“Me? You’re the bum.” Replacement leaned in close. “How late are you going to sleep? I thought you said—”
“Go away.”
“When are we going—”
Jack groaned.
“—to do something about Michelle? Do you always—”
“SHUT UP!” he barked right in her face.
The full-blast roar would have made any soldier stand at attention. But it didn’t seem to affect Replacement. She just smiled.
Jack shook his head. She’s Chandler’s sister, all right.
“Let me clean up, and then we can go,” he muttered.
“We?” Her face lit up.
He held up his hand. “Don’t say another word. Not a peep, or you don’t go.”
Replacement shrugged and pretended to lock her lips.
He’d have loved a cup of coffee but doubted there was any in the house. It didn’t matter anyway, because there was zero chance of there being any milk, and he hated it black. Splashing water in his face was the next-best thing to caffeine.
As he shaved, he started to plan. Normally, his first step would be to go to the investigator here in Darrington. But if he went to see Davenport, Sheriff Collins would have to be informed—which would lead to the inevitable disclosure that Michelle had been Jack’s foster sister. Departmental policy was to treat anything involving a family member as a conflict of interest, so he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the investigation. The longer he stayed off the radar screen, the better. And if he did get caught, he had a Get Out of Jail Free card he intended to play with by-the-book Collins: technically, Michelle wasn’t a relative.
He also didn’t want Collins to think he was grandstanding. Sheriff Collins was part of the reason why Jack took the job with the Darrington County Sheriff’s Department in the first place—he thought he’d work well with the former Air Force captain. But it hadn’t gone that way.
During his first month on the job, Jack had stuck his nose in and solved a John Doe case. A hiker had found a partially decomposed body in the woods. Animals had eaten most of it and the head was missing, so dental records couldn’t be used. The case had been assigned to Detective Flynn, but Flynn hadn’t followed through on the only real clue they had, the tattoo on the guy’s arm—crossed swords over a four-leaf clover. Nothing on it in the police database, so Jack, on his own, checked one local tattoo parlor after another until he came up with the name of the guy, a local with a drug problem.
Instead of promoting him, Collins wrote Jack up, placed him on late-night traffic detail for ninety days, and blasted him up, down, and sideways about grandstanding.
Collins didn’t get it, though. Jack didn’t care who got the credit—he just wanted to help. Still, he’d learned a lesson about working with Collins, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again—especially on this case.
He finished shaving and decided he’d start by checking at Michelle’s last address. He selected a navy-blue casual pullover that was a little loose. If he was dealing with college kids, he wanted to appear approachable.
He thought about the gun in the safe, decided against it. He carried himself differently when he was packing; people seemed to sense he was a cop; he didn’t want that today.
And he didn’t need it. He’d been practicing martial arts since he was twelve. Twelve was when he confided in a friend about his birth mother. The story burned through the school like wildfire. His mom’s a hooker! Jack got into three fights that day. Lost every one. The school counselor chalked it up to “kids can be cruel,” and said Jack would just have to learn to deal with it. But Jack’s adoptive father, Ted, had the far more practical and helpful approach: he signed Jack up for karate, and Jack took to it like breathing.
He snapped himself back, angry that he had gone down the rabbit hole again. Okay, no gun. What else do I need? His mental checklists were becoming as scattered as his life. The soldier he was six years ago would have beaten the snot out of him for being so sloppy now.
“Ready?” he called, opening the bedroom door.
Replacement was already waiting by the front door, bursting with questions. “Where are we going? Where do we start? Are we—?”
“Replacement, this is what I need you to do today: SHUT UP.”
Her face fell.
Immediately, Jack felt bad. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I have a job to do, and I can’t have you screw it up.”
She raised herself up on her toes and leaned in toward him. “I won’t screw it up.”
“If you get in someone’s face like you just got in mine, you will.”
Maybe he needed to dial it down a little. Most kids brought up in foster homes were like feral cats. Social graces were far down on the list of skills kids learned in broken homes—and survival was at the top. Still, she had had long exposure to Aunt Haddie, and he could expect some manners even from this feral cat.
He softened his voice and posture. “Do me a favor?”
She nodded, warily.
“It looks like we have a truce going, right?”
“Just because you said you’d help.” Still scowling.
He hid a smile. “Can you try to follow my lead?”
Her head rose. “Like we’re in it together?” Before Jack could stop that train of thought, it had already left the station. “Hell, yeah. Let’s go.”
This, he felt, was his first mistake of the morning.
His second mistake was exiting by the front. As they passed his landlady’s door, Mrs. Stevens sprang like a lion, her red hair standing on end, like she’d waited all night at that door to spring her trap. And Jack had walked right into it.
“Mrs. Stevens… I wanted to stop by and apologize about…” She was so blotchy and crazy-looking that Jack forgot what he was going to say. He just held his hands open and out as if he were handling a hostage situation.
Mrs. Stevens’s eyes grew even larger. “You weren’t stopping.”
“I was going out to get you a little something so I could apologize properly.” He emphasized the words, hoping that her mental image of a bribe would calm her down. Jack dreaded moving, and right now there was a high probability that his landlady would throw him out, so it was worth the groveling, though he hated for Replacement to see him doing it.
“How could you possibly apologize for everything you’ve done to me?” Laying it on pretty thick. All that was missing was the back of her hand held theatrically to her forehead and a Victorian swoon. “Your lease is extremely specific about the level of noise. Last night…”
She’s quoting the lease—that’s bad. He’d have to play on her emotions, but he didn’t have time to think it through. “I’m just so sorry. You see… this girl… she’s the sister of my friend who has passed. His younger sister…”
Mrs. Stevens’s eyes narrowed and her fat lips pursed into a puffy line, but Jack kept talking.
“And she’s stunted emotionally and a little… off. I just want to get her to a place that would take care of her—”
“What about the other one?” Mrs. Stevens tapped her foot.
“The other—”
“Girl.” He didn’t know how Mrs. Stevens could even say the word; her lips were pressed together so tightly.
“The other girl is my… my… cousin.” He regretted the lie as soon as it passed his lips.
“Crap,” Replacement said behind him. “Sorry, crap. Sorry, pretty lady.” Her head twitched and her arms and legs were jerking spasmodically. Even though Jack knew it was an act, it was unnerving. “Crap. Son-of-a—”
“There, there. It’s okay.” Jack wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. He honestly needed her to stop before he broke out laughing.
Mrs. Stevens stepped back and clutched her robe to her chest. “Is she dangerous?” Her eyes were wide with fear.
“No, no. She’s harmless.” His voice was reassuring as he hustled Replacement down the hallway. “I just need to get her meds refilled right away.”
Jack
didn’t turn back, but he could feel the landlady’s eyes on them as he hustled them out the front door.
“What was that?” Jack snapped, angry at himself for lying. “Are you trying to get me kicked out?”
Replacement made a goofy face. “You said follow your lead.”
“Shutting up would have been following my lead.”
“You made me sound nuts, so I went with it. Where did you come up with that anyway? And your cousin?” She stuck out her chest. “You thought she was gonna believe Miss Silicone is your cousin?”
“If you wanted to act unbalanced, how about trying to come off harmless and not like some twitchy psycho?”
“I called her pretty.” She shrugged as if that should cover everything.
Movement at a second-floor window caught his eye. Mrs. Stevens had pulled the curtain back to look down at them from the upstairs hall.
“Okay, act a little out of it—she’s watching.”
Replacement went back to her fish-out-of-water dance. This time she toned it way down, though they still got some odd looks from passersby. As the reluctant Batman led his self-appointed Robin, twitching and cussing, to the car, he couldn’t help but smile.
“You still have the same car?” she asked with a sour expression. “This car is—”
Jack’s look shut her right up. “Never criticize a guy’s car.”
His thumb caressed the place on the steering wheel where the stitching was coming loose. Okay, the semi-refurbished blue 1978 Chevy Impala had an improbable number of miles on it. Jack and the car were twins in that regard, but to tell the truth, the Impala was running better than he was right now.
“Yeah. Same car. Sit still. You’re making me nervous.”
After that, she rolled the window down—daring him to point out that it was winter cold outside, but he didn’t take the bait—and kept quiet a lot longer than he’d have thought possible.
A few miles later, she shivered, frowned, and rolled the window up. “Where are we going?”
“White Rocks. First stop is Michelle’s apartment, then we’ll go to the university.”
“Why don’t you find out what the cops have?”
Jack kept his eyes on the road. He didn’t want to explain that his by-the-book boss would go crazy and tell him to step aside, let Fairfield PD and Joe Davenport handle it. No way was Jack going to sit by and let Slow Davenport set the pace on this investigation.
“We’ll start at her apartment. Do you have the address?”
“Yeah, but I was there once already and they didn’t know nothing.” Replacement tapped her knuckles against the car door in frustration.
“Didn’t know anything.”
“Sorry, teach. I’m just visiting the college, not enrolling today.” She crossed her arms.
Jack chuckled. “Good one.”
She smiled, put her hands behind her head, and stretched her legs out on the dashboard. Nice legs.
“We’ll start looking at her apartment. And I’ll quietly call over to Fairfield’s Sheriff’s Department and see what they have.”
“Do you think she’s all right?”
Jack tightened his grip on the wheel. “Yeah. I hope.”
Replacement looked out the window and remained silent for the rest of the ride except for the occasional “turn left” or “turn right.” Michelle’s last known address was in an upscale apartment complex, close to the university, in a trendy part of town.
Jack took in the vibe—people with jobs in IT, graphic design… He tried to guess a few more, based on the cars in the lot. Lawyers?
“How could Michelle afford to live here, plus school?”
“She got a full scholarship.” Replacement’s voice rang with pride. “Free everything.”
“Really, what for?”
“For computers. She’s super smart. She had to work part-time at the psychology center, but she could take all her classes for free.”
Jack drove past the apartment. His car would stick out in this neighborhood. A block later, he swung into a parking space and shut off the engine.
“Just keep quiet, okay?”
Replacement again pantomimed a key locking her mouth and flashed him a grin.
Jack frowned. That smile said she was going to do what she wanted in the long run. Replacement had the body of a woman but she still acted immature. He’d learned—from a variety of teachers—that a person could get stuck in time after a tragic event. Aunt Haddie had mentioned that something happened to Replacement when she was younger. She didn’t share the details, all she said was—“… that little angel has been through Hell.” If something really bad had happened to Michelle… he was afraid his new partner here might be traumatized.
Best to keep it as professional as possible. Realizing he should have asked before, he fired off questions as they walked toward the apartment. Did Michelle have a roommate? Boyfriend? Was she in a sorority? Did she talk about friends?
Replacement fired the answers right back. Yes, roommate. No boyfriend. No sorority. And no, she didn’t really mention friends.”
They arrived at the apartment building, and Replacement pointed to 2B. “That one. Missy Lorton.”
Jack scanned all the apartment tags, and it was the only one with just one name—Lorton. And it was typed on fancy tan paper that was slightly darker than the others.
“You’re sure this is the one, right?”
“It was different when I came out before.”
Another rock dropped in his stomach.
“It said Lorton and Carter before.”
Someone doesn’t think Michelle is coming back.
Jack pressed the buzzer. Someone buzzed them in without asking who it was. There was an elevator, but Jack always preferred stairs, if there weren’t too many. Jack’s foot hadn’t hit the top step when the door to 2B swung open. A short, plump girl stepped out of the doorway.
“Took you long enough…” She looked up and her whine trailed off. She took a step back.
Jack knew he’d better pick the right smile. Confident, friendly, but not over the top. “Ms. Lorton?” Her pudgy face barely hid her disgust as she pulled the door back and tried to slam it shut. “No solicitors.”
But Jack stuck his foot out just in time—and his foot paid the price of acting as a doorstop. He tried to hold his smile and not clench his teeth in pain. “Miss, we’re looking for Michelle Carter. I’m her foster brother.”
“She transferred to a different school.” Missy stepped back from the door.
Jack grabbed Replacement with his left hand and encouraged her forward so Missy could see he was with a girl, hoping that might soften her up. “Do you know what school she transferred to?”
“Western Tech. Look, I have to meet someone.” She started to close the door again.
Jack held up a hand. “Okay, listen, Missy. We haven’t been able to get in touch with Michelle. When did she leave?”
Missy rolled her eyes. “Two weeks ago. I had a night class. When I came back, she was gone. I tried calling her, but she doesn’t answer. Or my texts or emails,” she finished up with a last flourish of her hand.
Replacement stepped forward. “What about her stuff?”
“She took it.” Missy shrugged. Then she seemed to brighten. “Hey, tell her she owes me for half of last month’s rent cuz she left with no notice. Which is against the lease, and it’s also low-class. Just like her!”
Jack grabbed Replacement around the waist just as she lunged at the portly girl. Missy fell backward and rolled, squealing, into the kitchen. While Replacement hurled a string of extremely salty obscenities, Missy moaned and struggled to sit up.
“Get out! Tell Michelle she’s a backbiting thief!”
“Thank you! We’ll be going now.”
Jack lifted Replacement and carried her down half the stairs, till she stopped struggling, but he didn’t let go. When they got to the car, he yanked her door open.
“In.”
He pulled out of th
e parking spot with an angry screech of tires. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Aw, c’mon, didn’t ya hear what she said about Michelle?”
“Still, you can’t just take potshots at people who tick you off. What would Aunt Haddie say?”
Her voice was strangely small now. “Michelle didn’t go anywhere. That means someone stole her stuff. Probably Miss Piggy.” She looked devastated.
“Look, all I ask—and I’m begging, okay—this could be serious, so we’ve gotta be serious. I can’t help if I have to get you out of trouble all the time.” He waited, until she nodded acknowledgment. “And if you get me in trouble, we’re all screwed. Understand? I don’t know how Aunt Haddie would put it.”
She mumbled, “Jeopardized?”
“Yeah, well, that takes too long to say, but screwed is my word for it.”
She propped her head on her hand and leaned against the frosty window. They rode in silence.
What did she think would happen? Once I started looking, Michelle would suddenly appear? I show up and everything is fixed because I’m a superhero?
This is reality, and reality sucks.
6
You Will Know Pain
White Rocks was a closed campus, and everyone entering had to go through the gate. Jack stopped at the manned security booth.
“Morning. Where you headed?” asked the young security guard.
Jack flipped open his wallet and flashed his badge. “Campus police station.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard buzzed the gate open and waved them through.
Jack had responded to the White Rocks campus police station quite a few times. Usually it was noise complaints and drunks. Sometimes he got overtime doing traffic duty for events. They called it campus police, but it was only a couple of rungs up the ladder from high school hall monitor. The “force” consisted of less than ten guys and two gals, who were either just out of high school or already retired.
A nice, quiet group—perfect for White Rocks Eastern University, an old, private institution with fewer than five thousand undergraduates and graduate students. Although small, it was the source of a very large portion of the county’s tax base—a fact Sheriff Collins never let anyone forget.
Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Page 4