I walk into the conference room and take out my laptop. I might as well do something useful while everyone is making calls.
I sign in with a VPN to the FBI’s site and type in Courtney White. Nora shouldn’t have to look for her friend by herself.
Courtney White, thirty-seven-year-old female, white, five-seven, blond hair, blue eyes. Looking at her picture, she is very pretty.
She worked at a software company here in Boston as a personal assistant. I know from Nora, she worked as Nora’s husband’s assistant. She made a pretty good salary. She has plenty of money sitting in her bank account that hasn’t been touched in six months, right around the time she disappeared.
I look into her medical history and see the last time she went to see her physician was two weeks before she disappeared. I open her medical reports, and what I find shocks me.
I look up her next of kin, which happens to be her mother, Karen White. I jot down the address, knowing I need to have this conversation in person.
I walk out of the conference room as Shane is getting off the phone with the jail administration.
“What did they say?” I ask.
“They said there is no record of anyone visiting Cavanaugh, and they don’t have answers as to why he is dead. He was currently in a cell by himself, and looking back at the security footage, there is a few minutes where the system rebooted, and no one noticed,” he says, through gritted teeth.
I know he’s upset, and I wish there was something I could say, but since there is nothing to be said, instead I ask, “Can I borrow your keys to the car?”
“Why?” he asks.
“I want to go visit Courtney White’s mom in person. Get a little more information from her that I can’t get through the internet.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.
“No, I think you have plenty here, plus, if Max calls with the formal identification, you will need to make your notifications, and I don’t want to keep you from that,” I tell him softly before adding, “I shouldn’t be long.”
“You’re right, but text me when you get there,” he says, and I agree before taking the keys and leaving the precinct.
Chapter Twenty-Two
SHANE
I watch as Mya leaves, she didn’t say much, but I saw the thoughts crossing her face, she found something, but she doesn’t want to tell me anything yet, and that’s okay. I know she will when she has something more concrete.
Five minutes later, Nora walks in, looks around and asks, “Where’s Mya?”
“She left to do something, said she would be back,” I tell her, not giving her too much, as I don’t want to alert her to Mya looking into Courtney just yet in case whatever she is chasing turns out to be a dead end. I prefer not to give Nora false hope just yet.
My phone rings, and it’s Max.
“Max, have you confirmed the identities?” I immediately ask.
“You and the Agent were right. The bodies are those of Mr. Fields and Ms. Fischer, you are free to make your notifications to the families,” he says with a sigh.
“Thanks, Max,” I tell him, ending the call.
“Well, it’s confirmed, and now we need to notify two families,” I tell her.
“Who should we notify first?” she asks.
“Mr. Fischer, since he reported her missing,” I say, knowing the man is going to be devastated.
We leave the precinct and drive to the address listed in the database for the Fischer’s. Nora is quiet for the drive until we pull up to a wrought iron gate with a call box. I roll the window down and press the button.
“Can I help you?” a female voice asks.
“We are here to see Mr. Arnold Fischer,” I respond.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.
“No. I’m Detective Maguire, and my partner and I would like to speak to Mr. Fischer,” I tell her.
“I apologize, Detective, please drive in,” she says as the gate begins to open.
I drive up the long driveway until I see the house with a circle drive that goes around a massive fountain. The front door opens, and a female is standing by the door, waiting for us.
“Detectives, Mr. Fischer is waiting for you in the study, can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?” she asks, leading us to the study.
“No, thank you,” we both answer at the same time.
“Mr. Fischer, there are two detectives here to see you, Sir,” she says, announcing us.
“Mr. Fischer, I’m Detective Shane Mcguire, and this is my partner, Detective Nora Riley,” I introduce us before shaking his hand.
The man looks like he hasn’t slept in days, his gray hair messy, most likely from running his hands through it constantly with worry.
