Page 88 of Love Me Fierce

He muffles the phone to yell at someone. “Haven’t seen him,” he says to me.

“When was the last time he came in?”

“He works swing shift, so…”

“Could you check for me?”

He gives an exasperated huff. “What’s this about?”

“I just need to ask him some questions.”

“Hang on,” he says, followed by the clunk of the phone hitting some surface. The beeping and steady roar fills the silence while I wait.

I tuck the phone against my shoulder so I can start searching up the details of Jordy’s crimes.

Mick scoops up the phone. “He hasn’t worked in a couple of weeks.”

“Is that normal?”

“He’s not gonna have a job when he decides to come back, that’s for sure.”

So, he’s MIA. “Thank you.”

We end the call, and I catch the beginning of Mick yelling at someone else before the line goes silent.

So, Jordy Clarke, who’s been in Idaho Falls for at least four years, working as a warehouse forklift operator, steals a car from nearby a shopping mall in Rigby, then ends up in Finn River. The first time he lands on my radar was the stunt outside Glory Holes. Then four days later, he’s driving like a bat out of hellawayfrom Finn River. Back to Rigby? To Montana?

When I pursue him, he abandons the stolen vehicle and vanishes.

Though there is no reason to believe Jordy is connected to the death of Kimberly Saxon, Big Pine is just up the road from Idaho Falls, a little over 100 miles on Highway 20.

Finn River is in the opposite direction, with no direct route.

My mind is buzzing with ideas, but nothing fits right.

I glance at the clock. I still need to call Woody McGowan about his Taurus before I leave to talk to the Lamberts, but I’ve got time to dig a little deeper.

Jordy’s most recent break-in five years ago occurred at a four-bedroom condo in Rancho Palos Verdes, near L.A. The surgeon living there had been out of town. He was apprehended on the scene before he could escape with a backpack of stolen items, including an expensive watch, some of the wife’s jewelry, electronics, and a baseball signed by the Dodgers’ Clayton Kershaw. Seven years ago, Jordy broke into a house when the owners—an elderly couple—were asleep. Jordy was in the middle of loading up the woman’s jewelry when the man woke up. The tussle ended badly for the older man, who spent several days in critical care. Though Jordy fled, the cops lifted prints. He plead guilty and served six months. The juvenilecharge is obviously not available to me, but I’m imagining something like joyriding or petty theft.

I go back to his rap sheet. Why did he only serve six months for that first crime? And from the looks of it, he got off with barely a slap on the wrist for the second one.

Leaning back in my seat, I try to zoom out. It’s easy to get caught up in the investigative thrill that finding a fingerprint match can stir up. These B and E cases are in the past. They paint a picture of Jordy Clarke, but they don’t get me any closer to finding him.

Is he still in Finn River? Or maybe he’s long gone? He lost his access to transportation when I towed the Taurus away. At the very least, I can check in with Idaho Falls PD. If Jordy’s somehow made it home, they could intercept.

Zach comes in from the back door, a keen expression in his dark blue eyes and his shoulders wet from the rain. He nods towards the break room. I slip my notebook and pen back in my breast pocket and log out of my workstation, then follow, passing the handful of occupied cubbies. Troy is pecking away at his computer, and doesn’t look up. When I told him about the pendant last Friday, he was frustrated that we’d kept him in the dark, but he understands why he can’t get too close to the investigation due to his relationship with Marin.

Now it makes me feel like a hypocrite because haven’t I let those lines get blurry with Vivian?

When I step inside the alcove, Zach is loading up the coffee pot for a fresh brew.

“Your next-door neighbor saw a car that matches Shawna Farrell’s arrive around eight o’clock last night,” he says. “Parked on the street. Left a few minutes after.”

“You’ve been busy.” I pull down two mugs.

He grabs the milk from the fridge. “I made some calls from home.”

“You gonna bring her in?”

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