Free Captured by S.J. Harper Page B

of my fries, then asks, “This isn’t coming together for you either?”
    I lean back in my chair, my heart heavy. “I wish it was. We’re not much further along than we were this morning.”
    Zack’s cell phone rings. He takes the call, listens, disconnects. “That was Taft, still no ransom demand. No new leads from the tip line.”
    My stomach knots. Two days and nothing.
    Zack pushes his plate away and stands up. “I’ll be back to pick you up at seven,” he says.
    “Do you mind forwarding the recordings to me? I’d like to go over them again.”
    “You’ve worked all day on just a couple hours of sleep. Maybe a good night’s rest is what we both need to help clarify our thoughts.”
    I look back at the still image on the screen. “I’ll knock off soon. Promise.”
    Zack punches keys on his computer. “They’re on the way.”
    I show him to the door then call room service to clear away the dinner things. While I’m waiting, I download the files and watch the surveillance tapes again. People are creatures of habit. They often shop at the same grocery stores on the same days. It’s possible we could set up surveillance, maybe locate the drivers of the cars that entered between the time Mrs. Nicolson arrived and the police came. I review the case notes. That, too, had already been done—with moderate success. They were able to track down and question many but not all vehicle owners.
    A knock on the door interrupts my chain of thought.
    It’s room service. They make short order of clearing away our dinner trays.
    After they’re gone, I lock the door then head for the bathroom to draw a bath. Maybe a long hot soak and a good nights sleep is what I need.
    I reach for the jar of bath salts that I brought with me; it’s a special blend I make myself—vanilla and lavender. I toss a handful under the spray of the water and sit on the edge of the tub. I close my eyes and breathe in the familiar aroma. I can feel the knots in my shoulders start to unwind. Yes, I need sleep. But what I need even more is a lead, a clue.
    What I need is to find Cooper and see him safely back home.

CHAPTER 7
    Day Four: Thursday, March 24
    Zack is at my door a little before seven. I’ve been dressed for an hour, fruitlessly reviewing surveillance footage and combing over police reports. Irritation must show on my face because his first words to me are, “Nothing, huh?”
    I shake my head. “Worse than nothing. I can’t find a single common thread to link these cases except the obvious—the physical descriptions of the boys and the way the first two were killed.”
    “Well, let’s get to the Andersons’. I told Taft and Biller we’d be there around seven thirty.”
    He doesn’t mention stopping for breakfast first which I take as an indication that he’s as exasperated as I am at our lack of progress. Once more, the cloud of guilt descends. Maybe if I have a chance to get one of the Andersons alone today I can conduct my special brand of questioning. It’s risky, but we’ve exhausted every other channel.
    Abigail, the Andersons’ housekeeper, pulls the side door open before the last echo of the bell fades. Her face seems to have aged in the short time since we’ve last been here. Dark circles ring sad eyes. Her hands twist the dishtowel she’s holding, telegraphing the level of stress that’s pervaded the Anderson’s household.
    “Agent Monroe, Armstrong—do you have any news?”
    Zack steps inside. “We’re still investigating, Abigail. I wish I could say more.”
    “So do I.” Abigail bows her head. Her steps are slow, her posture weary as she leads us into the living room. The Andersons are waiting for us, seated side by side on the same blue couch as before, hands clasped. They rise when we enter, expressions hopeful. It takes just a fraction of a second for them to realize we have no additional news. The color drains from Sophie’s face. She sinks back into the cushions.
    “We’d been hoping for some