by Karen Rose
Tuesday, February 23, 2:30 p.m.
Liza sneaked out the ditching exit, the first time she’d ever ditched class. It wasn’t like it was real class, just a stupid assembly with a stupid jock. It was making her crazy, sitting in a stupid assembly when she could be looking for Lindsay. So she left.
“Hey, girl, you gotta light?”
She jerked around, startled. A kid was standing by the door, hunched over, hands in his pockets. “No. I’m sorry.” Unsteadily, she kept going. Too little sleep and no food had her light-headed. She had only a few dollars left and she needed them for bus fare.
The city bus stop was up a block, so she put her head down against the wind and started walking. The next thing she knew she was on her butt, her bookbag spilled, and her papers blowing away.
“I’m so sorry. Let me help you.” It was a really tall boy. No, older. College maybe. He gathered her papers and brought them to her. “Some of them got a little dirty.”
“It’s okay. Thank you.” She shoved the papers back in her bag and stood, stumbling at the next little dizzy spell. Note to self. Need to eat.
“Are you okay?”
She looked up. Way up. Liza was five-ten, so this guy had to be six-six. “I’m fine.”
He frowned, studying her face. “You don’t look fine. You look pale.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Then she huffed, frustrated as the city bus pulled away. “Except now I’ve missed my bus. The next one isn’t for twenty minutes.” Wasted time. Dammit.
She started walking fast and he walked beside her, ambling easily. “Did you come out of the smoker’s door?” he asked.
She glared up at him. “Are you gonna turn me in?”
“No. But, well, why are you ditching? You don’t look like the type.”
“And what type is that?” she asked between her teeth, thinking of the way that officer had dismissed Lindsay as a missing person because she was a… prostitute.
“The type to take AP English. Your paper on Heart of Darkness,” he added. “Most advanced students I knew would never ditch class. Plus, your eyes are red. You’ve been crying.”
“Allergies,” she snapped.
“In February?” He shook his head. “Try again.”
“I have someplace to go.” She glared up at him again. “Do you mind?”
“Where are you going?”
Liza rolled her eyes. “None of your business.”
“Well, I feel bad that you missed your bus. Can I give you a lift?”
She stared up at him, appalled. “No. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to call the cops. In fact, I’m going to the police station now and I’ll just report you.”
“Are you going to the police station because of your sister?”
Liza stopped short. “How did you know that?”
“Just guessed. One of the papers I grabbed was a police report. Barkley, Lindsay. The name on your English paper was Liza Barkley and you look like the mug shot.”
Liza shook her head. “What are you? Some kind of CSI wannabe creep?”
He smiled. “No, but you look like you need help and I feel bad that I’ve kept you from where you’re going. You can take a cab to the police station from here.”
“Yeah, right.” She started walking again, muttering under her breath, “Can’t even afford lunch and this idiot wants me to get a cab.”
“No, I’ll pay for it.” He was walking beside her again, holding out a twenty. “Get yourself something to eat while you’re at it. You don’t look so good.”
Liza stopped again and stared at the money in his hand. “You scare me.”
“Tell you what,” he said when she didn’t move. “There’s a sandwich place across from that bus stop. I’ll buy you some food and you can wait for the bus where it’s warm.”
She hesitated. “I don’t want your charity.”
“But you’re hungry. Come on.” He took the bag from her hand and started walking.
“Hey.” She stumbled trying to catch up. “That’s my bookbag.”
“Liza, trust me as far as that sandwich shop, okay?”
“Like I have a choice?” she asked, and hurried behind him.
True to his word, he went into the sandwich shop and put her bag on the table. “Sit. I’ll be back.” She obeyed, and a few minutes later he brought two sandwiches and fries. “Eat,” he said. Again, she obeyed, ravenous. “Slowly. How long since your last meal?”
“An egg this morning. Before that, lunch yesterday.” She said nothing more until she’d eaten her sandwich, fries, and his fries, too.
He was impressed. “Girls usually pick at food like it’s a disease. I’m Tom Hunter.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Tom. Thank you for the food. I was hungry.”
“Why did you ditch class?”
Now that she was no longer hungry, she could think. “It was just an assembly. They took us out of class to tell us to stay in school. How stupid is that? And jocks… like they know anything about school.” He was smiling at her. “What?” she demanded.
“I’m one of the jocks from the assembly. I graduated with a 4.0,” he added helpfully.
Liza’s face burned. “God. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Mostly you’re right. But that’s why I come to the schools. If the kids will listen to me, even one, it’s worth it. Why are you going to the police station?”
She studied him. He was handsome, blond with clear blue eyes. A basketball player, she remembered from the assembly announcement. A big-time college player. Some of the boys in class were drooling at the thought of seeing him. “Why do you care?”
He shrugged. “My mom’s something of a social worker. It’s ingrained. Look, I have a baby sister. Her name is Grace. If she were in trouble, I’d hope someone would help her. I won’t hurt you. If nothing else, I’m a damn good listener. So why were you crying, Liza?”
She let out a breath. “My sister’s missing.” And she told him the whole story, everything except living alone. “Yesterday I got that police report and last night I asked every hooker I could find and nobody knew her. I started thinking today that maybe somebody was arrested with her, in a raid, or maybe somebody bailed her out.”
“So you want to know if the police can tell you that?”
“I have to try. Nobody’s going to look for a missing hooker. Nobody but me.”
He frowned. “You went looking for your sister? Where did you find hookers?”
“Internet. I googled and found where they hang.”
He looked pained. “O-kay. I know a few cops. Let’s take a cab to the station, see what we can find out.”
“The city bus goes to the station. Give me the cop’s name and I’ll ask him.”
“You missed the bus again. But you were eating, so I didn’t want you to stop.”
She sighed. “You’re not going away, are you?”
“Not just yet. Come on, let’s go.”
Chapter Eleven
Tuesday, February 23, 4:45 p.m.
Noah stopped in front of the fifth and last waffle house on Jack’s list. It was a diner off the interstate, next to a gas station. He hoped this had been Christy’s last meal.
They’d missed Donner and Lyons. Neither had been at their desks, nor at home. They’d go back later, now turning their attention to Christy’s last movements. Four waffle houses had been busts and his partner had been silently surly.
Noah’s patience was fraying around the edges. “Let’s just get this done.”
But Jack didn’t move. He sat, staring at the waffle house. “I’m sorry, Web.”
The quiet words were the first his partner had uttered in hours. “About?”
“I was out of line. I knew Eve wasn’t trying to save her own skin.”
“That apology should go to Eve. I don’t understand why you said it in the first place.”
“It’s not that complicated. I told you I’d been trying to get her attention for months.”
“L
et me get this straight. You are jealous of me? You told me to ask her out.”
“Thinking she’d say no. I never expected her to fall all over you in less than a day.”
“That was just an act.” No, it wasn’t. Not for me. And when Eve was able, she’d say it hadn’t been for her either.
Jack opened his car door. “Not from where I was sitting. Let’s go.”
Noah followed him into the waffle house, forcing his mind to think about killing, not kissing. Jack had Christy’s driver’s license photo in his hand, showed it to the hostess.
“We’re with the police, ma’am,” Jack said. “Have you seen this woman?”
“No, but I’ve seen you.” She pointed to the magazine rack. “You’re Phelps.”
Jack winced. “Can we talk to the manager or some of the other servers?”
“Have a seat, Detectives. Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, ma’am,” Noah said. “We’ll wait.”
The manager hurried out. “I’m Richard Smith. Please come back to my office.”
“We’re looking for anyone who saw this woman early Monday,” Jack said.
“This shift wouldn’t have been here during the night. You should come back tonight.”
It was what they’d heard four times before. “Thank you, we’ll do that,” Noah said.
“Or,” Smith continued thoughtfully, “we have security video of the cash register.”
They’d also heard that four times before, but three of the cameras were pointed toward the cashier, management more concerned about employee theft than robberies. The fourth video quality was so bad they couldn’t see anything.
“That would be a big help,” Jack said. “Thank you.”
Smith went to his computer and began typing. “Sunday between midnight and four?”
Noah and Jack exchanged impressed glances. “You have it digitized?” Noah asked.
“We just invested in a new system about a year ago. There was a robbery next door. A kid was shot pretty bad. They had an old system and you couldn’t see the shooter’s face. We’re open all night, too. All of our people were at risk. So me and the manager next door went in together, got a better system and made sure everybody knew it. So far so good. Nobody’s hit us again.”
After a few minutes of stopping and starting, Smith looked up. “This might be her.”
“It’s Christy,” Noah said, when he looked at the screen. “Time was 3:24.”
“Here’s the crew that was on that night, with their phone numbers, in case you can’t wait until tonight to interview them. You’ll want the original digital video file, I assume.”
“Thank you,” Noah said, with relief. “Not many shops put this much into security.”
Jack’s eyes lit. “You have cameras in the parking lot. Here and the gas station?”
“Yes, sir,” Smith said proudly. “We sure do. You want video of the same time?”
“Plus two hours on either end, please,” Jack said, then turned to Noah. “If somebody followed her home, we’ll be able to find them.”
Tuesday, February 23, 5:00 p.m.
“Tom.” Olivia stood with a big smile for the young man crossing the bullpen. He was the son of one of her sister Mia’s best friends, accompanied by a girl with a sober, terrified look, and Olivia was instantly curious. “You played a great game on Sunday.”
“Thanks. We need your help. This is Liza Barkley. Liza, Detective Sutherland.”
“Pull up some chairs,” Olivia said and listened as Liza told her story, haltingly. Heartbreakingly. “It must have been hard to learn your sister was in the life.”
“I am so scared,” Liza whispered. “What if one of her… customers hurt her?”
Olivia weighed her words. “Liza, you seem too smart for me to try to sugarcoat this. Prostitutes have a high mortality rate. If she’s been missing for two days and she hasn’t called when she always did before, it’s not good. After two days, her trail may be cold.”
Liza had gone paler, if possible, but her chin went up. “Do you have a sister?”
“Yes, and I wouldn’t take no for an answer either if my sister was in trouble. Let me check for you. I’ll find out if she was arrested in a group and who posted her bail, but I want something in return. Your promise you will not go hunting at night.” Liza nodded dutifully. “You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” Olivia asked.
Liza nodded and Olivia sighed.
“Olivia?” Tom asked and she knew what was coming.
“No. I’m not going with you.”
“Why not?” Tom asked. “Come on,” he wheedled, then shrugged. “Mia would.”
Olivia shook her head. “That is a low blow.”
“But effective,” he said.
“If I can, I’ll go with you. Once. But I want your promise, Liza.”
Liza nodded. “I promise.”
Tuesday, February 23, 5:30 p.m.
Tom took Liza’s bag and hailed another cab. “I’m taking you home.”
“What if I don’t want you to know where I live?”
“Too late. Your address was on the police report. I won’t leave the cab. I promise.”
Liza believed him. She was too tired not to. “I keep saying thank you.”
“Then don’t, just get in.” He followed her into the cab, gave the driver her address.
“You’ve helped me, when you didn’t need to.”
“When I was little, my father knocked my mother around. People helped us when they didn’t need to. I learned a long time ago to pay it forward. So stop thanking me.”
“Okay.” She fixed her gaze out the window and made herself accept the truth. “I think Lindsay’s dead. But I can’t give up looking for her.”
“I understand. What time did you start hunting last night?”
“Eleven.”
“My uncle’s in town and I’m meeting him for dinner. I can’t cancel because he’ll get suspicious and I don’t think he’d like me hunting hookers with you tonight.” He said it under his breath so the driver wouldn’t hear. “It’ll be eleven or twelve before I’m back in the dorm. Do not leave without me. I will come and get you in my car. Promise me.”
“What about your cop friend? Will Olivia tell?”
“Tell my uncle? No. I think they’ve only met each other once at a wedding, so, no.” He put another twenty in her bookbag. “Get some food. Promise me.”
“Tom.” Overwhelmed, she had to say it once more. “Thank you.”
Tuesday, February 23, 5:50 p.m.
Jack dropped a photo on Abbott’s desk. “We think we found him.”
Abbott picked up the photo of a clean-cut forty-four-year-old man. “Who is he?”
“His name is Axel Girard,” Noah said. “He’s an optometrist in Edina. His car followed Christy Lewis’s out of the waffle house lot on Monday.”
“Does he have a record?” Abbott asked.
“No,” Noah said. “Only one speeding ticket years ago. He’s a churchgoing man and was volunteer of the year for doing free eye exams in inner-city neighborhoods.”
Abbott sighed. “And our killer glues their eyes open.”
“Exactly,” Jack said and put down a series of time-stamped photos. “Security video shows him waiting in his car for over an hour. When Christy came out, she went to the gas station next door. He moved his car so that he was closer to the shared exit. Christy filled up her tank. She leaves, and a minute later, so does Girard.”
“You can’t see his face in any of these pics,” Abbott said.
Jack showed him a close-up of Girard’s Minnesota plate. “But we got his plate.”
“Then pick him up. I’ll get Ramsey from the DA’s office to observe. Good work, both of you.” Abbott sat back in his chair and studied Noah’s concerned face. “Isn’t it?”
Jack scowled. “Web thinks it was too easy.”
Noah shrugged. “For such a supposedly smart man, that was a really dumb move.”
“Pick h
im up,” Abbott said again. “Then we’ll see how smart he is. Noah, wait. We requested the files from Eve’s study a few hours ago. Tell her I’m sorry.”
Noah nodded. Her life was now officially changed once more. “Okay.”
Tuesday, February 23, 6:20 p.m.
“What’s the verdict?” Eve asked when David came in, blowing on his cold fingers.
“You’ve got holes in your roof,” he said dryly. “I patched the one over your bed and I’ll do the other tomorrow.” He perched on the arm of her stuffed chair. “Who is that?”
“Gary,” Eve said with a nod toward the avatar on her screen. Gary sat on a bar stool at Ninth Circle looking very out of place and very geeky.
“He’s not your usual style.”
He was totally vanilla, exactly as Eve had wanted. “He’s from the template.”
“Why?” David drew the syllable out, suspiciously.
“Because I saw that handsome avatar that was talking to Christy in Ninth Circle the night she was killed. He was back in Ninth Circle dancing with an avatar I don’t know.”
“And then you called Detective Webster, just like you promised.”
“I did, but got his voicemail.” She’d wanted to rush up to the woman dancing with the avatar and warn her. The woman was new, one of Eve’s own designs. But she didn’t warn her, and it was eating at her. Instead, she waited while Gary kept an eye out.
“So what’s up with Gary?”
“I don’t want Noah to get in trouble, but I wanted to visit Claudio. Claudio designed the male dancer, so I couldn’t go using one of my designs. He’d have spotted me right away and thought I was spying on his new spring line. Claudio is very paranoid.”
“Claudio is very pricey,” David said.
“Spendy. That’s what they say here. Tell me you didn’t buy from Claudio.”
“Nah, just went for ideas. I spend my Shadowbucks on cars. Really fast cars.”
She smiled at him, delighted. “You’re a racer?”
“Occasionally. I had to upgrade my computer system. The Monte Carlo expansion pack uses more RAM than my computer came with.”