Page 32 of The Wolves Come at Night
“This isn’t your fault, Dr. Conway, nor Carson’s. We haven’t established that the murder is related to her going missing—”
“Being kidnapped. You can say the word. She isn’t missing. She didn’t run away. She was taken against her will. And she is probably dead. It’s been twenty-four hours. I know the statistics.”
“Statistics are irrelevant,” Taylor snapped, then caught herself when Conway’s mouth dropped open. She tried again, slower and calmer. “With all due respect, ma’am, that’s a fact. Every case is different. I am certain we can find your girl. We just need to know where to look. There are things we need from you. Phone records, bank statements, and access to all of her accounts so we can see what she’s been up to recently. Have you taken a look at her social media feeds to see if anything leaps out at you?”
Avery Conway shut her eyes, just for a moment, and rubbed her temple as if a migraine was taking hold. Taylor waited her out.
“She’s not a huge social media kid, never has been. Some of the girls her age are rebelling against it because they feel it undermines them as people, reduces them to objects. They aren’t fans of the system. But there was a post on her page the night she went missing that did feel…odd to me. We use it mostly to communicate between the extended family, and it’s usually dormant—I rarely have time, and my boys couldn’t care less. But Carson did post a photo, a selfie she’d taken somewhere in Nashville, with some sort of white lace painted on the bricks in the background. I don’t recognize the place. I know it’s a reach, but it almost felt like whoever took her posted it because they think a girl her age would post selfies. I’m probably grasping at straws, but it didn’t feel like the kind of post she’d do. She wasn’t much one for showing herself off, if you know what I mean. She’s a delight, and very engaging in person, but she can be shy, especially with strangers. If you look at her feed, it stands out. She’s much more likely to post photos of other people, and photographs she thinks are beautiful, when she does post at all.”
Marcus was tapping on his tablet, held it up for Taylor to see.
“That’s the ‘Wings’ mural in the Gulch,” he said.
Taylor nodded. And to Conway: “A very popular spot for tourists to take pictures. There’s usually a line around the corner. The artist, Kelsey Montague, does street art with the hashtag What Lifts You. Anyway, we’ll see if we can geotag the photo and get the information about when it was taken, and when it was uploaded.”
Taylor scrolled through the rest of Carson’s social media feed. It was mostly lovely nature and cityscape photographs. Her mother was right, the selfie stood out.
“He’ll kill her,” Conway said quietly. “That’s what the angel wings are saying. He probably already has.”
“Don’t think that way,” Taylor replied. “That’s why I need all the help I can get. I want to bring in more agencies, get help from our TBI, maybe even the FBI.”
Conway looked up at her friend pointedly, a look Taylor read as Your turn to step in here. He did.
“You need to keep it local.”
Taylor crossed her long legs. “Frankly, sir, I don’t need to do anything you tell me. Why in the world would you not want me to bring in every available resource to find Carson?”
“Of course we want you to do all you can,” Diaz-Rooney said, not at all flustered, as she expected. What in hell was going on here?
“Then you’ll understand that I may need to bring in additional team members.”
“If you can’t keep this local, you have to do it quietly. You can’t spook him.”
Taylor glanced out the window, assessing her next words carefully.
“You speak like you have an idea what’s going on. Do you know who’s behind this, sir?”
Diaz-Rooney crossed his arms, which turned him into a wall of man. “I just have a vested interest in seeing Carson home safe. I’ve known her since she was a baby. It’s killing me, the idea that she’s hurting somewhere. I don’t want to set off whoever’s taken her.”
“Hmm. I understand.” She did, now. Avery Conway’s protector was an operator, without a doubt. Former law enforcement or military. He had that hawkish look about him. He’d know the odds, and he’d know the machinations that happened when the Feds got involved. “You weren’t always a baker, were you, sir?”
“I’d rather not make this about me, if you don’t mind,” he said, eyes shuttered and jaw set. Military, she’d bet her life on it. Special Forces, probably. Those guys were uber-contained like this, coiled up inside like snakes readying a strike.
Dr. Conway pulled Taylor back to the details. “Izz, Carson’s roommate, said she and Carson were hiking using some sort of app? Have you talked to them?”
“Marcus?” Taylor said, and he nodded, stepping in.
“We have. The app developer is a student at Vanderbilt, and he’s torn up about all of this—from the girls stumbling onto a murder to Carson now going missing. We’re looking into his background, but as of now, he is not a prime suspect. We are, though, looking into the possibility that Carson downloaded some sort of malware. According to both her roommate and the app developer, Carson’s phone was acting up. If that’s true, there could be remote access to her phone. This means anyone could be using it to post, text, all of that. Just FYI.”
Conway shot a glance at her friend. “That seems…sophisticated. Why would anyone target my daughter? She has nothing to do with this singer’s murder.”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Marcus said. “Do you have any enemies, Dr. Conway?”
The ghost of a laugh. “I’m a doctor. I’m sure somewhere along the way I’ve upset someone, but I don’t have any lawsuits against me or nasty letters from former patients. I am a relatively benign presence in the world, except for what I do for strangers and my children.”
“Okay. Could this be something to do with your husband’s business?”
“The bakery? No. Richard was beloved by everyone. He was the heart of the bakery, of this town, and of our family. Since he’s been gone…it’s been rather gray.”
