Tamping down the panic, he found his beat-up gray Volvo in the staff parking lot. Luckily he’d invested in a GPS mapping device for his car. He’d only ever heard of historic Camel Cove.
He followed the computer voice to the correct exit. Traffic congested the freeway and navigating proved challenging enough to keep his mind off all those niggling questions until he pulled up to the address the agent had given him.
Camel Cove had been named for a failed government experiment to use camels as pack animals in the mid eighteen-hundreds. Located along the shore of Southhampton Bay, the picturesque town looked untouched by time. A large white courthouse tucked on a green knoll sat overlooking the blue waters of the bay. An old-fashioned square of historic buildings painted in soft pastels made up the downtown area.
He glanced down at the address on the paper he’d laid on the passenger seat of the car and then looked at the building with a sense of disbelief. A three-story white Victorian mansion that housed a coffee shop on the ground floor and had a sign identifying the second floor as a bridal boutique.
He’d expected an official building, a police station or a high rise. But a coffee shop? All the parking spaces in front were full, so he drove past. As he did, the navigator announced he’d passed his destination, in a tone that almost sounded irritated.
He circled the block, still puzzling. After a few futile attempts, Jared finally found parking a couple of blocks away.
The smell of coffee and baked goods teased his senses when he walked in. Resisting the urge to get straight to business, Jared joined the line instead. He ordered a small black coffee and an enormous cinnamon roll. Hell, if he ended up going to jail he might as well do it on a sugar high.
After the barista handed him his java, Jared quickly isolated the man he was to meet. Although there were several single men sitting alone at various tables, one stood out. Where the other men wore business casual khakis and polo shirts, a man gazing out the window wore a pair of worn jeans, scuffed boots and a blue and white striped polo shirt. Beside him on the table sat a white ten-gallon cowboy hat. It matched the accent on the phone.
“Mark Powers?”
The man looked up at him.
Jared held back an exclamation of surprise. Despite his first impression of a strong, virile man, the face that looked up at him was more wrinkled than Jared’s laundry. “Professor Trimble.”
The man made a show of starting to stand, but Jared waved him down and then dropped into the seat across from him.
“Thank you for meeting with me.” The man took a sip of his coffee and pulled a face.
“Am I a suspect?” Jared winced the moment the words came out of his mouth.
“Suspect? Should you be?”
Well, this had started out well. “No.”
The man grinned. Jared stared. That toothy smile looked so familiar. Did he know a Mark Powers?
“You look familiar.”
Mark nodded. “I’m sure I do. A little over three years ago, I disgraced the government when I single-handedly nearly got the president killed. I made the front page of almost every major newspaper in the country. “
That explained it. Jared remembered all the bad press related to the botched security at a summit meeting in Denmark, or perhaps Sweden? Shots had been fired, but the president had escaped with his life. Had it been three years ago? He could swear he’d seen this man recently and in a different venue. On the campus or in a local restaurant, perhaps? Too bad he had trouble remembering the names that went with faces.
The man must have read the play of emotion across Jared’s face, for he gave a grim smile. “I figured you’d remember.”
“What does this have to do with me? You mentioned something about a serial killer and crossword puzzles.”
Mark nodded. He slid a fax sheet from under his hat and pushed it across the table.
Jared glanced down. A half-completed puzzle.
“Do you want me to finish it for you?”
“No, yesterday I received this fax from a blocked number. That might not be so unusual, except my fax number isn’t published anywhere. Only three people know it. My wife and two of my former employees, Sylvie Morgan and Margaret Fletcher. When I received this, I immediately called the other two. Sylvie didn’t answer her phone, but when I contacted Margaret, I got some disturbing news. Sylvie’s missing. I caught the first flight I could to come out here to assist in her case.” Mark gave Jared a wry smile.
“And?” Jared prompted.
“The detective in charge of the case asked me a few questions, said, ‘Thank you very much,’ and sent me on my way. They don’t want my help, my ideas, and didn’t put any stock whatsoever in this puzzle.”
“But you do. Why is that?”
“For one, I learn from my mistakes, and I don’t believe in coincidences. Within a day of Sylvie’s disappearance, I received this fax. I’m not much of a hand at crossword puzzles, but some of the clues and answers to this one have me concerned.”
Jared glanced down. Most of the questions were pretty common crossword puzzle clues. A four-letter word for organic matter? A three letter word for fish eggs. A four-letter word for bread spread. Nothing unusual until he hit eight across. A six-letter woman’s name. Sylvie had been written in the spot. Eight-down wasn’t a typical clue. A five-letter boy’s name. Most crosswords would ask for a man’s name. Hmmm. Perhaps Mark had stumbled onto something. Especially when the name, Deion, fit both the clue and the remaining letters.
“Who is Deion?” Jared asked.
“Sylvie’s two-year-old son.”
“So they are both missing. Are you sure they haven’t headed off somewhere for the holidays? Christmas is right around the corner.”
Mark shook his head. “Sylvie’s partner lives here in town, and Sylvie doesn’t have an extended family. Just a sister in New York. The police checked with her and she didn’t have any information about Sylvie’s whereabouts.”
“Why are you so convinced that there’s something sinister about her disappearance?”
“My reputation may be shot to hell, but I still have friends who work in the security industry. I had them do a couple of searches.” Mark reached down and pulled up a briefcase. He spun the dials and then popped up the lid.
“Over the past eight months, eight sets of women and their children have disappeared from this area.” He pulled out a sheaf of newspapers. “I requested back issues from this newspaper, encompassing that same time period. What I’ve found is disturbing.”
Jared took the papers. Again, most of the clues were common. In the earliest paper, one across and one down were a woman and a girl’s name.
Mark pointed at the next one. “All of the names coincide with a woman and a child who has gone missing.”
“What did the police say?” Jared asked.
“They didn’t say anything to me. Some bored secretary made a few copies and tucked them into a file folder. From what I’ve been able to find out through other sources, none of the disappearances are being actively pursued. None except Sylvie’s, that is. If you could call the lackadaisical attitude of the investigators active.”
“My God, you’re telling me there are sixteen people missing, and no one’s looking for them?”
“Last year, in California alone, over a thousand children disappeared, supposedly kidnapped by a parent or family