go back to the hotel.”
“You said it, not me.”
“Sorry I bothered you.”
“It’s okay…just make sure you try not to call or text unless there’s something wrong.”
“I will. Goodnight, Mackenzie.”
They ended the call and Mackenzie swallowed down several emotions that all seemed to fight for control. There was anger, sadness, and pity. She could not decide on one, so she settled for calm indifference.
“One of them dead yet?” Ellington asked.
“No, not yet.” She looked to the table—to the laptops and the police reports—and got to her feet. “Want to get out of here?”
“Sure.”
They tidied up the space, bagged up their laptops, and headed for the lobby. On their way out, they were once again interrupted by the buzzing sound of a phone. This time it was Ellington’s. He answered as they passed through the front doors and into the parking lot. Mackenzie listened to his half of the conversation, not quite clear on who it was or what was being talked about.
He did not hang up until they were in the car, Mackenzie slipping behind the wheel since Ellington was occupied. When he ended the call, there was a perplexed look on his face as he pocketed his phone.
“I think I know why there was no record on Amy Campbell,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because according to everything the bureau threw at the background check, she doesn’t seem to exist. There are, of course, numerous Amy Campbells, but none fitting my description. None at all. Just like our mystery lady, Marjorie Hikkum, Amy Campbell doesn’t seem to exist.”
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