Free Devil Smoke by C. J. Lyons Page A

colleagues had mentioned that she was stressed during the weeks before she vanished. No one said why, only that she’d seemed distracted and at times distraught. She was in good health, and at the time she went missing she hadn’t been involved with any cases at work that would have been unduly stressful. Social workers rotated around various units at the hospital in an effort to avoid burnout, and when Charlotte vanished, she’d been working in the rehab department, one of the least stressful.
    All of these hypotheses strived to create sense out of the devastation Charlotte had left in her wake. And odds were, none of them were right.
    Lucy paced back and forth, her gaze darting from one wall to the other, letting the facts and questions whirl and spin, sparking off each other, without committing to any of them. Trying to be both neutral and involved, searching for what lay beneath the facts, seeking out new questions to ask.
    Wash interrupted her with a knock on the door. “Found a few things on Sarah.” He wheeled forward into the tiny room. “Wow. Isn’t it kind of overwhelming? Seeing it all in one place like this?”
    “It can be. Which is why I don’t want Tommy stumbling in here.” She glanced at the analyst to make sure he caught her meaning. “He doesn’t need more on his plate right now.”
    “Sure, I get it. If you need me to help, just holler.”
    “I will. Thanks.”
    “So, what’cha think? Some crazy serial killer and she was in the wrong place, wrong time?”
    The public always defaulted to random acts of senseless violence committed by strangers, but that was the least likely, statistically speaking. Especially with no evidence; most acts of spontaneous violence weren’t clean and neat. And there was no evidence of anyone stalking Charlotte, targeting her. Which meant looking to those she knew and loved.
    “C’mon,” Wash continued when Lucy didn’t answer right away. “We know it wasn’t Tommy. And why would she run off, leave her husband and kid? Had to be some psycho.”
    “What did you find on Sarah?” Lucy led him out of the room and locked the door behind her. They traveled down the hall back to the team’s main work area.
    “Got her birth certificate. Unfortunately her parents are named Robert and Mary…”
    “How many Robert and Mary Browns can there be?”
    “A helluva lot more than you might think. But based on the address listed, I followed the real estate transactions, and I think I tracked them down.”
    “Great. Where are they?”
    He wheeled back in place behind his computer—Wash always seemed more comfortable with the computer and its screen serving as a barrier between him and the rest of the world—and clicked a key. The projection screen at the other end of the room lit up with two obituary notices. “Died in a car accident four years ago. I’m working on tracking the other relatives listed, but it’ll take a while. And then we still need to make sure they’re the correct Brown family.”
    “Right. We can’t get Sarah’s hopes up without being certain. She’s been traumatized enough.”
    “TK sent over a copy of her lease agreement. Turns out she’s a freelance photographer. I found several photographers named Sarah Brown with websites; I think this one might be hers.” The screen flipped to a website with a wide screen slideshow of nature photos. “There’s no personal profile picture, but the locations are all Pennsylvania and surrounding states, and it says the photographer is based in western Pennsylvania. The contact info leads to a Gmail account with a free phone number and answering system.”
    “So basically untraceable.”
    “Right. But, once we can prove that she is the actual owner of the Gmail account, we can ask them for access. Don’t hold your breath, though.”
    Lucy knew that privacy reigned supreme when it came to tech companies, unless there were exigent circumstances like in a kidnapping or critical missing person—which