by Skye Knizley
The girls looked puzzled, but took the money Smoak offered, and scurried away down the stairs. Smoak waited until they were gone before she followed, her mind racing.
Blaze had indicated it was normal for Rayne to come home late at night, but Bryce said she was only working a few hours a day. So where was she the rest of the time?
Smoak walked down the stairs and out through the front door, grateful she had her glasses on against the predawn sun.
There were only a handful of clubs frequented by the Bratva, but they would be closed at this hour. She’d have to wait until the afternoon to check them out. In the meantime, she would head back to the apartment and see if Ashley had dug up anything. With any luck, she’d have another lead.
Smoak looked across the lot at the glow of the rising sun and frowned. Rayne was running out of time, and so far, all she had was a cigarette and a handful of gold. Not much to find a missing woman in all of Miami, especially if someone didn’t want her found.
Ashley left The Colony a few minutes behind Smoak and was just in time to see the taillight of her friend’s bike vanish around the next corner. She watched for a second, then crossed the street and climbed into the back seat of a waiting Chevrolet Tahoe. A large man with white hair and a full beard sat behind the wheel. He was wearing a suit cut to hide his muscles and the micro-Uzi he kept in a sling under his left arm.
“Take me home, Rock,” Ashley said, closing the door.
The driver nodded and put the truck in gear. A moment later, they were cruising back toward South Beach. Ashley watched the city go by outside the window and let her mind wander. She found it to be a good way of replaying an interview with a client. They didn’t have much to go on. A missing exotic dancer wasn’t exactly strange. It happened all the time. Most went back to whatever small town they were from. A handful vanished, never to be heard from again. In this case, she felt it would be the latter if they didn’t find her soon.
Ashley had heard of a few in the trade leaving siblings behind, but it was a rare occurrence. From what she’d seen, Blaze was very concerned about her sister. Odds were that Rayne felt the same way about Blaze and wouldn’t have left her behind without saying something.
So where to start? Smoak had the ground covered, but Ashley didn’t think she would find much. There had been no clues in the other kidnappings over the last few weeks. What if they couldn’t find this girl?
Ashley pushed the thought from her mind and leaned back in her seat. She’d bet herself and Smoak against the bad guys any day.
The Tahoe pulled into the parking circle of their apartment building and stopped. Rock climbed out to hold the door open, and Ashley joined him outside.
“Thank you, Rock,” she said. “Put it on my account, please.”
Rock closed the door behind her.
“Will you need my services again tonight, Miss Ashley?” he asked in a New York accent.
She shook her head. “Not tonight, hon. I’ll call in the morning if I need a ride anywhere.”
“Of course. Do you need an escort to the door? I’d be happy to walk you up.”
Ashley smiled and kissed the older man’s cheek. “I think I can manage. I’ll call you tomorrow. Or today, I guess. Goodnight, Rock.”
“Goodnight, Miss,” Rock replied. “Sleep well.”
Ashley stepped onto the sidewalk and moved toward the entrance, her thoughts on the case. The doorman opened the doors for her, and she saw the Tahoe’s reflection in the glass as Rock drove away. He and his brother were one of the best gifts Smoak had ever given her. Twenty-four-seven chauffer and bodyguard service anywhere in the city with longer trips available with just a few days’ notice. It made her as free as when they’d been kids riding their bikes anywhere and everywhere they wanted to go.
She smiled a thank you at the doorman and moved through the well-appointed lobby to the elevator. A few minutes later, she sat on the white leather sofa in their apartment, her heels on the floor, and her legs tucked under her as she ran a variety of search programs on her tablet. It wasn’t difficult to start a file on the Nightingales. They were a year apart in age, their parents and little brother had died in a car crash when the girls were seven. With no relatives that could take them, they grew up in foster care and both had graduated from the Christian Academy only a few minutes from where Smoak and Ashley had attended High School themselves.
After graduation, the girls had moved to Miami to attend college, Rayne studying finance and literature, Blaze studying music. Both were on the Dean’s List the last three years running and would graduate with honors in nine months.
That information was readily available in public databases. What she found next took a little digging.
Rayne had been arrested three times in her teens, once for shoplifting and twice for drug possession with intent to sell. All three times, a Detective Murphy had been the arresting officer and, each time, the girl had walked away with a slap on the wrist. She’d spent less time in jail than Smoak had. After Rayne’s third arrest, Murphy had been fired, somehow turning up in Miami a few years later.
Ashley added everything into the Shadowlands database for easy access, rolling it around in her head while she worked. It was obvious Blaze hadn’t recognized Murphy’s name. She hadn’t known Rayne had been arrested, or at least who the arresting officer was. Most of their foster records were not available through the network. Ashley would bet dollars to donuts the girls had been separated, and Rayne had gotten into trouble while they were apart. It was a sad but common occurrence in the foster system. Not everyone wanted or could raise more than one child.
Murphy… Ashley thought. A leopard doesn’t change its spots. You tried to pin manslaughter on Smoak, what did you try to do to Rayne?
She chewed on her lip, spent the next three minutes hacking into the Miami-Dade computer system and brought up the duty roster. Murphy was on night duty and his shift wouldn’t end until seven in the morning.
Guess I’m calling Rock after all.
Murphy worked the graveyard shift at the Sixty-Second Street police department. The large white rectangular building took up two city blocks with another two reserved for police parking. Behind the station was a row of housing occupied by Police employees and people under police protection. It didn’t make sense to Ashley to put a safe house in the Police Department backyard when they could just put them in a holding cell, but that was Miami bureaucracy. It made sense to someone and that was that.
At four in the morning, the station was lit up like Christmas Eve with bright white safety lights placed around the building and throughout the small courtyard in front. There were twice as many lights in the back surrounding the police parking lot. The city valued its vehicles, most of which were dented, tired, high mileage Fords.
Ashley had Rock park the Tahoe in the front circle while she went into the station. The lobby was large, with several leather chairs she guessed were less comfortable than they looked, half a dozen interview rooms, their heavy doors closed to protect against noise and eavesdropping and a single door next to a customer service window made of bullet proof Plexiglas. The officer on duty, a young man with close-cropped blonde hair and bloodshot, droopy eyes, sat behind the window, sipping from a Styrofoam cup. He perked up when Ashley walked in and started shuffling papers on his desk, twice almost knocking his cup over.
Ashley stopped at the window and favored the officer with a dazzling smile.
“Good morning, is Detective Murphy available?”
The officer smiled back and glanced at something next to the phone. “He might be in, can I say who’s calling?”
“Ashley Higgins from General Chandler’s office,” Ashley replied, holding up her military identification. “I was hoping I could talk to him about a missing persons case he was working on.”
“Hold on, I’ll call and see if he’s available,” the officer said.
He leaned away from the window and picked up the phone. Ashley watched him dial, memorizi
ng the number as he punched the worn keys. Murphy must have answered because the officer began speaking. The glass was thick enough most people wouldn’t know what he was saying. It did little for those who read lips.
“Detective Murphy? This is Officer Ryan at the front desk. I have a Provost Martial here who wants to talk to you about a case.”
There was a pause, during which Murphy spoke. The officer smiled at Ashley and replied to Murphy’s question.
“Her name is Higgins. Ashley Higgins, and man, is she a looker.”
There was another pause, during which the young officer pulled the phone away from his ear. He put it down and looked up at Ashley.
“Ms. Higgins, what case are you here about?”
“Rayne Nightingale,” she replied. “She went missing two nights ago, and her sister reported it.”
Ashley waited while the officer relayed the information and hung up.
“Detective Murphy will be with you in a few minutes,” he said. “He asked if you would wait in interview room four.”
“No, but I will wait over there on one of those chairs,” Ashley said. “Thank you for your help, Officer Ryan.”
She turned and took a seat on one of the chairs, her eyes on the door leading into the station. Murphy exited a few minutes later. He hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d seen him. He still looked like a Don Johnson stunt double, but at least he’d traded in his linen suit for a cream sport coat and pants.
Ashley stood and smiled at the detective, who frowned and crossed the lobby in long strides.
“Good morning, Ms. Higgins. I told the officer on duty to have you wait in the interview room.”
“He did,” Ashley replied. “I declined, it’s more comfortable out here, and I don’t think anyone will bother us. It’s good to see you, Detective.”
“And you, Ms. Higgins.” Murphy’s face made the statement a lie.
Ashley knew her father had made the detective’s life hell after what he’d done to Smoak.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m interested in a case you were working,” Ashley replied. “Rayne Nightingale, a missing person.”
“That name doesn’t ring a bell,” Murphy said, turning away. “Good night, Ms. Higgins…”
Ashley reached out and stopped the detective. He looked back, anger flashing in his eyes.
“I’m sure you do, Detective You spoke to her sister Blaze yesterday morning at the end of your shift. Rayne Nightingale isn’t a name you could forget. Would you care to sit down and tell me what you know, or do you want to keep fucking around?”
“Fine, she’s a missing stripper, gone two days,” Murphy said. “Her background check showed a history of drug pushing and addiction. The department won’t waste resources on a case where the supposed victim is probably sleeping off a heroin fix in a dumpster somewhere.”
“Her background also shows a straight A student on the Dean’s List trying to make a better life for herself, Detective. I guess you didn’t bother reading that far. Did you consider cross-referencing her with the other missing girls? Maybe she has something in common with them?”
Murphy frowned. “No. I didn’t know she was a student, and I doubt she had anything to do with the other missing girls, but I’ll look into it.”
Ashley glared daggers at the detective. “You stopped at pulling up her priors, didn’t you? You really are a piece of shit, Murphy. How did you even get another job after you let Smoak’s attackers get away?”
“That’s enough, Ms. Higgins,” Murphy said, pulling his arm free.
“Not even close, Detective.”
“Keep talking if you want me to arrest you for assault, Ms. Higgins,” Murphy snarled.
“I’ll be out in an hour, and you’ll be looking at yet another lawsuit. Go ahead.”
Murphy’s face darkened, and he clenched his fists at his sides.
“Get out of this station.”
“Not yet,” Ashley said. She pushed past the seething detective and knocked on the customer service window. “Hi, Officer Ryan. Under my jurisdiction as a special Marine Corps officer, I would like to request a copy of the missing persons report for Rayne Nightingale, please.”
“I’m not sure I can—” the officer started.
“You can,” Ashley interrupted. “If you aren’t sure, please contact your lieutenant or General John Chandler, USMC. I believe they will give you the proper authorization.” She pulled a card from her pocket and slipped it under the glass. “You can fax it to me at this number.”
The officer took the card and set it aside. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll get it to you before my shift ends.”
Ashley smiled at the officer and turned away to find Murphy standing behind her, his face red with fury.
“I’m sorry, Detective,” she said. “Did you say something? You must have forgotten I’m deaf. Lucky for you. By the look on your face, it would be me filing assault charges.”
Murphy opened his mouth to reply, but Ashley pushed past him again, exiting into the night without a backwards glance. She crossed the courtyard to where Rock was waiting with the Tahoe. He waved when she approached and opened the door for her. She relaxed into the back seat and waited for Rock to get behind the wheel before she spoke.
“Murphy is still as much of an ass as he was when I was in High School. Take us around the block.”
Rock turned in his seat. “We’re not going back home?”
Ashley grinned at the older man and leaned forward. “What fun would that be? I want to see what Murphy does now I’ve stirred him up a little. Let’s find a Wi-Fi signal, so I can get some work done while we wait.”
Rock frowned, but didn’t say anything. A few minutes later, they were sitting a few blocks away in front of a small white house that had a clear view of the police department parking lot. It only took a moment for Ashley to piggyback on the homeowner’s Wi-Fi signal and start doing a background check on Murphy.
Detective Francis “Frank” Murphy was born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida. He’d been a second string quarterback on his school football team with hopes of playing for the University of Florida, hopes that had been dashed when he didn’t make the cut. He’d graduated with mediocre grades and immediately gone into the police academy after graduation. He’d been hired out of the academy by the Ormond Beach police, and spent three years on the street before being promoted to Detective. Smoak had been his first case after being promoted. After the way he’d fumbled it, he’d ended up suspended for three months. He went back on duty and kept his head down until he was fired for letting Rayne Nightingale walk on narcotics charges for the second time. Miami had hired him at the base detective salary less than two months after he was fired from Ormond.
Why would anyone hire you? Ashley wondered. Whose fault did you make your troubles out to be?
Ashley pursed her lips and stared at the screen. The pieces just didn’t fit. Murphy was a lousy cop. Almost all of his solved cases were the result of teamwork, not ability on his part. Most officers with as poor a record as his would have been working the front desk until retirement, but there he was, working missing persons cases in one of the cities with the most kidnappings in America. A lot of those cases would end up being handled by the Feds, but someone had to do the grunt work, and that someone shouldn’t be Frank Murphy.
With a few deft key strokes, she moved from Murphy’s personnel files to his private accounts. On the surface, he didn’t look out of the ordinary. He lived alone in a modest North Beach apartment, drove an Audi and deposited a small amount of poker winnings every Thursday morning. It was the offshore account he had linked to his checking account that was suspicious as hell. Murphy had been making monthly deposits ranging from five to ten thousand dollars since he’d started at the Miami department.
“Somebody got you the job and is paying you to do what you do. Be a lousy cop,” Ashley muttered. “I’d like to know who.”
She put the laptop aside and open
ed her purse. She removed a notepad and her wallet, scribbled a short note on the pad and tore it off before pulling five crisp twenty-dollar bills from her wallet. She placed them in a small envelope with the note and handed it to Rock.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s a tip and a note suggesting they put a better password on their router. Do me a fave and slip it under the doormat, would you?” Ashley replied.
Rock smiled and did as Ashley requested. When he came back, he leaned over the seat. “What next, Miss?”
Ashley started to answer when a pair of headlights caught her attention. Murphy’s black Audi A4 sedan was pulling out of the police lot.
“Follow that car,” she said, pointing. She’d always wanted to say that.
Rock turned and let the Audi get a short distance ahead before he entered traffic and followed, always at least a block behind the Audi driving at a sedate pace. Ashley sat behind Rock, swallowing her curiosity to ensure Murphy didn’t catch her in his rearview mirror.
Murphy had left the department heading west, however, three blocks from the station, he turned north, circled the block and headed east on 934. He merged onto I-95 south and accelerated well above the speed limit.
Rock sped up as well, staying one lane to the right of Murphy and keeping him in sight while not appearing to be speeding. Behind him, Ashley smiled. Smoak had chosen him for his heart, his skills were a bonus Ashley was often grateful for. He was as much a part of Shadowlands as anyone.
Ten minutes later, Murphy again changed direction, this time merging onto 395 toward the MacArthur Causeway. Rock followed at a reasonable distance, slowing to cross through early morning traffic and then accelerating to keep the speeding Audi in view.
They continued playing follow the leader for several long minutes, heading toward Miami-Dade harbor in a round-about way. Murphy was trying to make sure he didn’t have a tail, but his driving indicated he was reacting on autopilot. Ashley was certain he hadn’t spotted them, otherwise, he wouldn’t have continued toward what was an obvious destination—the docks.