Free The Missing by Chris Mooney

here?’ Boyle said. ‘I only ask because I think I’ve seen you around the neighborhood. I live across the street, in Beacon Hill.’
    ‘I’m from Weston, but I come to Boston a lot. I have friends who live on the Hill. What’s your name?’
    ‘John Smith. And yours?’
    ‘Jennifer Montgomery.’
    ‘Your father wouldn’t be Ted Montgomery, the real estate developer? He owns a bunch of buildings in my neighborhood.’
    ‘No, he owns a perfume business.’
    Boyle could easily find out his name and where he lived.
    The ICU doors opened. A doctor stepped out, spotted Jennifer Montgomery and headed toward her.
    ‘Good luck,’ Boyle said, and slipped inside the ICU doors before they shut.
    Boyle quickly took in his surroundings – the security cameras pointed at the desk, the medical equipment in the corner that monitored each of the ICU patients. Down at the far end of the corridor he saw the patrolman sitting in a chair set up in front of Rachel’s room. He wasn’t worried about the security cameras. He would change his appearance the next time he visited.
    The nurse behind the counter was looking at him. ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘Could I have a box of Kleenex? My cousin’s rather upset.’
    ‘Of course.’
    When the nurse reached behind her to grab a box of tissues, Boyle memorized the names on the clipboard holding the visitor sign-in sheet. He’d have to figure out a way to sign in without leaving fingerprints.
    Boyle took the box of tissues, thanked her. ‘Which room is Mr Montgomery? I’d like to drop off some videos for him tomorrow.’
    ‘He’s in room twenty-two. Just make sure you bring VHS tapes. We don’t have DVD players in here.’
    Boyle checked Montgomery’s room. It was three down from Rachel’s. Perfect.
    Boyle walked out of the ICU and headed down the corridors. He dumped the box of tissues in a wastebasket.
    As he waited for the elevator, he thought about Jennifer Montgomery. She was young. That was important. The younger ones could go the distance. The women in their late forties to early fifties didn’t last as long. He didn’t like bringing them home, but he had to take women of all ages, colors and sizes so the police wouldn’t make a connection. It was important to randomly select his victims. Boyle had studied police work. There were many books on such things, and there was the internet. Information was everywhere.
    Boyle thought about the crime scene investigator, the redhead. He had never abducted someone from law enforcement before. That one was definitely a fighter. Like Rachel.
    The elevator doors opened. Boyle slipped his hands inside his pant pockets, his fingers feeling around the lips of the plastic sandwich baggies holding the chloroform-soaked rags. He always carried them in case he decided to abduct someone while he was on the road; and he always carried a bag in eachpocket since that night years ago when he grabbed a young girl at the home of the friend who had seen him in the woods –
    He stopped walking. That red hair, those striking green eyes… No, it couldn’t be the same person.
    Boyle pushed the thought aside. It would have to wait until he returned home. He went back to imagining all the wonderful things he could do with Jennifer Montgomery in his basement.

Chapter 17
    Darby pulled behind the patrol car parked across the street from the Cranmore house. The street was eerily quiet. She had been expecting a media circus.
    ‘Where is everyone?’ Darby asked the patrolman dozing behind the wheel.
    ‘Downtown, at the press conference. Mother’s there, too.’
    ‘I’m going to take a look around.’
    ‘Shout if you need anything.’
    Last night and early this morning, much of her time had been devoted to processing the house and the space underneath the porch. She had examined the outside area around the house with a flashlight and had failed to find anything.
    Still, as she examined the ground and bushes, a part of her secretly hoped to find some