To judge from the pictures, Pickett didn’t seem to be missing so much as he seemed to have been raptured.
The report did not, however, contain any mention of the night-vision photograph, meaning we had something the cops didn’t: a timeline.
After school, I got into Harold and screamed when Daisy suddenly appeared in the backseat. “Shit, you scared me.” “Sorry,” she said.
“I’ve been hiding, because Mychal and I are in the same history class, and I don’t want to deal with it yet,
and also I’ve got a bunch of comments to reply to. It’s a hard life for a minor fan-fiction author.
Did you notice anything in the police report?”
I was still catching my breath, but eventually said, “They seem to know slightly less than we do.”
“Yeah,” Daisy said. “Wait. Holmesy, that’s it. That’s it! They know slightly less than we do!”
“Um, so?” “The reward is for ‘information leading to the whereabouts of Russell Davis Pickett.’
We may not know where he is, but we have information they don’t that will help them find his whereabouts.”
“Or not,” I said. “We should call.
We should call and be, like, hypothetically, if we knew where Pickett was the night he disappeared, how much would that be worth?
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