Page 97 of Cold, Cold Bones
“No one knew zip.”
“When was the last time anyone remembered seeing him?”
“Did you hear me?”
“So all we have is what Henry learned when she ran Boldonado’s prints.”
“Yeah. That the guy was a short, gimpy forty-two-year-old vet reported missing by his granny in 2019.”
“And that someone garroted him and hung his body from a tree.”
“And that.”
22
Istarted awake.
The room was dark, not a pixel of moonlight sneaking through the shutters.
I didn’t move.
Had I imagined a “thing going bump in the night”? Dreamed one?
I lowered my lids and listened.
Heard only the fluttering of my bewildered heart.
A few thousand beats, then, up close, another muffled buzz. Like distant cicadas on a summer afternoon.
Mental head slap. After switching to silent mode, I’d drifted off with my mobile beside me.
While excavating in the blankets, I heard another insect-like throb. Located the device between the pillow and the headboard.
Aware that voice mail was about to kick in, and still a bit groggy, I answered without checking caller ID. The screen showed the time as one-forty a.m.
This connection made Ryan’s seem sharp as the White House hotline.
“… o… an you… me?” The voice was female, her words barely intelligible through the mix of static and background stir.
Katy?
Suddenly I was wide awake and totally focused. “I can’t hear you. Disconnect and call again?”
“… ime.”
“Who is this?”
“… eed your help.”
“Katy? Is that you?”
“… es…”
“Where are you?” My pulse was now in overdrive.
“Steel Works International… Old Dowd Road.”
I knew the place. A friend’s family had owned SWI for decades.
