Free The Lost Witness by Robert Ellis

could have fit into the trunk of a compact
car.
    But there was something else. Something more difficult to pin down.
    Her eyes made another sweep through the room and stopped on the bedside table. There was a snow globe sitting beside the lamp and telephone. She hadn’t noticed it before.
    “Is something wrong?” Rhodes asked.
    She didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to lose the thought. Instead, she moved around the bed and picked up the snow globe. Inside the heavy glass sphere was a detailed model of
Las Vegas. When she shook the globe, a thick cloud of snow whirled around the Bellagio Hotel and Caesar’s Palace, then settled down to the bottom where the streets were painted a bright
gold.
    She looked over at Rhodes as that stray thought finally jelled.
    Everything was portable. But even more important, there was nothing personal here. They had made a first pass through the entire apartment and found nothing personal at all.
    Not a single photograph. Not a letter or postcard from a friend. Nothing that would point to the victim’s life. What she cared about or who she loved. Just the books she had read since
moving in a year ago and this snow globe.
    The phone began to ring from the bedside table. Lena glanced at it and realized that the message light was blinking. After two rings, the machine clicked and went silent. Thirty seconds later,
the speaker lit up and the caller’s voice filled the room. It was a man’s voice, and he sounded old and more than a little nervous.
    “This is Jim, uh, Dolson,” the man was saying. “I’m trying to reach Jennifer. I’m in town from Cincinnati and, uh, saw your ad in the LA. Weekly. I’m
definitely interested in some of that massage therapy—if you know what I mean. I’ll be here for a couple more days. If you’re available on short notice, please call me back.
I’m staying in Century City at the Plaza.”
    The phone clicked. Then the room filled with dial tone, and all the innocence was gone.

 
9
    R hodes pulled the telephone closer, examining the keypad.
    “It’s digital,” he said. “Looks like
six messages.”
    Lena moved within earshot as Rhodes found the right button and hit PLAY . Except for the voices, the first five messages were pretty much the same as the last. There was Jim Dolson from
Cincinnati. But there were three more men from out of town staying at various hotels on the Westside. The fourth was from some guy claiming to be on vacation with his wife and asking if McBride did
three-ways. And then the fifth, this time from a woman, wondering if McBride was bisexual.
    All six messages referred to the victim’s ad in the current edition of the LA. Weekly. According to the time stamp, all six calls were placed after McBride’s body had been
discovered in Hollywood.
    Lena grabbed the LA. Weekly off the foyer table and quickly returned to the bedroom. Paging through the back of the paper, she sat down beside Rhodes and began sifting through what
appeared to be several hundred classified ads for escort services, phone sex, and massage parlors. McBride’s ad was in the middle of the pack on the second page.
    Massage Therapy. Hot young blonde with magic hands and knockout body seeks men who want to relax under my spell. For pure joy call Jennifer at . . .
    Lena reread the ad, then opened her cell phone and entered the number printed in the newspaper. When McBride’s phone rang on the bedside table, she didn’t close her cell even though
she had confirmed the match. Instead, she let the machine pick up and listened to the outgoing message. It wasn’t the default message that came with the phone. It was Jennifer McBride’s
voice. She wanted to hear it. Absorb it. The voice of the victim before she was murdered.
    Lena could feel the hairs behind her neck standing on end. An ice-cold chill fluttered up her spine. It was a simple message. Direct and to the point. McBride greeted the caller using her phone
number rather than her name,