Page 47 of Girl, Reborn

They reached the car, the metal hot enoughto fry an egg on. Ella yanked open the door. ‘We need to talk to this GregDawson character. Former mayor, probably disgraced. Might be trying to makeamends with the townsfolk by offing the people that dried the place up.’

‘Didn't you hear Holbrook? Dawson's inhiding. Probably halfway to Mexico by now, if he's got any sense.’

Ella grinned. ‘That's why we're going tohave to get creative.’

Greg Dawson. Former mayor turned pariah. Aman with secrets, hiding from a town that probably wanted his head on aplatter. Wherever this guy was, Ella was going to root him out.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Ella's eyeballs felt like they'd beensandblasted and dipped in battery acid. Hours of staring at screens had lefther vision fuzzy, her head pounding like a jackhammer operated by a vengefulex. She blinked hard, trying to focus on the monitor that seemed hellbent onmelting her retinas.

Across the room, Luca stood before theirmakeshift war board. It was a nightmare of photos and red string, like a spideron meth had tried its hand at modern art. He muttered to himself, connectinginvisible dots that existed only in the fever dream of a desperate Fed.

‘Any luck over there, Picasso?’ Ellacalled out, rubbing her temples.

Luca grunted, not bothering to turnaround. ‘If by luck you mean I've discovered new and exciting ways to gocross-eyed, then yeah. I'm swimming in it. You?’

‘Nothing.’ Ella spat. ‘Really strugglingto find Greg Dawson’s address. He’s not on the main databases.’

‘The perks of being in power.’

She dove back in. Fingers flying over keyslike she was defusing a bomb. DMV records? Nothing but a trail of unpaidparking tickets and a license expired quicker than milk left on a radiator. Taxrecords? It might as well have been written in hieroglyphics. Voterregistration? Greg Dawson was a ghost, ironically.

Ella was about ready to introduce herforehead to the nearest wall when something caught her eye. A glimmer in thedigital haystack.

And there it was, buried under a mountainof bureaucratic privileges – an unpaid parking violation.

174 Macbeth Avenue.

She committed it to memory, but even astriumph flared in her chest, reality doused it faster than a fire hose at abook burning.

Holbrook's words echoed. A broken recordof bad news. Dawson was in hiding. That address might lead to nothing butcobwebs.

The door banged open, startling bothagents like rookies at their first crime scene. Sheriff Tucker lumbered in,filling the doorframe like a bear squeezed into a polyester suit.

‘Got some news for ya, Agents,’ heannounced. Mustache twitching like an electrocuted caterpillar.

Ella swiveled. Hope and dread wrestling inher gut. 'Let's hear it, Sheriff. Good news, I hope. My quota ofdisappointment's already topped out.'

Tucker's face was a blank slate. Pokerplayer with a royal flush. ‘Holbrook's alibi checks out. Guy's been parked onthat street all day, annoying the piss out of anyone who'd listen.’

Ella's shoulders slumped. Another leadevaporated. Desert mirage. ‘Well, that’s peachy. Thanks, Sheriff. At least wecan scratch one name off our list.’

‘Sheriff, you know a Greg Dawson?’ Lucatore himself away from the Rorschach nightmare of their evidence board.

Tucker's eyebrows shot up, achievingorbit. ‘Dawson? 'Course I know him. Or knew him. Guy hasn't shown his face'round here in about a year.’

‘Yeah. We heard he vanished.’

Tucker's face darkened like a thundercloudrolling in. ‘Dawson lied through his teeth. Made all kinds of promises aboutthat damn dam. Jobs, prosperity, water for all. Turns out the only thingflowing was the crap from his mouth.’

Ella's heart sank. Titanic after its icecube mishap. If Dawson had truly vanished, they were back to square one. Butsomething didn't add up. If he was their killer, he had to be nearby. Can'tdrown folks from a beach in Cancun.

Luca asked, ‘Any idea where Dawsonmight've gone to ground? Got any bolt-holes in town?’

Tucker scratched his chin. Sandpaper onwood. ‘Well, there were always rumors about that bar he owned. Moonshine orsome such. Word was, he used it to funnel cash under the table. Some kindashell company nonsense.’

‘Shell company?’ Ella's ears perked up.She knew a scent when she caught one.

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