Chapter Thirty-Two

R elaxing into the easy chairs at the hotel again, Olivia hooked Alasdair’s phone up to her computer. After going through a series of codes, the phone data spilled into the screen for her and Brock to pick apart, piece by piece.

“This looks like it’ll be easy,” she called to Brock from where he was making another pot of sludgy hotel coffee. Sarcasm dripped from her tone. “The guy owns a business both legal and illegal, and has at least three hundred contacts to pick through.”

“Joy to the world.” Brock shuffled back to where she was and sat down beside her, the growl of the coffee pot from the other room fitting the mood perfectly. “The good news is, there aren’t any current cases of missing teens from the past month or so, so we’re not under the gun to figure it out.”

“Exactly.” Olivia pulled up a list of Alasdair’s contacts and started going through them, one by one. A few didn’t have names attached, but there was one that caught her attention.

“Take a look at this.” She pointed to the screen. Brock peered over her shoulder where a row of the same phone number filled the screen.

“This guy is a really popular one. He called Alasdair seven times yesterday and Alasdair called him six times.” Brock mentioned.

“Alasdair was busy yesterday, and not with his regular shipping company. Unless that was the docks manager.”

“We could always call it,” Brock suggested teasingly. “But the area code isn’t a local number. It isn’t even a South Carolina area code.”

“Maybe it’s a personal cell.” Olivia clicked on it, highlighting it to copy into her database. “Let’s see what we can come up with.”

She dragged the number into her search bar and ran an advanced search on it. While the data buzzed about on her screen like a screensaver, she opened up the texting app to see if the same number had texted Alasdair at all. “Do you think we might get lucky with a text message or two?”

Brock shook his head. “Alasdair wouldn’t be stupid enough to text anything related to his trafficking ring. Those would all be made by phone call.”

“Good point.” Olivia still pulled up the text messages. A recent, unopened one blinked at her and she moved her mouse over to click on it. She froze as she read over the text.

Alasdair, I need you. My husband is not who I thought he was and I’m in trouble. Please hurry. Ange.

“Ahh, looks like he’s been playing someone else. A possible third contact, perhaps?” Olivia re-read over the text, pointing it out to Brock. “Someone named Ange? ”

“Ange?” Brock’s eyes widened a bit. “Ange is short for ‘Angela’ isn’t it?”

“It can be…” Olivia’s voice trailed off as she connected with where Brock’s train of thought was headed. Angela. The name pinged off of her memory as a recent name and she racked her brain, trying to think. Then it hit her.

“Wasn’t Angela the name of that woman we met when we first got here?”

“The one who was on vacation with her husband?” Brock nodded in all seriousness. “Yes. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“You don’t think…” Olivia looked back at the text.

“What is her area code?” Brock asked, scooting closer to Olivia’s computer.

Olivia read the area code off to him and Brock did a second comparison. “Ange and the guy who appeared in Alasdair’s call log thirteen times yesterday both share the same area code.”

As if on command, the phone number came back, filling the screen with information. Olivia leaned closer, reading over it.

“There is no name attached to it. Looks like a burner phone. But this has all the information we need. Look at the cell phone towers where it has pinged.” Olivia grabbed a pen to scribble down the information. “They’ve all been either here, Charleston, or somewhere in between.”

“Where were the last few locations?”

Olivia rolled back to the end of the information. “Charleston. They’ve all been in Charleston.” She read over the names. Charleston, Charleston, an insignificant road that connected Charleston to Cape Fremont... and bingo.

“Brock! We’ve got him.” She pointed. She pulled up the address from her phone and compared the two. “He called him from the U-Haul rental facility at 3:13 pm.”

“So he’s the guy driving the sports car. Whoever this is.” Brock looked as excited as Olivia felt. “So are we following this hunch that he’s the other accomplice? ”

“I’m not throwing anything out yet. But I also can’t state anything emphatically.” Olivia sat back. “So, how do we connect them?”

“Let’s run this text message. The one from Ange.” Brock suggested. “Obviously the guy who called Alasdair used a burner phone, but maybe his wife doesn’t have one.”

“I guess it’s worth a try.” Olivia typed in the information on the text message from this mysterious ‘Ange’ person and waited painfully long while the data took its time loading. She could practically feel her senses on fire with the idea that they had finally found the accomplice, but her worry mounted even as she thought about it. Maybe they didn’t have any missing teens to worry about, but now this distraught wife had discovered what her husband was into and might therefore be in danger.

The data came back faster than the burner phone had and sure enough, there, on the screen, smiling right back at Olivia and Brock was a picture of Angela Schmidt, with her name and number attached. Olivia wouldn’t soon forget the sun-kissed skin and long black hair that made Angela’s gorgeous eyes stand out. She really was a trophy wife if she ever saw one and had seemed happy with her husband.

The text she’d sent pinged off of the cell phone tower somewhere between Charleston and Cape Freemont, just off of the highway it seemed.

“What was that guy’s name?” Olivia asked aloud.

“Carl,” Brock answered, his name spat like a curse word from his lips.

“Carl.” Olivia bit her lower lip, thinking hard. “Do you think he’s our guy?”

Before Brock even had a chance to answer, Alasdair’s phone lit up with a call. The phone buzzed toward the edge, drawing Brock and Olivia’s attention to it. Angela’s number spilled across the top.