Jonelle’s head was spinning. If true, that meant Lark was someplace close by. “Do you know who these women are?”
“I’ve seen ’em before, but I don’t know any names.”
Jonelle raised her eyebrows at Piper’s mother.
“Grayson described them but I can’t figure out who they are.”
No one had used the cards she’d left on that floor.
“Did they mention the name of the person with Lark? If it was her, that is,” Jonelle said.
All three shook their heads.
“Could it have been Randy?”
Fred snorted. “If it was they woulda said. Everybody here knows Randy.”
“Did they mention if they’d seen this person before?” She directed the question to Grayson.
“Don’t remember. Anyways, after they said that we went into the basement. We figured we could poke around a little. Save you some time.”
“You never told me that,” Mrs. Enruth said, giving Piper a stern look.
“I was gonna . . . but I kinda forgot,” Piper said sheepishly.
“Did you guys find anything?” Jonelle ignored the frown on Mrs. Enruth’s face.
“We checked the laundry room, but nobody was in there,” Fred said.
“That’s because too many people go in and out of there all the time,” Piper added. “So we figured it had to be a room that locked. I went upstairs and got the storage room key.”
Mrs. Enruth muttered something under her breath.
“There’s dirt and dust everywhere in that place. No way could anybody hide in there. But we looked anyway,” Fred said.
“All we saw was junk,” Grayson added.
Jonelle turned to Piper’s mother. “I was down in the basement the other day. Does anyone know if Jelani ever locks the maintenance room?”
They all shrugged.
“I was also in the trash room. That wasn’t locked, either.”
“Trash room? What for?” Grayson asked.
“So that’s why you smelled so bad that day.” Piper giggled.
“Guilty as charged. I left pretty quick, so I didn’t do any exploring. I’m assuming there’s a room that provides the power. Anything else?”
“You can’t hide a child down there and nobody notice,” Mrs. Enruth said.
If what Grayson said was true, somebody did notice something, Jonelle thought. While Lark might not be hidden down there now, she might have passed through at some point.
Jonelle couldn’t figure out why anyone would risk the child being seen. Unless they wanted it that way. “Think I’ll go back down and have another look,” she said.
“Can we come, too?” Piper asked.
Her mother responded with a resounding no, giving Jonelle no chance to answer.
“Your mom’s right. It’ll be easier and safer if I go poking around there myself.”
“Are you carrying your gun?” Grayson asked, huge smile on his tomato-and meat-covered lips.
“Let’s just say I can take care of myself.”
“Why don’t you ask Mrs. Watkins to help?” Piper suggested.
Jonelle shot Mrs. Enruth a look. “She’s probably busy.”
“Bet she’s not,” Fred said. A smug look crossed the freckled face.
“Why do you think that?” These kids were full of secrets.
“’Cause I been seein’ her a lotta different places lately.” Fred shoved more chips in her mouth. She took her time sipping soda. To Jonelle it looked as though Red Fred enjoyed being in the spotlight. Instinctively Jonelle knew not to rush her, so she waited.
A loud burp was followed by “’scuse me” and a giggle.
As Jonelle shifted her attention to Piper, Fred spoke up.
“When Lark went missin’ we told Mrs. Watkins we wanted to put up posters all around. At first she said no, she didn’t want the place messed up. Then she changed her mind. Said Jelani would do it, but he didn’t so we did. One night after that I left to go to the store—”
Jonelle lifted an eyebrow at Mrs. Enruth.
Piper’s mom gave a slight nod.
—“and I seen her tearin’ the posters down. Why’d she do that? Anyway, next day we put ’em back up again.”
Another swallow of soda.
“Other times when I. . . when it’s too late to visit these guys,”—she pointed a thumb at her friends—“sometimes I sit in the stairwell on the top floor. Mostly on account of it’s cool and quiet in there. This one time wasn’t quiet. I heard voices. Yellin’ real loud somewhere down below. I heard Mrs. Watkins’ voice and the other one coulda been Randy. Then I heard this other voice, and I coulda sworn it was Miss Tammy.”
Finally. “What were they saying?” Jonelle asked.
Fred scrunched up her face in concentration. “Don’t remember all of it.”
“Prob’ly ’cause you was smokin’ a joint, right?” Grayson erupted in laughter.
Piper chimed in with, “See, told you to watch yourself.” She wagged a finger at Fred who stuck out her tongue.
“Oh, shut up,” Fred yelled.
“Later,” Mrs. Enruth told Jonelle in answer to a question she hadn’t asked.
“Go on, Fred. Ignore them,” Mrs. Enruth said.
“I heard about some kinda plan. They said people kept changin’ the plan. And Miss Tammy said she knew Lark’s daddy was gonna make a stink, and the cops were gonna arrest her again and her stupid lawyer wasn’t gonna stop them. And Mrs. Watkins kept tellin’ her to calm down, it’s all gonna work out. Like that.”
CHAPTER 33
The kid’s getting anxious and so am I. This thing is screwed up. Everybody’s been fartin’ around like we got all the time in the world. Hell, I can do better on my own. She likes me best anyway.
Been looking at different possibilities. Way back when we agreed on this I had an idea but got voted down as usual. What if Butterfly Princess and me take a little trip? After all, there’s plenty places besides around here that’d pay good money for a few private pictures. As long as I do the picture taking it shouldn’t be a problem. She likes games. I’ll make sure to treat it like a game.
Since that PI’s keeping everybody busy, it’ll be a while before anyone knows we’re gone. I’m getting tingly all over thinking about it. But first, I gotta get her away from where she is now. Tried hinting about the possibility of me and someone else going out on our own. Easier to split the money in half than what them fools are thinking of doing.
He said he’d think about it. He’s getting tired too, but I suspect he’s not used to being around little kids. Suggested that the way things are going, he better not think too long.
CHAPTER 34
Instead of taking the elevator, she used the back stairs, eyes glued on the metal steps, searching for signs of people who’d recently used the area. And trying not to think about the lack of windows. A rank smell assaulted her nose. Discarded cigarette packs, candy and gum wrappers, all showed signs of having been there a while.
On the bottom floor Jonelle ignored the laundry and maintenance rooms. She stopped in front of the door marked “Storage” and tried the handle. Locked. She inserted the key obtained from Piper’s mom. The door opened easily into a dark room. Jonelle found the switch and flicked on the lights.
Rows and rows of wire mesh storage cages covered most of the area. Each cage had a number and a lock. Because of the mesh, most of the contents were clearly visible. A few enterprising souls covered the contents of their cages with blankets and tarps to protect—and conceal?—what lay inside. She couldn’t imagine a child living in one of these, at least not for very long. On a temporary basis? Maybe—but only for a few hours. Like in an emergency.
From where she stood in the front, she couldn’t tell what the back cages stored, so she headed for the ones farthest from the door. Instead of covering specific items, one compartment was lined top to bottom in a brown tarp and secured with a padlock. Jonelle removed a tool from the lock pick set in her purse, and with
in seconds the lock snapped open. “Easy-peasy.” She pulled aside the tarp.
Two small, somewhat battered, roller totes and several cardboard boxes filled the space. “Why would anyone bother to hide this junk?” She secured the lock and closely examined the other bins.
Most of the cages used padlocks. Several more inspections of covered units yielded the same result. Of the few that dangled combination locks in front, the contents were displayed with items so benign the owners must’ve felt confident no one wanted the articles. She made one more circuit of the room and turned to go when something caught her eye. A butterfly cutout lay on the floor of the next to last unit way in the back.
Jonelle picked it up. Very little dust. The unit above held several boxes. Even though it contained a padlock, she’d originally ignored it since she could easily make out what was inside.
Several small hooks hung from the top most edge. Perfect to attach a tarp or other cover. Her pulse quickened. She picked the lock and opened the unit. Her hand reached for the first box.
Noise from outside stopped her.
Too late to run and turn off the lights, she hid in a darkened corner, willing whoever it was to keep going. They stopped. Someone jiggled the knob.
“Did you bring the key?” Demanded a female voice.
“You said you had it,” answered a male.
“Shit. Don’t feel like going all the way back upstairs to get it.” Another wiggle of the knob and the footsteps faded away.
She needed to get out soon as the familiar tightness in her chest started to spread. A quick search of all the boxes revealed nothing but towels, sheets, old dishes and utensils, and books. Nothing to indicate the containers once held a child.
She put the paper butterfly in her purse, turned off the light, opened the entrance door a crack, and listened. Whoever was there earlier hadn’t returned. She slipped out of the room.
No point in searching the trash room again. The recent sighting of Lark, if accurate, proved the child was still alive.
Time to confront Watkins.
The door to the manager’s office was closed. In all likelihood Watkins had stuck to her routine of leaving the building at five, but Jonelle knocked anyway. No response. She tried the knob. Locked.
“She’s gone,” said a man’s voice behind her. “You gotta call that number if you need something.”
“Thanks.” Jonelle smiled and made to copy the number until he exited the building.
With no one else around, she quickly picked the lock. Instead of turning on the light she used the sunlight seeping through the blinds to search the room.
She tried the desk drawers, which opened easily. Too easily. She doubted the woman would keep anything incriminating in her office, but looked anyway. Under an appointments calendar in the middle drawer she found two pieces of information. Evelyn Clifton’s name and address was scribbled on one slip of paper.
She scowled at the other name with a 717 area code.
Jonelle punched in the Pennsylvania number. After several rings a female voice answered.
“I’d like to speak to Lorraine Watkins, please.” Jonelle held her breath.
“She’s not here. Try Maryland.”
“I already did. No answer.”
“Well, then. You wanna leave a message?”
“Yes, uh. Tell her it’s about Tamora . . . and Lark,” Jonelle said.
The silence on the other end stretched for several seconds. “Hello? You still there?”
“Who is this?”
“A friend.”
Labored breathing followed by silence.
Whoever it was hung up.
Scribbled on the other slip of paper was a street address with a question mark but no city, followed by “Rental” and another question mark. What did they rent? Car? Apartment? Jonelle shoved the papers inside her bag.
A quick search of the metal cabinets behind the desk uncovered information on each tenant. The files were in alphabetical order, and since she hadn’t thought to ask for Randy’s last name, they weren’t of any use. She slipped her hand all the way to the back of each set of folders. Behind the middle drawer of the last cabinet, her hand closed around a slim, square object. She pulled and out came an Ipad. “Well, well, well.”
The desk phone rang.
Jonelle’s hand flew to her chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
She peered at the caller ID display. The call came from the same 717 number with the name Mary Burroughs.
Jonelle waited for the phone’s answering service to click on. Instead of leaving a message, the caller hung up. She made a note of the name, tucked the computer under her shirt, and after opening the door a crack to make sure no one lurked close by, left the office.
Unable to wait until she got home, Jonelle sat in her Jeep and turned on the Ipad. The computer was password protected. On the third try she typed, “Playcat” and it worked. She poked around for several minutes until she found a file of photos. She clicked the icon.
In a sub file marked “test” were several shots of Tamora in various poses, both dressed and without clothes. Jonelle hurried through those. What adults did on their own time wasn’t any of her business. Several other photos were of the same style as Tamora’s but were of different women and a few men.
Jonelle sighed. Looking at naked people pictures made her want to take a long, hot bath. She continued scrolling through the photos but didn’t come up with anything else.
She opened the email file, unsure of what she was looking for.
On the second page several items were marked FYI. She opened one from the previous week which read, “The customer wants to be sure that none of this gets traced back to him. NO SOCIAL MEDIA.” Watkins had given her assurances.
Jonelle scrolled up, looking for more emails from this particular account. There were several. One included two words—“package received.”
What package? And what did this have to do with Lark?
A sick feeling in her gut warned that someone—Watkins?—might want to take pictures of the child to sell. Since the file name was also the name of the studio, Playcat was probably used as a place to take the photos. While that made sense, Watkins couldn’t risk anyone seeing kids going in and out of a crappy warehouse.
The idea forming in her mind was ripe for Adrienne’s assistance, but she’d already gotten her friend in trouble. Who else?
Luther.
While he might dispute it, Jonelle considered him a friend. He never went into any detail about how he ended up living on the street, and she didn’t care. The man was sharp as a tack, and she valued his insights. Slipping the Ipad in her shirt once more, she left the Jeep and, standing with her back next to a trash can, dumped the thing inside, not caring if Jelani found it or not.
She made a side trip to the grocery store and bought deli meats, cheese, bread, fruit, and a few bags of his favorite chocolate chip cookies. Even though he preferred something stronger to drink, she selected a few large bottles of fruit and vegetable juice. When he saw the drinks he’d make a face, but she also knew that whatever she brought he’d share with the others.
She parked her Jeep at the curb next to his building. A few of his gang were already easing though the gaping hole in the chain link fence on their way to settling in for the night. They smiled, waved, and yelled “Hiya, lady!”
“Back so soon?”
“Whatcha got?”
“Sandwich fixin’s, fruit, and juice,” she said.
A few groans at the mention of juice.
“Luther around?”
“Should be,” answered a lady of undeterminate age. Jonelle had asked her name before, but she’d glowered and walked away. Too soon.
She struggled through the fence with the bags. No one offered to help, and she didn’t ask. Primary on their agenda was grabbing their favorite spot. The LED camping lights illuminated the cavernous space.
“You need me to go back to that dirty movie place?”
; Jonelle pivoted toward the sound of his voice.
Luther limped in her direction. “I’m gonna start callin’ you Mama Jonelle if you don’t stop buyin’ food all the time.” He held out his hands for the bags.
Although he’d never told her his age, she pegged him at somewhere over sixty, but not yet seventy.
“By the way, you know the cops is watchin’ that place, right?”
She followed him over to the southeast corner where he opened the bags, took out one pack of deli turkey, a few hard rolls, apples, and a couple oranges and the cookies. He left the remaining items in the bags and called out, “Ladies first. And if I see somebody that ain’t a woman, I’m gonna knock you upside the head. Got it?”
He indicated for Jonelle to sit on one of two plastic milk crates. He took the other.
“So. Whatcha want this time?”
Had it come to this? “Sorry if the only time you see me is when I want something, but—”
“They’s all kinda relationships in this ole world. This is ours. It’s what I call our business relationship. ’Sides, every time you come ’round you got bags of stuff.” He patted his stomach. “Think I gained ten pounds since firs’ time we met.”
She took a deep breath. “The cops know I was at the studio, and they have a picture of my friend. They also have a photo of the manager of the apartment from where Lark was abducted.”
Luther whistled. “You think they got the child stashed somewhere in that place? Don’t her mama do the nasty in them films?”
“Yeah. Tamora’s one of their main performers. They produce adult videos, and I suspect this group takes and probably distributes photos of little kids.”
“With no clothes on?”
Jonelle nodded.
“Damn. Them kinda people don’t need to be breathin’ the same air as you and me. Whaddya want done?”
“I’m gonna need to get inside that studio again, but the cops already warned me off, and if I’m on any more surveillance images, they could pull my PI license.”
Luther pulled out Lark’s photo from his pant’s pocket. “Plenty of naked people places around here. Don’t have to be that particular one. Mostly the cops look the other way, or get themselves free DVDs, if you know what I mean.”
Five Minutes Page 17