Where Are You Now? by Mary Higgins Clark Page A

Kate. She’ll get Leesey’s friends to tack them up on every street between that bar and this building. Somebody has to have seen something. ”
    As a father that’s exactly what I would do, if I were in his shoes, Roy Barrott thought as he got to his feet, too. “Dr. Andrews, that’s a very good idea. Give us the picture from your wallet and her height, weight, and hair color. We’ll take care of having the posters made. It will be a big help if those posters are up when the bar crowd comes out tonight. I can promise you our undercover people will be in the Woodshed and every other dive around here, talking to people. With any luck we might find a person who saw someone paying a lot of attention to her. But I would suggest, sir, you go to your son’s apartment and get some rest. I’ll have an officer drive you there.”
    I’m only in the way, David Andrews thought bleakly. But he’s right—I do have to sleep. Without speaking, he nodded.
    The door from the bedroom was open. Kate Carlisle had spent a sleepless night, and now after napping briefly, she saw them leaving, with Barrott’s hand firmly under the doctor’s arm. “Dr. Andrews, are you all right?” she asked anxiously.
    â€œDr. Andrews is going to his son’s apartment,” Barrott explained. “I’ll be back and forth. Kate, do you by any chance have a more recent photo of Leesey? The one I’ve seen that was in Dr. Andrews’s wallet is more than a year old.”
    â€œYes. I have a good one. I took it only last week. AngelinaJolie and Brad Pitt were walking in SoHo with their kids, and the paparazzi were all around them. I told Leesey to pretend she was a movie star, and I snapped a couple of pictures of her with my cell phone camera. One of them is a terrific shot. She was planning to have it framed for you, Dr. Andrews.” Her voice broke. Flustered, Kate ran back into the bedroom, opened a drawer in a night table, grabbed a print from it, and hurried back to them.
    In the photo, Leesey had struck a model’s pose, her smiling face turned to the camera, her long hair tossed by the breeze, her slender body almost slouching, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her denim jacket.
    Barrott’s eyes traveled from the lovely girl in the center to the passers-by in the background. None of the faces was clear. Was it possible one of them had noticed Leesey? he wondered. A predator on the prowl?
    I’ll get this enlarged, he thought, as he took it from Kate. “This is a very clear picture of Leesey,” he said. “I also want you to give me a print of the other picture you took of her. From what I understand, she was wearing a denim jacket the night she went to the club. She’s wearing a denim jacket in this picture.”
    â€œShe was wearing that same jacket,” Kate said.
    â€œShe bought it two years ago, just before her mother died,” David Andrews said. “It has a skirt she wore with it. Her mother laughed and told her that the skirt had strings hanging off it. Leesey told her that was the style. Her mother said if that was considered style, it was time to bring back the hoopskirt.”
    I sound maudlin, David Andrews told himself. I’m holding up this detective from finding Leesey. I’ve got to get out of the way here. “Kate, that’s a good picture of Leesey. Anyone who saw her could identify her from it. Thank you very much.”
    Without waiting for her to answer, he started for the door, grateful for the strong hand under his arm. In silence he walked down the three flights of stairs. He was vaguely aware of a camera flashing and someone shouting questions at him as he crossed the sidewalk and was helped into a squad car. He did remember to ask Detective Barrott what else he would do to try to find Leesey. Barrott closed the car door and then leaned down to the window.
    â€œDr. Andrews, we’ve already