Page 17 of Dirty Ex-Mas
“Are you certain about your choice?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Then you picked the right guy.”
“Okay, but is that the guy you thought it would be?”
“We don’t come into this with any preconceived notions,” Reed says. “We just follow where the evidence takes us.”
“So, what will happen to that guy?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Reed says. “But we will call you with questions.”
“What do I do now?”
“Go home, get some rest, beware of getting into cars with strangers.” I smile as I say it, but receive a dirty look from her anyway.
Problem is, number four is a computer-generated image and not an identifiable person. Reed doesn’t know that yet. All he knows is that wasn’t David’s photo.
I thank Paula for her time and let Reed walk her to the front of the building. She turns back to me before she’s all the way out the door. “Oh, about my shoes?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what happened to them. But I do have a picture of them I can text to you.”
“You have a picture of your shoes?” I ask.
“Yeah. They were brand new, first time I’d worn them. I take pictures of all my shoes and purses once I get them home, just in case something ever happens and I need to put a claim in to insurance or something. I have a lot of both.” She smiles.
I take her phone and send the picture to myself. “Thank you.” I hand it back to her when I’m through. I don’t know what will come of the missing shoes but it helps to know exactly what we’re looking for if we stumble across a random pair in this case.
On a whim, I pull out the burner phone and send off a quick text to Daria to ask her about the shoes, if she’s heard of them.
D: Why? Are you planning on buying women’s shoes?
M: No. It’s for a case.
D: I have some shoes by that maker, but not that pair.
M: They popular?
D: Everyone loves them, but not everyone can afford them.
M: How much?
D: $300 and up
M: For some straps and a heel?
D: The cost of beauty.
M: Thx.
D: No prob.
Unfortunately, much of our communication consists of a couple questions followed by a few answers, usually instigated by me, because I miss her.
Reed flops down in his chair. “You think she picked the wrong one, don’t you?”
