Duarte came to the motel that afternoon. She did not sit down this time. She stood by the window with her arms crossed and looked at the parking lot while I told her what Priya had said.
"The Route 9 bus stop," she said. "By the gas station."
"Yes."
"We canvassed that area Tuesday. There's no camera at the stop. The gas station has one but it points at the pumps."
"Did you check it?"
"We're checking it."
"She never made it onto the bus," I said. "Her friend didn't get a text. She was supposed to text when she got to the station."
"Or her phone died," Duarte said. "Or she decided to walk. Or she got a ride from someone else. There are a lot of explanations."
"There's one explanation that makes all of them fit."
Duarte looked at me for a long moment. "Ms. Vaughn, I understand you're
