy frame, nut-brown hair that hung in a long braid over one shoulder and slightly coarse features. When the other girls looked at her, she shrugged. “Hey, so I remember. Like Jen said, he was really cute.”
Charlie could tell from Tony’s expression that he was making a mental note of the name.
“Has any male you don’t know well attempted to talk to you about Bayley since her disappearance?” Charlie asked. As she had told Tony on the way over, the killer would have tried to insert himself into the investigation in any way he could. Reaching out to Bayley’s friends in an attempt to vicariously experience their grief and horror was absolutely something he would have done.
“We’ve talked to you.” Laurie’s nod indicated Tony. “And the FBI agent who came with you the last time. And the police. And a couple of reporters tried to talk to Kristen and Jen when they went to the grocery store with their moms the other day.”
“Nobody else?” Charlie asked.
They all shook their heads. “Except for Jen and me going to the store that one time, we haven’t been outside,” Kristen said. “You know, because that guy’s still out there.”
Several of the girls visibly shuddered. Charlie knew exactly how they felt.
“Do you think Bayley’s still alive?” Hannah asked in a tiny voice.
“I think so,” Tony answered, while Charlie felt her heart constrict. If she let herself dwell to any extent on Bayley, she started feeling physically sick.
After a few more questions, Tony ended the interview. He and Charlie then talked to the mothers, who knew no more than their daughters. The mothers took the opportunity to pepper them with questions, which Charlie left Tony to answer. He responded with a patience and empathy she truly admired. At the same time he made it clear that he couldn’t actually discuss an ongoing investigation and subtly steered her toward the door.
The man has tact. Chalk up another plus.
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that the perpetrator has tried to make contact with these girls or their families.” Charlie glanced over at Tony as they rode the elevator down toward the lot out front, where the SUV was parked. “If there’s some way to keep tabs on the men they come into contact with …”
Her voice trailed off as Tony shook his head. “Neither us nor the local police force have the manpower to stay with them twenty-four seven.” As the elevator stopped and they emerged into the spacious, tile-floored lobby, he looked up and around, then frowned thoughtfully. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check the security cameras, but I don’t expect to get much out of it. Speaking for myself, if I were him and wanted to make contact with any of those families, I wouldn’t do it in a place where I was so obviously being recorded.”
Following the direction his gaze had taken, Charlie saw the security cameras mounted high in every corner. As their purpose was obviously to deter crime, they were impossible to miss.
“Good point,” she responded.
“It’s suppertime,” he said. “And I’m starving. I’d ask you out to dinner, but until we find Bayley Evans, I can’t spare the time. How do you feel about grabbing some carryout on the way back to the house?”
Charlie smiled at him. She liked the idea that he wanted to take her to dinner. If he had asked, she would have said yes. One day, she was going to. “Are we talking McDonald’s, KFC, or Arby’s?” Those were the three fast-food outlets between the condo and their rental.