Chapter 71
“Alright, I’ll look into it, get back to you.”
“Thanks, Bowes.”
As soon as he’d hung up, Vaughn called Ivy. No answer. Tried Darnell next. Again, no answer.
Vaughn was starting to worry. Eugene missing was one thing. Ivy and Darnell not answering either? Not a good sign. He wracked his brain, tried to remember the name of Ivy’s friend.
Abby, right? Abby . . . Granger. That was it.
He had no trouble finding the woman online. Abby liked to post selfies. Found one of her in a dark smock. On her right breast, a pumped-up breast, was a company name and logo. A cosmetic company. Found them online, too.
“Hi, my name is Detective Vaughn Ryan with the PPD. Is Abby Granger around?”
“I don’t think so—let me check.”
Vaughn listened to elevator music as he waited. The line clicked back.
“Abby had to leave to pick up a friend, I think? Do you want to leave a message?”
Vaughn had already hung up.
Dialed Delaney.
“Detective Ryan, the captain—”
“I know!” Vaughn said, his frustration bubbling over. “Don’t care about that right now. You did the interview with Ivy’s friend, right?”
“Abby Granger? Yeah. Hot—”
“You have her number on file? Address?”
“She filled out a report.”
“Can I have her number and address, please?”
Fucking hell.
“Yeah, one sec.”
No elevator music this time. Instead, Vaughn heard loud voices, one of which he recognized: Devon Godfrey. The man’s baritone pitch was unmistakable. The sound faded, replaced by shuffling papers.
“Got it.” Delaney sounded out of breath. He read off the phone number, which Vaughn immediately punched into the Notes app on his phone. Did the same with the address.
“Have you—”
Again, Vaughn hung up.
Abby didn’t answer her phone either, and that creeping sense of dread grew. He couldn’t stop thinking about that final tank of hydrogen sulfide gas.
Vaughn drove to Abby Granger’s house, a small apartment in Trenton. Found her door and knocked, hoping that she was inside. Hoping that Ivy was with her.
“Abby Granger? Ivy? You in there? It’s Detective Ryan.”
Vaughn knocked again, then rang the bell. Wondered why he hadn’t done that first.
A cop thing, he thought incomprehensibly.
“Ivy?”
He tested the door. It was locked. No warrant, no probable cause. And this wasn’t Darnell Sacker’s home. He would stretch the truth to acquire the information he needed, leverage suspects, apply pressure. Clean up his partner’s messes. But breaking into Abby’s home was taking things a step too far.
His phone rang and he looked up at the window. No movement from inside.
“Detective Ryan?”
It was Bowes.
“Yeah?”
“You’re not going to believe it, but the TA? Tristan Coates?”
“What about him?”
“His name isn’t Tristan Coates. I mean, it is now, but it wasn’t always.”
“What was his name?” Vaughn asked, his voice hoarse, throat dry.
“His name is Tristan Neely. He’s Dr. Steve Neely’s kid.”