For the Right Reasons

“Yeah, about that...” Bree began guiltily, but Eric jumped in.

“Jillian, do you have a few minutes? We just want to pick your brain. It’s not official foundation business,” he added.

“Of course.” She perched on the edge of an empty desk and crossed her legs, revealing an impressive length of thigh and mile-high shiny black platform boots.

“I’m not really his girlfriend,” Bree blurted out. “I lied. But I was in a hurry and I just wanted to find him. So I let you believe what you wanted.”

“Oh.” Jillian seemed disappointed.

“I’m sorry. I’m usually a very honest person. I shouldn’t have lied. I put Eric in an awkward position, and I didn’t mean to.”

“So if you’re not his girlfriend, why was he stripping off his clothes?”

“It wasn’t sexual,” Eric said. “I don’t want people thinking I had a liaison at the office my second day of work.”

Jillian shrugged. “Okay. But honestly, no one cares. If you had any idea the amount of sex that’s gone on in this office between people who should know better, you’d understand. So what do you guys want with me?”

Eric held a chair out for Bree, then rolled another over for himself. “Bree needs some help finding someone.”

“I just want to know that she’s okay,” Bree added. “But I’m worried something happened to her.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Talk to Mitch.”

“We did that,” Eric said.

“Then he’ll find out soon enough whether she’s used her phone, bought gas, bought an airline ticket, left the country...”

“Really?” Bree was astonished. “He can do all that? Is that legal?”

Jillian and Eric shared deer-in-headlights looks.

“Ah,” Jillian said. “Since you’re not a client, you haven’t signed a nondisclosure agreement. So we can’t say any more about how we do things.”

“She’s right,” Eric said.

“I’m not going to tattle,” Bree said. “If you want me to sign something, I will. But you don’t have to tell me any more. All I want to do is find Philomene.”

“Okay.” Jillian got down to business. “In all likelihood, Mitch will tell you where and when she’s used her phone and credit cards and provide a list of people she knows—family, friends, coworkers, neighbors. Your job will be to chase down those people and see if any of them can tell you where she is or if they’ve seen or heard from her. I assume you’ve tried calling her?”

“She doesn’t answer,” Bree said. “She doesn’t call back. It’s possible she just doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“Call her from a number she won’t recognize. Have someone whose voice she doesn’t know leave a message like they want to send her a check, a gas company deposit from years ago, something like that. People always respond if they think you are going to pay them.”

Jillian outlined some other offbeat ways she’d heard of for finding missing persons. She seemed to enjoy sharing her expertise.

“People can try to hide,” she said, “but their personalities are the same. So your friend might seek out the same kind of job. If you can pinpoint a city, you can check businesses similar to where she worked. If she gets her hair done professionally, she’ll seek that out. If she wears acrylic nails, same thing. Sometimes Mitch can get hold of gas station security video near where you think she lives. That’s tedious, going over days and days of video. But people have to buy gas.”

Bree was truly impressed. No wonder Project Justice was so good at solving crimes the police had bungled.

“Well, I didn’t think up any of this stuff,” Jillian said modestly. “I’ve been taught by some of the best investigators on the planet. So let’s see, what else? You can—”

“Hey, got something,” Mitch said. “Philomene bought gas in San Antonio. She also used her cell phone there. She called another mobile number in the same area, but that one is a throwaway. We’ll never find who it belongs to.”

“Someone could have stolen her phone along with her credit card,” Bree pointed out.

“Okay, here’s one more call,” Mitch said. “Ah, we’re in luck. To a landline this time. Registered to a Mildred W. Hayes. Also in San Antonio.”

“Do you think Philomene might have had friends or family in San Antone?” Eric asked Bree.

Bree shrugged. “I didn’t really know her all that well. But we can call this Mildred Hayes, right? Ask her if she knows Philomene?”

“It would be better to go there in person,” Mitch said. “If Philomene is hiding, her friends might lie for her. It’s harder to lie face-to-face. You could also see if Philomene’s car is parked near Mildred’s place.”

“Can you get any info on this Mildred Hayes?”

“Workin’ on it.” Mitch tapped for what seemed like an eternity, but probably it was less than a minute. “Okay, here we go. Mildred is sixty-two years old. African-American.” He tapped some more. “On SNAP and disability. Doesn’t own a car. And...doesn’t live in the greatest neighborhood.”

“Can you give me her address and phone?” Bree asked. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“Not alone, you won’t.” Eric peered at the Google Earth image on Mitch’s monitor. “That does not look like the kind of place a woman should wander by herself.”

“Yeah, well, it’s unlikely I’ll get a police escort.”

“I’ll go with you. I told you I’d help you out tomorrow. Now how about lunch? You might not be hungry, but I am.”

“I’ll keep working on this while you eat.” Mitch pulled a sandwich and an apple out of his desk. “I usually work through lunch any— Okay, that’s weird.”

“What?” Bree stepped closer to peer over Mitch’s shoulder. But the lines and lines of type on the monitor swam before her eyes.

“Another purchase on the credit card just popped up. From the Gap. She just bought...a leather jacket.”

“That does not sound like Philomene,” Bree said. “Eric, you saw her place. She lives modestly. She drives a ten-year-old Toyota.”

“Maybe she forgot to bring a coat. A front is supposed to be moving through tonight.”

“That doesn’t make sense. There’s something wrong here. Because if Philomene met with foul play, it means I was right. Someone wanted to keep her quiet. Someone doesn’t want the truth to come out. Which means someone besides Kelly raped Philomene and killed all those girls. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Eric was about to retort when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and walked a few steps away, but spoke only briefly before returning.

“Sorry, Bree, but I have to get back to work.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the Home Cookin’ Café. Nine o’clock. We’ll find Philomene. Ernie?” He addressed a young man at a nearby desk. “Please show Dr. Johnson out. She’s parked in the garage.” Eric did an abrupt about-face and left the room—as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

CHAPTER FIVE

AS HE STIRRED half-and-half into his coffee, Eric could have slapped his own face for putting himself in this position. Having Philomene disappear was a stroke of good luck. Without Philomene, Bree had no case. No case, no chance Kelly Ralston would ever see daylight.