Chapter Sixteen

Sixteen

Before getting into my car, I surveilled the area around it. No sign of the RAV4. I got behind the wheel and took a quick, aimless drive through Cambridge just to make sure no one was following me before giving Siri the address of the crime scene.

Once I was officially on my way, I called Blake. "Go ahead and lock up," I told him. "I won't be back in the office until tomorrow morning."

"Okay, awesome," Blake said. "Did you find Dylan yet?"

"Not yet."

"All right," he said. "So, like, when you do find him, tell him, like…my compliments to the chef."

"Huh?"

"Gonzo," he said. "It's actually delicious."

"I thought you hated Gonzo."

"I don't think I gave it a fair chance," he said. "I saw one of my favorite skaters on YouTube drinking it, and, you know, with you taking the case and all…I thought I'd give Gonzo another try."

"That's charitable of you."

"It's super-good, Sunny. I really feel energized."

"Well, I guess that's what it's supposed to do," I said.

"You should try one. I bought a twelve-pack for the breakroom fridge. Maybe when you come in tomorrow morning…"

"I'll take your word for it."

"Your loss, dude," he said.

"Yeah. I think I'm just too old for that stuff."

"Okay, so after I lock up I guess I'll head out to the gym. Take advantage of the energy. Pardon the pun."

It wasn't really a pun, but I didn't point it out. "Great," I said.

"Where are you right now?"

"On my way to a crime scene on the waterfront," I said.

"Wait, what?"

"Lee Farrell called me. There's been a murder."

"Not Dylan."

"No," I said. "I believe it's a drug dealer, actually. But from the looks of things, Dylan may be a suspect."

"Seriously?"

I told Blake I'd let him know what happened, but that cases like this one were often full of surprises, and that if things turned out the way I feared they might, it wouldn't be the first time I dealt with a missing person who morphed into a person of interest.

Blake was quiet for a long time. " Morphed is a sick word," he said finally. "I've gotta start using it more."

"Have a good workout," I said. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Sunny."

We hung up. I saw a gas station and pulled into it, parking the car momentarily. I grabbed my steno pad out of my purse and scrolled through Dylan's contacts, copying down names and information. I was 99 percent sure that Lee would ask me to turn over the phone, so now was the time to take everything from it that I could. It was interesting to me that very few of the contacts on this phone matched up with the names on Lydia's list. I did recognize one of them, though. Anna Horton. Under "relation," Lydia had referred to her as Prom Date—Junior High . When I'd called her from my office, I didn't think she'd know or care about what Dylan had been doing for the past fourteen years—let alone the past two weeks. And sure enough, the call had gone straight to voicemail, so I'd put her on Blake's list of people to email. Yet here she was among his iPhone contacts. Interesting… On impulse, I hit speed dial again. Again it went to voicemail, and again I left a quick message. Couldn't hurt, I reasoned.

I looked at Dylan's photos next. More dick pics. A few shots of fancy cocktails. An artful photograph of massive amounts of white powder on a glass-topped coffee table, Dylan's face shown in the reflection.

Lee's going to love this, I thought.

I came across some screenshots taken from Instagram, all of scantily clad influencers in suggestive poses. I didn't want to think about why he'd saved these.

Amid all this brain bleach?worthy material, though, was a shot of Sky and Dylan and a few of their coworkers holding up Gonzo cans in the middle of the Common. The picture stood out for its wholesomeness, everyone in it happy and healthy and wearing plenty of clothes. I took out my own phone and snapped a picture of it. The influencer shots, too. Maybe he actually knew some of them. The other images I had no need for. (And I was willing to wager that the women he sent them to felt the same.)

Once I was done, I filled up my tank, charged my phone, and got back on the road.

Instead of thinking about anything complicated, I focused on Siri's directions.

It was quite soothing—just stopping at red lights and making all the necessary turns to get to Soldiers Field Road, without letting my mind wander into more complicated places, such as my future, whether or not I was willing to give up the work I loved for the man I loved, or even how Trevor the Chemist had wound up dead when he had plans to meet Dylan Welch.

Traffic eased up once I got closer to the waterfront. After about ten more minutes, I reached a desolate stretch of industrial buildings—warehouses and manufacturing plants. In five years or less, they'd all be gutted and renovated into high-end condos. But for now, it was exactly the type of area where you'd expect to find a dead drug dealer.

I stared at the bleak road, my hands on the wheel with nothing on my mind, as though the car and I had morphed into one. I heard Blake's voice in my head . Morphed is a sick word… And I realized that I should have told Blake to get a Christmas tree for the office. He'd been bugging me about that for weeks—Blake loved Christmas almost as much as he loved Rosie. But I'd been putting him off, refusing to believe that Christmas would be here soon, and then New Year's, another year behind me, and what would the coming year bring? Changes? Mistakes? Missed chances? Wrong turns?

There I go again…

"You've reached your destination," Siri said, bringing me back to reality.

I looked at where I was—the cop cars teeming outside, lights flashing. I'd expected a vacant lot, a dark alley, a secluded garage—the type of place where Trevor the Chemist would secretly meet up with a wealthy scumbag like Dylan Welch.

But that wasn't the case at all. The address Lee had given me was a working factory. Save for the cop cars, the parking lot was mostly empty—but that was because, as Sky had told me, it was closed for the month. I noticed the lit-up logo. The familiar red letters : Gonzo Manufacturing . Weird place to meet a drug dealer.