CINDY’S ANONYMOUS TIP could blow open the whole case. If it was good. If it was true.
I took my laptop to the big sofa in the living room, and, leaving Julie’s door open, I got to work. I typed the name Alison Muller into one law enforcement database after another, and when she didn’t come up, I Googled her.
At 11 p.m., I called Brady.
He cleared the sleep from his throat, and after he said his name, I said, “Cindy got an anonymous tip on the mystery blonde from the hotel. We should keep it to ourselves until Conklin and I can chase it down.”
Every cop knows that the FBI doesn’t like to share. Once they’re involved, they take over the case and cut you out of it. You’re lucky to read about it in the papers.
I said so and Brady grunted without committing himself. Then he asked, “What did you find out?”
“According to Cindy’s source, her name is Alison Muller. She’s thirty-five, an executive at Aptec, a software company in Silicon Valley. T
he tipster told Cindy that he knows her, that his family and the Mullers live on the same street in Monterey.”
“You’ve got an address?”
“I do.”
I heard Yuki in the background saying, “Brady, who’s calling this late?”
Brady said to her, “It’s Lindsay. We’ll be off soon.”
I said, “I found info on Muller on Aptec’s website. She’s married to Khalid Khan, the composer. They have two children, five and thirteen years old. She’s a graduate of Stanford with a PhD in mathematics from MIT and she’s fluent in Spanish and Chinese. Speculating, but she and Chan may have met at Stanford.”
There was a pause as Brady thought things over.
He said, “OK. I’ll call Monterey PD and have them sit on Muller’s house until morning. You and Conklin bring her in first thing.”
I called my partner and filled him in. Then I tried Joe’s phone again.
As before, his mailbox was full. Good-bye.
I dragged my churning mind to bed with me and closed my eyes, but sleep stayed on the other side of the room. It was just as well. An hour after I’d spoken with Brady, he called me back.
“Here’s the thing, Boxer.”
“I’m listening.”
“This Alison Muller. She’s been reported missing. Monterey PD has a BOLO out for her. Her husband hasn’t seen her in a couple of days.”
“No. Really?”
“Khalid Khan spoke with her late Monday afternoon. She missed her daughter’s birthday party. Said she was working and would be home soon. She never showed.”
“Late Monday afternoon. That’s when the shootings went down,” I said.
Brady said, “Right.” He and I talked it over. Where was Alison Muller? Had she been abducted at gunpoint? Was she dead? What, if anything, did she have to do with the death of Michael Chan, and the other victims of that purge?
I asked him, “Anything else? Did Muller’s husband get a ransom call?”
“No. And Khan has been unable to reach his wife on the phone. Total blackout. Monterey PD pinged her phone. Last time it was used was Monday, six fifty-seven, from the Market Street area.”
The Four Seasons Hotel was on Market.
I no longer expected to find Muller and question her. She had disappeared, and I had no idea where to look for her, no idea at all. Another thought sprang at me with bared fangs. Joe Molinari, my husband, was also missing.
What was he doing? Was he involved in all of this? I felt cold, like I was out there on that deadly, frozen highway in Minnesota again. Only this time, I was naked, alone, and without a car.