Eighth Grave After Dark

I straightened and walked over to her. “What are you talking about?”

She pointed to a copy of Faris’s texts that were in the file. “Right here. Did Kit talk to this guy? Nate something or other? Because according to these texts, they were ditching the party and meeting at a skater hangout.”

Cookie thanked Reyes as he handed her a piping hot cup, then stayed to listen in.

“Amber, where does it say that?” I asked.

She pointed again as I dialed Kit’s number. I still didn’t see it. She was pointing to a text that said,

COP at tunnel.

Feeling like an idiot, I said, “I don’t get it, hon.”

Before she could explain, Kit picked up. I put her on speakerphone.

“Okay,” I said, forgoing the pleasantries, “you’re on speaker. Who is this Nate kid that Faris was texting?”

“We don’t know,” she said, sounding exhausted but not sleepy. I hadn’t woken her. “She has a friend named Nathan, but he says it wasn’t him in the texts. Still, there were only a few texts from Nate, and they seemed pretty innocent.”

“Nuh-uh,” Amber said. “There were only a few from him as Nate. He also texted her as Caleb, Isaiah, and Sean. It’s their favorite show.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t find any one of her friends with those names. What do you mean their favorite show?”

“NCIS,” she said as though we were daft. “It’s right here.” She thumbed through the pages and pages of texts. “Back when he was Nate the first time.”

“The first time?” I asked, trying to see what she saw.

She rummaged through the pages until she got to a set of older messages. I’d remembered them talking about NCIS, but how on earth did Amber get the name thing out of it?

“Right here. He tells her if her parents catch on to let him know and he will switch to the next episode.”

This was getting ridiculous. I was still young, for goodness’ sake. I wasn’t that out of touch. Was I? The text read,

If PAW, will start next episode.

Clearly I was. “You’re going to have to explain.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, sympathizing with me. “Okay, this says if your parents are watching, P-A-W, then I’ll start the next episode. I’ll go to the next letter. Thankfully, when the phone company sent a copy of her texts, they sent them in order instead of by user. That’s how we figured it out, because right after that, like ten seconds after, Caleb wrote this.”

She pointed at a text that read,

Starting next episode now.

“Caleb,” I said, realizing at last what they were doing. I’d have to go back completely and find all the transitions and texts from this same guy. “But what about a skater hangout?”

“Right here,” she said, pointing for the third time to the same text,

COP at tunnel.

“Isn’t that just warning her away from a tunnel? That there’s a cop there?”

“No, it says C-O-P. ‘Change of plans.’ And to meet him at the Tunnel. Aka, a skater hangout. Not that I’ve ever been there,” Amber assured her mother.

My jaw dropped open. “How did we miss this?”

Cookie shook her head, flummoxed.

“We missed it, too,” Kit said. “We just thought they were planning a little underage drinking and were trying to dodge the cops.”

“Which is probably exactly what he was hoping we would think,” I said. “This wasn’t a crime of opportunity, Kit. If Amber’s right, he planned this. Got to know her through texts. Spent weeks planning the abduction.”

“And he sent her pictures,” Amber said. “But that’s not him.” She held up one of the shots he’d sent. “I can’t believe she fell for that.”

“Why?” I asked. “Who is it?”

“It’s the Target kid. The one who got famous when a girl snapped his picture and tweeted it to her friend? It went viral?” she said, trying to clue us in. “It was, like, everywhere? And this one,” she said, holding up another, “is a kid who got famous on YouTube for doing ‘Paparazzi.’” When we stared at her, she added, “Lady Gaga?”

“Oh, the song,” I said, finally getting it.

“Seriously, though, they don’t even look alike.” She compared the pictures. “What was she thinking?”

I took the seat at my desk, the one opposite Cookie. “They’d been texting for weeks. She thought she knew him.”

“She thought she could trust him,” Cookie said; then she looked at Amber with a new determination. “That’s it. Where’s your phone? You’re grounded from it for seven years.”

“Mom,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Kit spoke up then, sounding more energized than before. “Charley, this is it. I think you guys are on to something.”

“Not me,” I said, waving a hand, then pointing at Amber. “Amber Kowalski.”

“And Quentin Rutherford,” she added, gazing at him adoringly. It took true love to overlook drool. “He was the one who caught the NCIS thing. He loves that show.”

“We’ll check out these numbers, see what we can get. I’m sure they’re burner phones, but we might get a hit on one of them.”

“He went to a lot of trouble to get to Faris,” I said. “He had to have known her from somewhere. Became obsessed with her. Maybe a coffee shop she and her friends frequented or even their school.”