Page 32 of Deep Tide

Nicole turned onto the highway leading into downtown and hit another patch of traffic.

“I’ve been focused on the last two weeks,” Emmet continued. “There were some calls to her parents in Port O’Connor. Also, some local calls. So far, it’s all her friends’ numbers. But nothing that really jumped out at me.”

“Damn.”

Nicole had been hopeful about the phone records. She’d thought maybe the victim’s phone was stolen to hide communications with someone.

“Also, I checked back with the bank on her credit card and debit card,” Emmet said. “No hits since the day before her death.”

Nicole sighed. They had expected that, but still it was disappointing.

“I set up an alert, so they’ll notify us if anyone tries to use it,” he said.

Now that they had concluded the robbery was likely staged, they weren’t really expecting any hits on the cards. But it was a base they had to cover, nevertheless.

“How’d it go at the lab?” Emmet asked.

Brady had sent her to the county crime lab to try to get a preview of any results they had and also to impress upon them the urgency of their case. Go up there and be a squeaky wheel, he’d told her.

“I didn’t really get much,” she said. “I tried to rattle a few cages, but you know how that goes. They’re backlogged, running behind, yada yada yada. They don’t have the DNA results yet. I thought maybe we’d get lucky, and they might have found something from the perp, maybe if he nicked himself with the knife or something.”

She pulled up to a stoplight and sighed. She was hungry, cranky, and irritated with Brady for sending her on an errand that killed half her day.

“You sound pissed,” Emmet said.

“I’m frustrated. All that driving just to wait around in a lobby to have a ten-minute conversation with the lab supervisor.”

“I knew that was going to happen when Brady sent you,” he said. “So, you completely wasted your morning.”

“Maybe not completely. I did get one new lead. Did any of those numbers in Amelia’s phone records have a three-six-two area code?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have the records in front of me. Why?”

“Well, the lab tech who examined her work apron found a matchbook tucked inside the pocket. It’s from Playa del Rey.”

“Like, our Playa del Rey? The golf resort?”

“Yeah. It’s their logo on the front, and then there’s a phone number written in pencil on the inside flap.”

“You try calling it?” he asked.

“No answer. And I googled it, but nothing comes up. I’m wondering if the number is for someone she met at the resort.”

“That would make sense,” he said. “But that place is pretty rich for a barista.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m wondering if she maybe spent the night there with someone. Or met someone for dinner.”

“You’re still going down the boyfriend route,” he said, and she heard the skepticism in his voice.

But they didn’t have a lot of options. All evidence suggested the alley crime scene was staged to cover a different motive, and that Amelia had been stabbed inside the building after being bound and held in a storage room. Yet the cash register was full, and no computers or valuables had been taken from the restaurant.

“I thought her best friend said Amelia wasn’t seeing anyone lately,” Emmet said.

“Yeah, lately.”

“I don’t think it’s a boyfriend. I mean, why would he do it at her workplace? Why not get her to meet him somewhere private?”

“Maybe he’s an ex and they had a hostile breakup.”

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