Two Girls Down

by Louisa Luna

  Junior stopped moving, and Traynor stepped back toward the wall, crossed his arms. Vega watched him, noticed how he got relaxed as soon as Junior appeared to be getting nervous. She could see the cop in him then, could imagine him in an interrogation room firing questions out one after another before the suspect had a chance to think up a lie.

  “It’s clear to me you and Miss Vega have met before, correct?”

  “Yes, Chief,” said Junior.

  “When was that?”

  “Monday, Chief.”

  “Did you discuss this case?”

  “Yes, sir. She wanted to pool resources.”

  “And what was your response to that proposal?”

  Junior’s face contorted for a second. Sniffing bad milk.

  “I told her we don’t work with civilians, Chief.”

  “You said no thanks,” said Traynor.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You turned down help from an experienced private investigator hired by the family.”

  Junior rolled his shoulders back.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Policy, sir. We don’t work with civilians, never have.”

  “And you didn’t think this case might warrant a different approach, when we’re maxed out on manpower and officers are working triple shifts?”

  Junior didn’t answer. Vega wove the pen through her fingers and stared at him, thinking he looked like a mouse that had just hit the glue.

  “I take your silence to mean, No Chief, I did not think that because I thought I could handle this myself, and I’m too self-satisfied to admit I need help. Here is a fact, Captain: your pride was a useless thing to me before, but now that it has gotten in the way of this investigation it is a fucking abomination. After we find these girls we’re going to sit down and brainstorm about some methods you could utilize to improve your performance. Until then we, and by we I mean you, don’t sleep, take your meals and piss in a cup either in your car on the way to interview witnesses or at your desk with the paperwork so we don’t waste any more time. Got it?”

  Junior slumped in his chair and cocked his head to the side, cracking his neck with no sound.

  “Yessir.”

  Traynor put both hands behind his head, ran them down to his shoulders.

  “Now,” he said. “You and Detective Ralz can have the honor of telling Marsh’s mother her only remaining son is dead, and I want you there for however long it takes to get the name of every known associate she can spit out through her grief. Meantime, you can hope Miss Vega and Cap won’t be pressing assault charges.” He waved the two of them off with a stroke in the air, sharp as a salute. “Go.”

  Junior and Ralz stood and walked out. Junior nodded at Cap and Vega as he left. Vega didn’t do a thing, didn’t even stare, just let her eyes rest on him like he was scenery.

  “Okay, Miss Vega,” Traynor said when they’d left. “You have my attention and cooperation. What do you want to do next?”

  —

  Cap and Vega stood in the freezer section of the Giant waiting for the manager. They’d talked with Traynor and Cartwright for thirty minutes about next steps, about their preferences and what they’d done so far, agreed to frequent communication. Cap felt high on it, the energy and the planning, and yes, the vindication and approval from the chief, which came only in the form of Traynor looking Cap in the eyes and asking what he thought of this or that. He remembered the feeling from a long time ago, and it made him feel younger. Awake.

  The supermarket manager came through two gray swinging doors. He was a kid in short sleeves and a tie, beady eyes and a cluster of pimples on his forehead.

  “Hi, Mr. Caplan,” he said, shaking his hand. “Drew Bennett.”

  “Mr. Bennett,” said Cap. “This is Alice Vega.”

  “Hi, ma’am,” said Bennett, holding his hand up in a motionless wave.

  Would have tipped his hat if he had one, thought Cap, but no handshake for a girl. “Come back to my office, please.”

  They followed him through the double doors, through the back room filled with boxes, the rear of which opened up into a loading dock, and past that, the parking lot. Bennett led them to a small cluttered room on the side with a yellow-tinted window that looked out onto the boxes. He closed the door and stood in front of the desk.

  “So is this about Evan Marsh?” he said to Cap.

  “What makes you say that?” Cap answered.

  “Ran out an hour before his shift ended and didn’t say anything about it. Not returning my calls either.”

  “He do that before?”

  “He’s been calling in sick more and more, leaving early, but he always lets me know. Except today. He in some kind of trouble?” Bennett said, crossing his arms. Cap thought he must have seen a lot of actors on TV say that.

  “Yeah, he’s dead,” said Vega.

  Now Bennett acknowledged Vega. He stared right at her, leaned on the desk.

  “No way,” he said.

  “Yes, actually,” she said. “He’s dead.”

  “How? Was it an overdose?”

  “Cause is yet to be determined. Would you not be surprised if it was an overdose?” Vega asked.

  Bennett stared at the space between them, eyes glassy, and now Vega stepped directly in front of him so he couldn’t look away from her if he tried. She stacked the questions quick, one right after another, so he didn’t have time to be stunned.

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Were you aware of him using drugs?” she said.

  “Yeah, I mean, not directly.”

  “What does that mean—‘not directly’?”

  “I didn’t see him use drugs but just figured he was.”

  “Why is that?”

  Bennett blew air between his lips.

  “He lost some weight, started acting spacey, like groggy, you know?”

  “How long would you say that behavior had been going on?”

  “I don’t know, really….”

  “Three months, six months?”

  “More like six.”

  “Can you remember anything specifically about when the behavior started? Anything he told you or did that might have tipped you off that something was going on in his personal life?”

  Bennett thought about it, and his gaze snapped back to Vega.

  “I had to fire this guy, maybe eight months ago. He was a first-class loser, and Marsh was buddy-buddy with him.”

  Then Bennett paused and regarded them both, unsure now.

  “You said you were detectives?” he said, suddenly paranoid.

  “Private investigators,” said Vega. “Not police, but we’re working with them and the Brandt family.”

  “Can I see some ID?” he said, his voice lower, trying to act tough.

  Fucking TV, thought Cap.

  Vega pulled her wallet from her jacket pocket and pressed it against his chest.

  “Here,” she said. “What’s his name?”

  “Who?” said Bennett, genuinely disoriented.

  Just then Cap pictured a kid passing the ball down the line to Nell in a soccer game, how it sailed right to her cleat like she had a magnet on it. His turn.

  “The first-class loser?” said Cap.

  “Charlie. Charlie Bright.”

  Vega took a step back from Bennett, made room for Cap.

  “Did you have a good reason to fire him?”

  Bennett laughed. “He was never here. And when he was here he was too stoned to work half the time. Dropping boxes everywhere. One time a carton of Cokes in the glass bottles? In the summer? Ants and bees all over the dock for a month,” he said, exasperated.

  “That’s terrible,” said Cap. “He and Marsh were friends?”

  “Yeah, they might have known each other before. I remember one time, they came in late, two hours late, and I laid into them a little.” Bennett pointed to himself. “I’m a pretty reasonable boss, you understand, but I can’t be missing two lo
aders for two hours—we got all kind of stock backed up. And I was telling them they had to shape up, and they were just laughing. I said, ‘Keep laughing, assholes, next time you’re late you’re gone.’ ”

  “So what happened?”

  “So Bright was late a couple of days, a week later, and I fired him.”

  “But not Marsh?”

  “No, he was on time mostly, but then, like I told you, he started coming in late more and more the last couple months.”

  “Why didn’t you fire him?”

  Bennett sighed.

  “Because he always called, said he had to take care of his mother. I know she’s sick, and I’m the type of guy who’s sensitive to that. I’m not some heartless boss.”

  Cap nodded. He generally didn’t like the type of guys who went out of their way to tell you what type of guys they were.

  “But you didn’t believe it, that he was late because of his mother. You thought he was into drugs.”

  “A little of each, I guess. When he was here, he’d work, but if there was a minute of downtime, he’d literally nod off for that minute. Just sitting on the dock, leaning on a box.” Bennett paused. “I can’t believe he’s really dead. He was a nice kid,” he said, wistful.

  “We’re going to need a list from you, Mr. Bennett,” said Cap. “Every employee who came in contact with Evan Marsh, addresses, phone numbers.”

  “And Charlie Bright,” said Vega.

  Bennett nodded.

  “Of course, Mr. Caplan, Miss Vega,” he said, standing straighter. “Anything I can do to help.”

  He handed Vega her wallet back and looked very sorry about everything.

  “Thanks, Mr. Bennett,” said Vega. “Mr. Caplan and I appreciate it.”

  —

  Here was the message from the Bastard:

  Hey, AV, can’t find residence for Charles Bright in Denville, PA/surrounding areas, just PO Box from old payroll. IRS is wrecking my shit, can’t get in.

  Vega played with a pair of nylon restraint cuffs in her hands, shine from the streetlights passing over her like little camera flashes. Cap had pouches under his eyes; he stretched his lips out, trying not to yawn.

  “My guy doesn’t have anything. He’s looking,” said Vega.

  Cap nodded, stopped at a light.

  “We can call it in to Traynor and Junior. I doubt they can get something your guy can’t. Where did you get those?” he said, examining the restraints in her lap.

  “I got them off Junior’s belt when he grabbed me.”

  “Of course you did,” he said. “Hey, so, how did you know all that stuff about his wife?”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I saw the Facebook page—it’s all about fitness, but all the likes are from guys. I just figured Hollows was insecure enough about it that it must bother him. Just a guess.”

  Cap’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it. He smiled so faintly Vega couldn’t tell if it was from something he was reading right now or something he was remembering that was vaguely pleasant.

  “My daughter,” he said, shaking the phone. “Telling me to eat something.”

  Vega made herself smile politely.

  “Hey, are you hungry?” Cap said.

  “What?”

  “Hungry, you know, food?”

  “Not really.”

  “Yeah, I could’ve seen that coming,” he said. “I’m pretty starving, and my daughter made some dinner. So look, why don’t we go to my place—we’re a few blocks away, have some food. We can look over the files from Traynor and wait for your guy. Go from there?”

  Something about the way he asked made her embarrassed. She couldn’t remember the last time she was embarrassed. Junior high school, maybe. She’d refused to wear a bra. Boys stared at her breasts. She looked out her window.

  “Unless you’re one of these gluten-free, dairy-free people? Or a pescatarian?” he said. “You are from California. Don’t you all eat locally farmed kelp and stuff like that? Mashed yeast?”

  “Mashed yeast?” she said, turning to him, confused. “No, I eat anything. I don’t eat much but I eat anything.” Then she looked out the window again and repeated, quietly, “Anything.”

  “Then we’re good,” he said.

  He smiled a little, like he had a secret, and took the corners quick.

  It felt like a first date. Vega had never been on a first date. She could not remember sleeping with someone she hadn’t been in a fistfight with first.

  This wasn’t a date, she said to herself. This was a pause.

  Cap’s house looked like one of those houses in a miniature Christmas village, lit from the inside with yellow light; Vega almost expected to see artificial snow sprayed on the windows, smoke puffing from the metal flue on the roof.

  Cap pulled into the driveway, and Vega stepped out into the air. It was dark and cold, and she breathed in fast and held it.

  “Come on, you can’t back out now,” said Cap from the front steps, teasing.

  Vega shook her head and followed him inside. The house was warm and full of food smells. Garlic and onions and oil.

  “I’m home,” called Cap. “And I have a special guest star.”

  Vega looked at her hands and felt like a freeloader suddenly, someone Cap just picked up off the street out of charity. Then a girl appeared from the kitchen, tall and athletic looking with a thoughtful expression. Here was Nell, Vega thought, the owner of the sneakers by the door and the copy of Othello. When the girl’s eyes landed on Vega she looked nicely surprised.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Nell, Alice Vega,” said Cap.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Nell, coming forward to shake her hand.

  “Hi,” said Vega.

  It was a firm handshake for a young girl. Self-assured. When she let go, she backed up and examined Cap’s face.

  “Are you swollen?”

  “Yeah,” Cap said, touching his chin. “I got in a tussle.”

  “What kind of tussle? Who hit you?” she said, calm.

  “Brad Ralz.”

  “Brad Ralz hit you? Why would he do that?”

  “There’s a story,” said Cap. “Let’s eat and we’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Well, okay then,” she said. Then, confessional: “I made too much food.”

  “Great,” said Cap. “You ate, didn’t you?”

  “Not yet.”

  Cap shrugged at her, incredulous.

  “It’s after nine,” he said.

  “I had an apple after practice and I’ve been studying.” Then she looked at Vega. “My dad has a tendency to worry. Have you noticed this, Miss Vega?”

  “I have.”

  “He forgets I’m not seven,” she said.

  “There needs to be at least one person in the household who maintains healthy eating and sleeping habits,” said Cap, removing his jacket and dropping it on the couch. “It was specified on the census.”

  Nell sighed and said, “Whatever.” Then she went back to the kitchen.

  “What?” said Cap, holding his hands out. He looked at Vega like, Can you believe this kid?

  She knew right then he was a dorky dad, like one on TV. Here in this cartoonishly inviting house with a smart, witty teenage daughter. And she, Vega, was here with them.

  She smiled, and it was real.

  —

  Nell was impossibly good with people, Cap thought, as he watched her pile whole wheat spaghetti onto Vega’s plate with tongs. It was like she was the perfect mix of him and Jules: She had Jules’s intensity and sincerity that came from the education background; the look on her face said I am listening to everything you’re saying and taking it very seriously. This combined with Cap’s easy smile and ability to make a stranger comfortable and therefore likely to tell him secrets.

  But there was no calculation in Nell’s demeanor; she asked Vega polite questions and passed her bread and butter, refilled her club soda, apologized for the lack of lemons. Vega said more words in ten minutes
than she’d done in two days. And there was something so surprising and soothing about it, listening to them talk, watching Vega actually smile, one tooth overlapping the other like the one in front was trying to hug the one in back.

  Somehow Nell made it all sound natural and noninvasive: What’s the origin of the name Vega? Are you married? Have you always lived in California? Do you have family there? What’s it like living there? And Vega’s answers, similarly, were direct, but she seemed not at all uncomfortable responding between small bites of pasta: It’s Mexican—you can call me Alice; No; Yes; My father and my brother and his family live about ninety minutes away; it’s warm most of the time.

  Vega pulled out her phone and looked for something on it, then handed it to Nell.

  “This is my backyard. That’s my palm tree.”

  Nell’s eyes got huge.

  “Oh my God. Dad, did you see this? She has a palm tree in her backyard.”

  Nell stretched across the table to give Cap the phone. Cap saw the picture, a thick, short palm tree that reminded him of an ear of eaten corn. The sky was a ridiculous Windex blue behind it. No clouds, just power lines. It looked like a set from a science fiction movie.

  “Wow,” said Cap. “You should not look in our backyard.”

  “Yeah, it’s a little overgrown. We don’t do a lot of landscaping,” said Nell.

  “The palm tree was there when I moved in,” said Vega. “I don’t have to water it or anything.”

  Cap smiled and couldn’t look at her for a second, something about how she was trying to not make Nell feel bad, fusing a connection through shitty backyards. It made him feel shy.

  “So,” said Nell, looking at the clock on the coffeemaker. “I have to go up in ten minutes to finish Civ. You want to update me on the case and tell me about your jaw?”

  Cap glanced at Vega, who nodded. Be my guest.

  “I’ll give it to you in five.”

  Cap gave her the highlights, as he’d been doing since she’d been about ten or eleven. Back then he left out the worst details: the ones that involved abuse of children, or anything particularly bloody, but now she could take it. She listened intently and crinkled up her face at certain points, covered her mouth in shock when Cap told her about Evan Marsh.

  “That’s awful—he was shot in the head?”