Lisbon leaned toward the driver's seat and looked at the speedometer. "We're the police, Cho," she said. "We're allowed to exceed the speed limit."

Cho didn't take his eyes off the road, but increased the speed to 72mph. Lisbon sighed and took out her cell phone to check with Rigsby again. It rang before she had a chance to hit the speed dial.

"Give me some good news," she said to Rigsby.

"Wish I could," was his answer. "There were no surveillance cameras outside, so I can't be sure what vehicle they left in. There were several big rigs here, but I didn't pay attention to them so I don't know which ones are missing. Sorry. I feel like a real idiot."

"Don't waste time feeling sorry."

"The road blocks have turned up nothing so far, but there are a lot of country roads up here."

"All right," Lisbon said. "Keep me posted." She hung up the phone and then dialed Van Pelt's desk.

"Bowman just got here," Van Pelt said without being asked. "I'm about to question him now."

"Good," Lisbon told her. "He's all we've got." She hung up and checked the speedometer again. 72mph and holding. "Can you please….?" She said, annoyed.

Cho eased it up to 75mph.

* * * *

Benson Bowman was loving the attention. He had been taken by two police officers from a film festival after party. Everyone was wondering what he could have done. He would be the talk of the town for at least a week. It could only have been better if they'd put him in handcuffs, but they didn't. They said he wasn't under arrest, the CBI just wanted to ask him a few questions. Benson didn't think he knew anything useful, but why bring that up this early in the game? Benson hoped he'd get to see the inside of a real interrogation room, but instead, the officers took him to the only occupied desk on one side of the building. The woman behind the desk seemed less than intimidating. She was young, red-haired and pretty. She even had a cast on one leg. Benson couldn't hide his disappointment.

"Benson Bowman?" asked the redhead.

"Yes," he said.

"I'm agent Van Pelt. Please sit down."

"Agent, not officer?" Benson questioned.

"Yes," she said. "You are a co-worker of Stephanie Donovan, aren't you?"

Benson's smile and interest faded. Stephanie. Of course. "Yes," he said. "What has she done? Did she get taken hostage again?"

"What do you know about it?" asked Van Pelt.

"You're shitting me!" exclaimed Benson. "She really did?"

"What kind of story was Miss Donovan working on that might cause her to harm someone or someone to harm her?"

Benson was suddenly concerned. "Stephanie's hurt?"

"We don't know that," Van Pelt told him.

"Well, where is she?" he demanded.

"We don't know that either," Van Pelt said. "That's why you're here. What was Stephanie working on?"

"She just finished up a Bigfoot story…"

"Was she working on anything serious? Something in Canada maybe?"

"The Bigfoot story was serious. It was up in Washington State. Some people were pretty upset about it." Benson said.

Van Pelt frowned. "Upset about Bigfoot?"

"It was a Bigfoot hoax. Turned out there were just some really hairy people up there – retired carnival people. They've got a whole town…"

"What's the town called?" she asked, pen in hand to take notes.

"God, I don't remember… something with an A… Arville? Arkan, Aragan… Hockley."

"Hockley doesn't have an A in it."

"I was thinking of something else."

Van Pelt tapped a few keys on her computer keyboard. While she waited for Hockley to come up she asked, "Do you know anything about George Amadi?"

"Never heard of him…"

"Eureka!" said Van Pelt. Hockley was a tiny mountain town just north of the Oregon/Washington border.

"…unless it's that little guy with the attitude problem," continued Benson.

"What kind of attitude problem?" Van Pelt asked.

"Well, I never met him, but Steph said he's got a Napoleon complex. A real arrogant little fu..." Benson stopped himself, then went on, "…person. Chip on his shoulder about being short, tries to make up for it making money. Works in a management company where he has access to a lot of money that isn't his own. Convenient, wouldn't you say?"

Van Pelt wouldn't say. She was too busy calling Lisbon.