The phone suddenly felt hot to the touch.
“Bobbi Funderburk. She was standing right beside you in that photograph!”
“Thy made hundreds of shots, Jim. The festival is not one of your one-hour-operations.” – At least she had a smile in her voice this time.
I took a deep breath and described the real(?) Bobbi. After a few seconds, I heard her sigh.
“You’re talking about Tara Taylor. She’s our press officer’s lover. Quite nice, actually.”
“I urgently need to talk to her about a possible identity theft. Please, sis – have her call me.”
Kayla promised to do so and rang off. I decided to call it a day and left the station for Mason’s. A beer and a burger later, I felt a lot better.
On my way home, I texted John’s assistant to meet me at the factory, next morning. We might find some clues on fake Bobbi’s possible escape route – important if she was hurt…
In a small compass... 