Page 21 of Silent Home

"Yeah, that's her," he said, a cigarette bobbing between his lips as he spoke."Pretty girl.Picked her up at the Mountain View three nights ago."

"What was her state of mind?"Sheila asked.

Washburn took a long drag, considering."Upset.Crying.But trying not to show it, you know?Kept checking her phone the whole ride."

"Did she make any calls?"Finn asked.

"Nah.Just kept looking at it like she was expecting something.Or afraid of something."He flicked ash onto the cracked pavement."Listen, I don't usually remember fares this well.But she reminded me of my daughter—same age, same kind of dreams about making it big."

A train whistle echoed in the distance.The parking lot's sodium lights cast everything in sickly yellow, making Washburn's weathered face look jaundiced.

"Where did you take her?"Sheila asked.

"That's the thing."Washburn straightened up."She wanted to go home at first.Had an address over on Maple.But halfway there, she changed her mind.Said she needed to check something at the theater."

Sheila and Finn exchanged looks."Which theater?"

"The Coldwater.Where they're doing the festival now."He dropped his cigarette, grinding it out with his boot."Dropped her at the back entrance.Staff door, I think.She said she had keys."

"What time was this?"

"Around nine-thirty.End of my shift, so I remember."He pulled out his phone, scrolling through something."Yeah, here it is.Nine twenty-eight PM.Fifteen-dollar fare."

"Did she seem afraid?"Finn asked."Like someone might be following her?"

Washburn thought about it."Not following, exactly.But she kept looking over her shoulder.And when we got to the theater, she waited in the cab for a few minutes, watching the street."He shook his head."I asked if she wanted me to wait, but she said she was fine.Said someone was meeting her."

"Did she say who?"

"Nope.But she didn't seem happy about it."He met Sheila's eyes."Look, I got a daughter trying to make it as a singer.I know how rough the entertainment business can be.If something happened to this girl..."

"What else can you tell us?"Sheila asked."Anything at all?"

"Just that she was carrying something besides her purse.One of those bubble mailers, like for mailing documents?Yellow, about this big."He held his hands about a foot apart."Held it real close the whole ride, wouldn't put it down even to check her phone."

Finn made a note."Was she planning to mail it?"

"Don't know.But whatever was in it, she didn't want to let it out of her sight."

A dispatcher's voice crackled over Washburn's radio, calling him for a pickup.He held up an apologetic finger and responded, then turned back to them.

"That's all I got," he said."Wish I could tell you more.She seemed like a good kid, you know?Sometimes you can just tell."

Sheila handed him her card."If you think of anything else..."

"Yeah."He pocketed the card and opened his car door."Hope you find whoever did this.Really do."

They watched his taillights disappear into the night.The train whistle sounded again, closer now.

"Three nights ago," Finn said."Right after she tried to get more money from Greenwald."

"And whatever was in that envelope scared her enough to make her want to run."Sheila checked her watch: 8:15 PM."The theater will still be full of festival people."

"Good time to search her locker without drawing attention."

Sheila nodded, already heading for their car.Whatever Jessica had found at the theater that night, whatever she'd been carrying in that envelope—it had been important enough to get her killed.

And somewhere in that building, those answers were waiting.

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