She walked around the empty room, checking it out. Except for the head shots stabbed to the wall, there was not a scrap of paper to be seen.
So how do we find Kristen without a clue? she wondered. Should the kidnapping, if that's what it was, be reported to the police? But what proof do we have that any of it actually happened? They're not going to third‑degree Winston Bartlett.
"You know," Stone said staring closely at one of the photos, "I didn't actually get a really good look at the woman running down the street. She glanced back at me when I called out her name, but the truth is, I'm not a hundred percent sure this is her."
"Come on," Ally said "that had to be Kristen. The girl downstairs recognized her. Though she did say she looked different somehow."
"You're going to think I'm crazy," he went on, still staring around at the walls, "but it seems to me the girl on the street was a lot younger than this one." He bit a fingernail contemplatively. "Christ, this is some sick material."
"Stone, I'm going down to my office, to take care of some things and think about this. Come along if you like. Maybe we've overlooked something obvious. Something that—"
That was when the beeper on his belt went off. He looked down at the number.
"Whoops. It's my managing editor."
"Where you work?"
"Right. Only I've got a feeling this call could be about how I used to work there."