The sheriff didn't even blink. "I don't see any cameras in here."
Nicky glanced around. He was right. There were no cameras in sight.
But then the sheriff let out a belly laugh. "Relax. You stiffs always take everything so seriously. I'm messing with ya."
Nicky wasn't laughing, and neither was Ken.
"Sheriff Corbin," Nicky said, "why don't we go down to the station's archives and look at Sarah Mills's case file."
Corbin didn't move. "I don't think so."
Nicky's fists clenched. "Why not?"
"It's not in there," Corbin said. "You're barking up the wrong tree."
"If you don't show us that case file," Ken said, "we'll go upstairs and your superiors will hear about all the corrupt things that go on in this station."
Corbin laughed. "My superiors?" he said, his voice jovial yet mocking. "I don't think you know who you're dealing with, son. I'm the one who runs this station."
Nicky’s nails dug into her palms. This guy was getting under her skin, and she was losing patience trying to be professional. "Just hand over the case file," Nicky said.
Corbin glared at her for a long moment before he sighed and stood up. "All right, girly, calm yourself. Let's go to the filing room."
He led them down a long hallway to a room lined with file cabinets on either side. There wasn't a single camera in sight, but Corbin was right: they were definitely in the right place.
Corbin walked over to the filing cabinet, pulling it open and taking out a folder. "Sarah Mills's case file," he said, dropping it on the table in front of them.
Nicky opened it up.
And in it was a photo of a red-headed woman who looked strikingly similar to Meghan Salinger. Ken looked over Nicky's shoulder at the file but said nothing. He didn't need to.
Nicky leafed through the papers. Sarah Mills was a twenty-two-year-old girl who married young, who wanted to grow up and become an actress. Her story somewhat mirrored Meghan's, although Meghan was older, twenty-four, and was an aspiring singer who had already found a bit of fame.
"Got what you need?" the sheriff grunted.
"Yeah. We'll be taking this," Nicky said. She straightened up and looked the sheriff dead in his eyes to intimidate him, show him that the FBI was not to be messed with. "And Sheriff, I suggest you make sure these reports get sent in next time. I'd hate to see you lose your job over negligence."
"You have a nice day now," Corbin said, but his voice was apathetic.
With that, Nicky and Ken left the Frankstown police station. It was warm outside, but late, with the stars now shining down on them. Nicky and Ken stood under a streetlamp.
"Damn, it's late," Ken said. "Any idea where we're staying?"
Nicky gripped the file in her hand, her head still back in that police station. "Guess we need to find a motel."
Nicky sighed, stared up at the night sky for a moment. She hated sleeping anywhere but her own bed, but she had a feeling she wouldn't be doing much sleeping anyway--not with this case on her mind.
CHAPTER TEN
Nicky couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"We've only got one room." The curmudgeonly old lady behind the counter at the motel reeked of perfume and cigarettes. Not to mention the motel lobby itself was beyond shabby. The motel was a skip and a jump from being condemned. Dusty, peeling wallpaper, mold in the corners, a chipped linoleum floor. The old lady behind the counter had a smile that showed only one row of yellow teeth. She sat at her post with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, strands of hair coming out of her gray bun, her makeup slathered on to hide the wrinkles.
"Well, we need two," Ken told her firmly.
Clearly, he didn't want to share a room with Nicky either. Nicky was in agreement with him there. They'd been coworkers for a short period of time, but they'd never gotten along or worked one-on-one. Sharing a room sounded beyond awkward.
"Well, too bad," the lady said. "That's all we've got."