"And neither did she. ... Do you think you'll ever find him?"
Sanchez shook his head. "Not likely. We just don't have the manpower. The case has been closed as an accidental death by drug overdose."
"Does that bother you?"
"Yeah, I'd just like to see the guy squirm. Maybe he'd think twice the next time he got the urge to tie a woman up and beat her with a whip."
"I know what you mean." agreed Ben. "Say, was she wearing anything when you found her?"
Sanchez shook his head. "Not a stitch, ... except for a rhinestone necklace, a choker they call it."
"May I see it?"
"Why? You think it could mean something?"
Ben shrugged. "Don't know. I'm just collecting information. One more question: have you any idea where she might have picked up this John?"
Sanchez though for a moment. "Not really, but a friend of hers said she blamed herself because she'd told Alice some big TV producer was going to be staying at the Golden Sands."
Viewing the body of that dead girl had affected David more than he liked to admit. Long after he got home, he was still walking around as if in a trance. That girl could have been Sara, and David hated to think he would ever see her like that, but he knew in his heart that the truth was the longer she was missing, the chances of finding her alive lessened.
Could there really be some connection with that trip to Atlantic City? But what could it be? He went over the whole weekend in his mind, then he remembered the picture-the photograph that Arab guy, the owner, had taken. It had come in the mail just after Sara disappeared, and he hadn't even opened it. He went searching though the papers scattered on his desk until he finally found the manila envelope. He opened it up and pulled out the photograph.
David studied the photo. He remembered the uncomfortable feeling that Arab had given him. He knew from experience how ruthless those people could be. Then he noticed the rhinestone choker around Sara's long, slim neck and remembered Ben Peterson saying that dead girl had been wearing something similar.
The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, and a sense of foreboding came over him. Could this man, this fat, greasy, Arab, have anything to do with all this? David decided he better give Ben a call, and he'd send the photo down by Federal Express. Maybe they were getting somewhere after all, but could they handle it when they finally learned the truth?