Chapter 43
BEFORE I EVEN saw the sign to the tech repair place, I knew it had to be in the strip mall a few blocks ahead.
The plain single-story building had rust stains and graffiti painted along one wall.
It looked like a typical, low-end shopping center.
A vape store, a run-down dollar store, and a UPS shipping center filled the nearer end of the strip.
The tech repair shop was at the far end.
Two empty stores separated the shop from any other business.
A couple of homeless guys sat on boxes next to a dumpster in front of one of the empty stores.
We parked our cars by the dollar store. As we walked toward the end of the strip, I reached down and held Joe’s hand. That’s not something cops usually do on the way to an interview. Not even when one of them had been as thoughtful as Joe.
The sign above the repair shop read, WE FIX TECH (EXCEPT FOR APPLE PRODUCTS). As we entered, I could see the main function of the store was selling secondhand components.
A young dude with thick glasses, wispy brown hair, and a terrible case of acne looked up from his phone. He smiled and said, “You guys have got to be from the FBI.”
Joe was ready and pulled out his ID. He introduced himself and me, tactically leaving off that I wasn’t technically with the FBI.
Joe got right to it by getting the guy’s personal information. His name was Chet Ossing and he was originally from Grangeville, Idaho. The twenty-two-year-old had been working at the shop for more than a year.
Chet said, “I saw online that there’s a reward for information about this girl.”
Joe nodded. “That’s being offered by a community group where she’s from. Not the FBI.”
“So you’re not interested in seeing a photo of her?”
That caught my attention. I couldn’t help looking at Chet with much more interest. “Let us see it.”
Chet considered my request. It felt like I could see his brain trying to work out the pros and cons.
He hesitated. Finally, he reached for his phone.
After a few seconds, he held it up and showed me a photo of a young woman in a flowered sundress, sitting at a table.
The setting looked like it might be a restaurant.
There was plenty of light. And the girl was definitely Nicole Snaff.
Her smile and eyes were unmistakable. I felt a surge of excitement.
Joe reached up and positioned the phone so he could see it clearly. Then he said, “Can you send me this photo, please?”
Chet said, “No can do.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have any cheddar in my hand.”
I resisted the urge to reach across and grab this kid by his ragged concert shirt. Luckily, my husband was more nuanced.
Joe simply said, “Okay. Thank you for your time.” He turned and headed for the door. I followed his lead after throwing a dirty look at Chet.
Before we were halfway across the cheap, vinyl flooring, Chet blurted out, “Wait. Where you goin’?”
Joe continued until his hand was on the front door. Then, without turning around, he said, “We’re way too busy to put up with bullshit like this.”
Chet relented. “Okay, okay, I’ll send you the photo.”
Once Joe had the photo on his phone, we both studied it carefully. There was something off about the photo. I couldn’t put my finger on what. But the first thing Joe did was run it through an app that searched stock photo sites. We waited for the results of the search.
Just as Chet asked, “How much do you think I can get for this proof the girl is alive?” the results came back. His app showed two different photographs: one of a young woman in the same dress but with blond hair, and the other of Nicole Snaff at some sort of party.
Joe grunted. He looked up at the young man. “So you took Nicole’s face and stitched it into a different photo. You didn’t think the FBI would figure this out?”
Chet looked abashed. He decided to just come clean. “Well, I didn’t think you’d figure it out that quick.”
“You know this is a crime, right? I could spin it into a serious offense. We’ll be back tomorrow to talk to you at length.” Then he turned on his heel and marched toward the door. He made a show of banging the door to knock it open.
Once we were both outside, I said, “Is it worth charging that kid?”
“No chance. But he’ll be sweating a visit from us for the next few days. That’s his punishment.”
All I could say was “Brilliant.”
Before getting into our separate cars, I stopped my husband, turned him toward me, and gave him a long, passionate kiss.