Page 93 of Someone Just Followed You

He rams the truck into gear and accelerates onto the highway, heading for Newberry Springs.

Chapter 108

Dylan

@LeonieMeadowsLA, TikTok

I heard from a guy that Maple’s mom was doing karaoke in a dive bar in north Hollywood on Saturday night WHILE HER DAUGHTER IS MISSING!! So gross #findMaple

Dylan shuffles restlessly in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Jeez, this is painful. Why are they even here? If they wanted to sit around in a soulless police station, they could have stayed in Utah.

‘What’s taking so long?’ he mutters. ‘How hard can it be to find a detective working on Maple’s case?’

‘Maybe it’s a good sign,’ Garrett murmurs, the hope in his voice so obviously fake. ‘Maybe they can’t talk to us because they’re out looking for Maple.’

‘But isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?’ Aspen says, with the accusing pout of a professional eight-year-old. ‘Isn’t that why we’re in Vegas?’

Dylan’s face burns. Because she’s right. When they left St George for Vegas, they were convinced they had enough intel to kick-start their search for Maple. But it only took one dude in uniform to direct them to the police station, and they deferred responsibility like dogs around poop.

‘What about your TikTok?’ Ash asks.

Dylan shakes his head. ‘Nothing helpful, not last time I checked anyway.’

‘And how long ago was that?’ Aspen asks, in a tone that matches her expression.

Dylan suddenly realizes it’s been a while, maybe more than ten minutes. He opens the app. There are over fifty new comments, so he scrolls as fast as he can, speed reading, wishing his brain could process stuff as quickly as ChatGPT.

‘Hey wait,’ he suddenly calls out, his thumb breaking like rigor mortis has set in. ‘Some guy called Paul Evans says he knows him, or at least that he knows he’s a photographer called Jake.’

‘Really?’ Garrett twists forward in the chair. ‘How does he know? Does he say anything else?’

Dylan turns back to his phone. ‘No, but there are some replies,’ he says, his voice still too loud for the hushed waiting room. ‘People saying he looks like a guy who hangs out in dodgy areas of LA and Vegas. Someone’s sister being mugged. And then someone called Claudia says I should DM her about a photo she bought online.’ He scrolls further, looks up. ‘Holy shit, a kid says his dad met him in some café, and the dad’s actually IDed him!’

‘What café?’ Garrett demands, his eyes wide, sweat beading on his forehead.

‘He says it’s called Bagdad Café. I’ll message him for more info.’

‘No need.’ Garrett pushes off the chair. ‘I’ve seen the movie. I know exactly where that is.’

Chapter 109

Dylan

@Taylrtrix666, TikTok

Jeez @Claudia.Anstey99, serious killjoy asking Dylan to DM you. We all deserve to know who this Jake guy is. Come on, spill!!

A few minutes later, they’re on the I-15, driving south. It doesn’t take long for the glitzy hotels and condominiums to give way to desert plains and a horizon that seems to go on forever. It’s getting late, and the sun is low and fiery in the sky. It feels apocalyptic to Dylan, like they’re heading into hell. But he knows that’s crazy. The sun sets every night, still wakes up fresh in the morning.

‘You should message that Claudia too,’ Garrett reminds him from the driver’s seat. ‘See if the guy she bought the picture from is our guy.’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Dylan says, finding Claudia Anstey’s profile and tapping out a DM. She must be waiting for it too, because her reply is instant.

Hey Dylan. The photographer we bought from is called Jake and his website is rawdreamsphotography.com, but there’s no photo of him on there, so he might have nothing to do with this. Don’t jump to conclusions on my watch, you know? But good luck.

It’s him, Dylan knows it in his gut. He opens the website, scrolls through the various pages. But it’s just photographs, nothing helpful about the photographer except his first name, Jake. He tries to work out if the photos tell him anything, but they’re all landscape shots, moody desert plains encroaching on abandoned buildings. One house holds his eye – half of it is blood red, like the owner bled out while painting it, and there are iron square windows that remind him of prison bars. But it doesn’t help him work out where Maple is.

‘Anything?’ Garrett asks grimly, like he knows the answer already.