Page 17 of The Shadow Friends

“Which cameras?”

“Second-floor hallway. And the parking lot.”

Jo said, “Can we get back to Karen O’Brien? Does the employee parking lot have a security camera?”

“Oh, that’s way out on the perimeter. We don’t have any coverage there.” Fishman looked at his watch. “Look, I have a hotel to manage, a guest room that could be infected with Ebola, and employees who are freaking out.”

“Or missing,” said Ingrid, frowning. She turned to Jo. “Let’s take a look at the parking lot. See if we can find this woman’s car.”

We had not been part of Jo’s plan, but her past tangles with Ingrid Slocum had taught her that when the woman made up her mind to do something, there was no dissuading her. Ingrid stayed right beside Jo as they walked out the rear entrance of the building and headed toward the employee lot.

“Don’t you have other things you need to do?” asked Jo. “Like, maybe, stop an outbreak of Ebola?”

“Ebola hasn’t been confirmed.”

“What else could have made him sick?”

“Dr. Maslov was working in Uganda, so it could be any number of exotic viruses.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“Or it could just be a simple case of food poisoning.”

“You don’t quarantine people for food poisoning. I heard Maggie’s been placed in isolation.”

“Caution is advised, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“The nature of Dr. Maslov’s work. He’s one of the top authorities on viral bioweapons.”

“Bioweapons?” Jo stared at her. “Are you saying we should be worried about—”

“As I said, caution is advised.”

Jo suddenly laughed. “You just can’t leave the old job behind, can you? A conspiracy under every rock.”

“When you turn over enough rocks, eventually you find one.” Ingrid’s gaze suddenly focused on a vehicle in the parking lot. “There. Brown Toyota.”

They approached the vehicle, and Jo checked the license plate. Maine, 021RMG. “This is hers.”

“There’s a purse on the front seat,” noted Ingrid, peering through the window.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“Of course not. I know the drill.”

Jo pulled on gloves and tugged on the door. It was unlocked, which was not unusual in the small town of Purity, where many residents didn’t lock their front doors either. She reached inside for the purse. It was faux brown leather, big enough to carry the multitude of items a woman wouldn’t even remember having tossed in. Inside were wadded tissues, sunglasses, breath mints, two ballpoint pens. And a wallet. Jo flipped it open and found two credit cards, thirty-six dollars in cash, and a driver’s license. Karen O’Brien was forty-eight years old, five foot four, 150 pounds. The photo showed a plain-faced woman with short brown hair and unsmiling eyes.

“So not a robbery,” said Ingrid, echoing Jo’s thoughts. “An abduction?”

A possibility that was beginning to seem more and more likely. Last night, after Karen O’Brien had finished her evening shift in the hotel restaurant, she would have exited from the same service entrance they had just used and walked to this employee parking lot. It would have been dark by then, and at this edge of the property, there was only one streetlamp, at the far end of the lot. Karen’s car would have been obscured in the gloom. Had she sensed someone nearby, watching her? Had someone approached her with a friendly face, a few reassuring words? Or had the attack been so sudden, she’d had no chance to fight back?

“This isn’t a high-traffic spot, if you’re waiting for random prey to walk by,” said Ingrid. “But if the attacker knew her, he’d know what time she got off work. And where her car’s parked.”

“You’re thinking premeditated,” said Jo.

“Aren’t you? He could have followed her from the building. Maybe he’s another employee. Or one of the guests at the hotel.”