had the physical phone.
Kirsten called two 212 phone numbers on Saturday, in addition to short calls to the original number. Sean dialed them. One was a restaurant. He asked for their hours and location. Manhattan? He quickly pulled the address up on a map and noted that it was only three blocks from Penn Station.
Amtrak had service from Union Station in D.C. to Penn Station in New York. If Kirsten paid cash, there was no way to trace it. That’s why she didn’t take her car when she left home; she had taken a train to New York. From Woodbridge, there was both train and bus service direct to Union Station.
He called the second number.
“Clover Motel, Brooklyn.”
Brooklyn? That wasn’t near Penn Station. “I’m looking for a guest, Kirsten Benton.”
“Room number?”
“I don’t have it. She would have checked in Friday night.”
“Just a sec.”
Sean heard the phone placed on a desk and television noise in the background. He Googled the motel for the address. The motel didn’t look too bad, though it wasn’t a place Sean would stay. Had Kirsten reserved a room, or was she calling a guest?
“Sorry,” the clerk came back on the line. “We have no guest by that name.”
“What about Ashleigh Benton?”
The clerk sighed. A moment later he said, “No. No Benton. No Kirsten. No Ashleigh. Anything else?” the clerk asked.
“Did you work last Friday night?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a private investigator looking for a missing teenager.”
“How do I know you’re not some crazy asshole? You want information, you come down with proper ID, and I’ll tell you. I can spot a fake, so don’t be pulling any shit with me.” The clerk hung up.
Sean didn’t much want to go to New York just to talk to a motel clerk when he didn’t know for certain that Kirsten had been there.
Lucy shouted from upstairs, “Sean!”
He took the stairs two at a time and almost ran right into Lucy as she stood in the doorway.
“I wasn’t sure you heard me,” she said.
“What happened?”
“Kirsten emailed Trey.” She strode over to the computer. “And he responded.”
Facebook threaded messages so you could see the original message and every response chronologically.
Kirsten had sent Trey a message at 7:58 a.m.
Trey,
I don’t know where to start. I’ve been sick. I didn’t even know it was Thursday until I woke up this morning. I’m better, but I sort of can’t walk right now.
It’s a long story, but I have no way of getting home. I lost my phone. Tell my mom that I’m OK. I have plenty of money and so, yeah.
I don’t know what to do! I’m too scared to go home but scared to stay, too. Isn’t that silly? Jessie’s message was all wrong! And who would hurt her? I think they know me but maybe not. But don’t tell anyone where I am! Please please please. My head is foggy and I can’t think. But it’s all weird here and the news in the paper doesn’t explain anything. I already miss her maybe it was my fault I don’t know anything.
Can you pick me up in New York when I figure out where I am? I’m somewhere very nice. It’s pretty and there’s a big bridge.
So sorry everything you were right I was stupid about everything I want to play softball but now I can’t I want to
Several of her sentences were incomplete, and her message ended there, unsigned. Trey had responded at 8:10 a.m. from his mobile phone:
Kirsten, are you still there? What’s wrong? I’m leaving for New York right now. Email or call me as soon as you get this message. Are you in the city? Which bridge? It’ll take me at least five hours to get there. I’ll let you know as soon as I arrive. T.
“He’s going to New York?” Sean was furious. “He promised he would call me if she contacted him!”
“I’m worried about her,” Lucy said.
“Because she was sick?”
“Read her message carefully. There’s a lot of information there, but she must have a fever or maybe she’s drugged.” Lucy frowned. “She left
Kirsten called two 212 phone numbers on Saturday, in addition to short calls to the original number. Sean dialed them. One was a restaurant. He asked for their hours and location. Manhattan? He quickly pulled the address up on a map and noted that it was only three blocks from Penn Station.
Amtrak had service from Union Station in D.C. to Penn Station in New York. If Kirsten paid cash, there was no way to trace it. That’s why she didn’t take her car when she left home; she had taken a train to New York. From Woodbridge, there was both train and bus service direct to Union Station.
He called the second number.
“Clover Motel, Brooklyn.”
Brooklyn? That wasn’t near Penn Station. “I’m looking for a guest, Kirsten Benton.”
“Room number?”
“I don’t have it. She would have checked in Friday night.”
“Just a sec.”
Sean heard the phone placed on a desk and television noise in the background. He Googled the motel for the address. The motel didn’t look too bad, though it wasn’t a place Sean would stay. Had Kirsten reserved a room, or was she calling a guest?
“Sorry,” the clerk came back on the line. “We have no guest by that name.”
“What about Ashleigh Benton?”
The clerk sighed. A moment later he said, “No. No Benton. No Kirsten. No Ashleigh. Anything else?” the clerk asked.
“Did you work last Friday night?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a private investigator looking for a missing teenager.”
“How do I know you’re not some crazy asshole? You want information, you come down with proper ID, and I’ll tell you. I can spot a fake, so don’t be pulling any shit with me.” The clerk hung up.
Sean didn’t much want to go to New York just to talk to a motel clerk when he didn’t know for certain that Kirsten had been there.
Lucy shouted from upstairs, “Sean!”
He took the stairs two at a time and almost ran right into Lucy as she stood in the doorway.
“I wasn’t sure you heard me,” she said.
“What happened?”
“Kirsten emailed Trey.” She strode over to the computer. “And he responded.”
Facebook threaded messages so you could see the original message and every response chronologically.
Kirsten had sent Trey a message at 7:58 a.m.
Trey,
I don’t know where to start. I’ve been sick. I didn’t even know it was Thursday until I woke up this morning. I’m better, but I sort of can’t walk right now.
It’s a long story, but I have no way of getting home. I lost my phone. Tell my mom that I’m OK. I have plenty of money and so, yeah.
I don’t know what to do! I’m too scared to go home but scared to stay, too. Isn’t that silly? Jessie’s message was all wrong! And who would hurt her? I think they know me but maybe not. But don’t tell anyone where I am! Please please please. My head is foggy and I can’t think. But it’s all weird here and the news in the paper doesn’t explain anything. I already miss her maybe it was my fault I don’t know anything.
Can you pick me up in New York when I figure out where I am? I’m somewhere very nice. It’s pretty and there’s a big bridge.
So sorry everything you were right I was stupid about everything I want to play softball but now I can’t I want to
Several of her sentences were incomplete, and her message ended there, unsigned. Trey had responded at 8:10 a.m. from his mobile phone:
Kirsten, are you still there? What’s wrong? I’m leaving for New York right now. Email or call me as soon as you get this message. Are you in the city? Which bridge? It’ll take me at least five hours to get there. I’ll let you know as soon as I arrive. T.
“He’s going to New York?” Sean was furious. “He promised he would call me if she contacted him!”
“I’m worried about her,” Lucy said.
“Because she was sick?”
“Read her message carefully. There’s a lot of information there, but she must have a fever or maybe she’s drugged.” Lucy frowned. “She left
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