Maggie moved her room service tray aside, snatching one last piece of toast. She glanced at her watch. She had plenty she needed to do today, places to go, people to talk to. Adam Bonzado had tracked her down first thing this morning, inviting her to his lab at the university to take a look at one of the victims. He seemed under the impression that she was officially on this case. Maybe Sheriff Watermeier had even told him so. She wasn’t sure why she was considering it. Most likely it wouldn’t help her find Joan Begley. Except that his lab was at the University of New Haven, the same university where Patrick was.

She glanced at her watch again and dug out her cell phone. She had been putting this off long enough. She punched in the number from memory.

Gwen answered on the second ring as if she was expecting the call.

“It’s not her,” Maggie said without stalling, then waited out her friend’s silence, letting it sink in.

“Thank God!”

“But she is missing,” Maggie said, not wanting Gwen to misunderstand. She shoved aside a file she had thrown on the hotel desk. She opened it, but only to retrieve a photo. A photo of Joan Begley that Gwen had given her last week.

“Tell me,” Gwen said. “Tell me whatever you’ve found out.”

“I was in her hotel room last night.”

“They let you in?”

“Let’s just say I was in her hotel room last night, okay?” She didn’t have the patience this morning for a lecture from her friend, the same friend who had managed to finagle someone into telling her Joan Begley had missed her flight. “It looks like she’s been gone since Saturday. But I don’t think she just left. Her things are scattered around the room like she intended to come back.”

“Is it possible he may have talked her into running off without her things?”

“I don’t know. All her cosmetics? And her checkbook? You tell me, Gwen. Is she the type who would do that?”

There was silence again and Maggie used it to examine the photo. The photographer had interrupted Joan Begley, making her look up from a metal sculpture, her welding hood’s protective glass mask pushed up, revealing serious brown eyes and porcelain-white skin. In the background were framed prints, bright splashes of red and orange and royal blue, beautiful explosions of colors with black streaks and slashes through the middle. And in the reflection of the glass, Maggie could almost make out another image. Sort of ironic. A portrait of the artist with a self-portrait of the photographer.

“No,” Gwen Patterson finally answered. “She’s not the type who would run off and leave her things. No, I don’t think she would do that.”

“I’m going to need your help, Gwen.” She hesitated again, making sure she had her friend’s attention. “Now’s not the time to be holding back any client-patient confidentiality.”

“No, of course not. No, I wouldn’t do that. Not if it was something that might help find her.”

“You said you had an e-mail from her that mentioned this man she may have been meeting. You said she called him Sonny, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Can you forward that e-mail to me?”

“Sure, I’ll do it as soon as I get off the phone with you.”

“I talked to Tully earlier. He’s going to see if he can get into Joan’s apartment.”

“Can he do that?”

“She’s been gone long enough to file a missing persons report. I want him to look around her place. Maybe see if she has a computer and if he can get into her e-mail. We need to find out if there’s anything more about Sonny. If possible, Tully’ll be going over later today. Would you be able to go over with him?”

More silence. Maggie waited. Had Gwen even heard her? Or had she asked too much?

“Yes,” she finally said, and this time her voice was strong again. “I can do that.”

“Gwen, one other thing.” Maggie examined the photo again. “Did Joan ever mention a man named Marley?”

“Marley? No. I don’t think so.”

“Okay. I’m just checking. Call me if you think of anything.”

“Maggie?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Thank me when I find her. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

She barely clicked off and the phone started ringing. Gwen must have forgotten something.

“You remembered something?” Maggie said in place of a greeting.

“Agent O’Dell, why the hell am I seeing you on TV?”

It wasn’t Gwen. It was her boss, Assistant Director Kyle Cunningham. Damn!

“Good morning, sir.”

“It says a rock quarry in Connecticut. I thought you were supposed to be in your backyard and I see you’re profiling a case in Connecticut. A case I don’t remember assigning you to.”

“I’m here on personal business, sir. It was a mistake yesterday when Sheriff Watermeier said I was profiling this case.”

“Really? A mistake? But you were there at the quarry?”

“Yes. I stopped by to check on—”

“You just stopped by? O’Dell, this isn’t the first time you’ve just stopped by, but it better be the very last time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. But they may actually need a profiler. This certainly has all the signs of a serial—”

“Then they need to request a profiler. Perhaps their own FBI office has someone available.”

“I’m already familiar with—”

“I believe you’re on vacation, Agent O’Dell. If you have personal business in the area, that’s on your own time, but I better not see you on TV again. Do you understand, Agent O’Dell?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” But there was already a dial tone.

Damn!

She paced the room, stopping to watch the morning traffic down on Pomeroy Avenue and Research Parkway. She checked her watch again. There was still time for one stop. She swung on her jacket, slipping her key card into the pocket, and grabbed her notebook with directions already scrawled inside. She started out the door when she hesitated. What would it hurt? She went back to her computer case, unzipped the pockets until she found it. Then without giving it any more thought she shoved the envelope into her notebook and left.