by Stacy Green
“And she said yes,” Chris says.
“Yep. Because she already had the home issues and the self-esteem problem. She went and partied for a couple of days and then decided it was time to go home. That’s when the guy said she wasn’t going anywhere unless she made him some money, maybe slapped her around.” I had seen this happen more times than I could count when I worked for CPS. The girls’ faces changed, but the circumstances remained mostly the same. “He told her he gave her weed and booze and she owed him. So she gave in. But after a day or two, she begged to get out while he dragged her from hotel to hotel, holding her ID and her cell. And when she finally got away, an older girl showed up to defend the pimp. He’d snowed her just like Preacher has Riley.”
Chris stared out the window. Fresh snowflakes were falling, making the evening commute even more dangerous. A man carrying a bag of groceries lost his footing, skating along the icy sidewalk and clinging to the bag. Chris started to laugh and then caught himself. “Sorry, I know it’s not funny. But I’m nervous because I know you’re not going to like what I have to say.”
I braced myself.
“Even though you’re operating on two sides of the spectrum, you really aren’t that different from the pimp.”
I whipped my entire body around to glare at him. He held up his hand. “Just wait. Obviously you’re not a pimp, but look what you can do.” The note of awe in his voice eased a fraction of my tension. “You can read people and know what to say to get what you want. I’ve seen you do it over and over again. Look at how you played Steve Simon.”
“It’s different.”
“Because you’re doing it for a greater good. Not for selfish reasons.”
“Yes.”
“And you really believe that?”
“What?”
He smiled, tugging on my winter hat. “I love this white hat against your hair, by the way.”
Warmth rushed through me, but I refused to acknowledge the compliment. “Back to my question.”
“Right. You think your choices are all about helping people. Saving kids.”
“We’ve been through this. I know part of it’s to cover my own guilt over Justin and all the others I couldn’t save. I get it. It’s about finding control. And I should stop. Maybe I can’t stop. I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it right now.”
“Do you want to stop?”
My throat went dry.
“See, that’s the real question. The one that will tell you how far gone you really are.”
The softness of his voice and the Audi’s blasting heater made me dizzy. Chris’s sharp gaze made me feel like I was about to jump in with man-eating sharks. “I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Okay.” His razor-like eyes found me in the window, his reflection doing little to dampen the effect. “But just so you know, whatever the answer is, I’m sticking around.”
For the second time that day, I felt like crying. “Why? Because there’s good in me too?” I thought about Todd Beckett and how disappointed he would be if he knew the real truth, even if he already thought I was a killer. Some part of him had to think he was wrong. If he knew the answer, knew the true horror of what I’d done, would he still see good? I slunk down in the seat.
“Something like that.” Chris patted my knee.
I laid my head against the glass and watched for Riley.
Three inches of snow had fallen before I saw her. A gray scarf covered most of her face, but I recognized the hunched shoulders and the quick gait. “I’ve got my phone. You stay here.” Chris stopped the car, and I was out of it before he could respond.
Dodging the few people still brave enough to deal with the miserable weather on a Saturday morning, I cut across the street and jogged up the sidewalk. The snow was slippery under my boots, and more than once I thought I’d end up on my butt. I wondered if Chris was laughing now.
“Riley.” The wind picked up my voice and carried it away from her. She walked fast, scurrying around people like a timid mouse. I quickened my pace. She hit the corner and yielded to the “don’t walk” sign. I caught the cuff of her coat sleeve just as she started to step off the sidewalk.
She jerked away, nearly falling into the street. Her left eye was badly bruised, her nose swollen. “What the hell?”
“What happened to you?”
She jammed her hands into her pockets and crossed the street. I followed.
“Get away from me.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Got my ass put in line.”
“By who?” For a small girl, she took long strides. I worked hard to keep up.
“None of your business.”
Anger warmed me. “Preacher? Did Preacher do this?”
Safely across the street, she ducked into an alley. “You did this! So leave me alone.”
She didn’t need to tell me any more. Preacher had busted her up for talking to me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Whatever. I knew better.” She glared at the brick of the old pharmacy. It looked as ancient as the city, paint peeling off so the lettering was barely legible. “What do you want?”
This wasn’t going to go over well. “Your help.”
The eyebrow of her good eye shot up. “For real?”
“Listen, the police think I killed Sarah.”
She stilled, her narrowed eyes suddenly looking at me in a new light. “Why?”
“Because I was investigating her involvement in the sex trade, and I took her phone. She and I talked, she ends up dead. All they’ve got is circumstantial evidence, but there’s pressure from the boss to make this whole thing my doing.”
“Why?”
I debated, but if I wanted her help I needed to be honest. “I think one of her clients–and I’m not talking Exhale clients–has a lot of pull and is afraid I’ve got information on him.”
“He wants you to go away.”
I nodded.
She pinched her lips together, and I noticed the small cut on the corner of her mouth. I catalogued each and every mark Preacher left. “What can I do?”
“Talk to the police. Tell them what you know.”
Riley started laughing. “You’re crazy. They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”
“They do. I’ve got a friend, Detective Beckett. He believes me, and he wants to talk to you.”
“So he can get to Preacher.” She caught on. “But here’s what’ll happen. I come in and talk, they offer me a deal. I take it and go to some safe place or shelter so I can get back on my feet. Even if Preacher does get arrested, his boys come for me. I get the ass beating of my life if I’m lucky. And I’m out of a job ’cause no pimp will ever trust me again.”
Now was the time. I could leech into her subconscious just like Preacher had, tell her I understood. I could even talk about my sister, about how I was damaged because of her. Bring up the dead trucker. I would read her expressions and know exactly what the next thing to say was. If she wanted money, I had it. Power, I had it. I could make her do what I wanted.
Instead, I could only manage, “I trust you. And you can trust me.”
“Sarah trusted you. Look where that got her.”
Her words sliced me as sharp as a switchblade. “Sarah talked about me? When? It had to be just before her murder.” I stepped too close, taking away her personal space, forgetting about anything but my own desperation. “What do you know?”
Riley must have seen something in my eyes, or maybe a sixth sense warned her she was up against someone much more dangerous than Preacher. Maybe I’d hinted just enough for her to be legitimately scared. And maybe she should be. I didn’t know what I’d do to protect my freedom.
“Sarah called me freaked out after she talked to you,” Riley said. “She didn’t really believe you were a con artist, but she thought you might be her way out.”
“Then why was she scared?”
Riley tugged at the ends of her scarf. “She’d been drinking
. She did that too much. And she kept talking about how he was watching her, that he always knew what she was doing. She was afraid he’d ruin everything before she could fix it.”
I grabbed her shoulders. Riley flinched. I let go, but not before I gave them a hard squeeze. “Who? Who is ‘he’?”
“She never said. I assumed she meant Preacher. Especially when I heard she was dead, and he showed up with her locket.”
Fat tears welled in Riley’s eyes. “Sarah was trying, okay? She didn’t want to be involved, but Preacher had something on her. But she still tried to help us.”
“Help you how?”
She clamped her mouth shut, backing away. “I can’t say any more. Sarah was right. He’s always watching. If he’s not, then one of his boys is.”
“Riley, you can’t walk away from me. I need you to talk to Detective Beckett. Tell him everything you know.”
Her head snapped back and forth. “Can’t do it. Won’t.”
“You have to!”
“I ain’t got anyone else,” she burst out. “No one’s going to take me in off the street, give me a meal or two. Preacher’s the only one who ever said nice things to me.”
“Because he knew what you wanted to hear,” I shouted back. “You’re an easy mark for people like him. You sop up the compliments like a drug. He knows exactly what he’s doing every time he gives you anything. And so do you.”
“What are you getting at?”
“At some point,” I jabbed a shaking finger at her. “It’s not coercion anymore. It’s not trafficking. It’s your decision. At some point, the police are going to say, ‘You know what, you’ve had all the opportunity in the world to get out,’ and when you need them to believe you, they’re going to charge you and put you in jail. And Preacher will still be out here pimping and selling little kids. Let me tell you something. Your friend who got a ride on the green semi? You think she’s free and clear now? She’s not. She dared to find a way out, and Preacher sold her to someone else. That truck took her to Ohio, and she’s probably way worse off now than she was then.” If she was even alive. She might have been used and then tossed away.
Riley swallowed hard.
“And what about the little boy I told you about the other day? He wasn’t even ten. Taken away from his family, stuck in that semi with that nasty man. You know what he made him do. He was destined for Philadelphia, and probably for Preacher. If not Preacher, then someone just like him.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Her lips twisted, her hands digging into her hair.
“Because I want you to know what you’re protecting. Whatever Sarah was doing that got her in trouble, if it was talking to me or something worse, you need to man up and tell the truth.”
“You have no idea–”
“I don’t care!” The ugly burst out of me. “I don’t care what your consequences are, because I know I can protect you. I will stop Preacher. Detective Beckett will do right by you. So I don’t care about whatever fears you have. I am giving you an out your friends didn’t have. One that Sarah didn’t have.”
Tears dripped off Riley’s nose and into the blowing snow. As if I’d been dropped into a christening tub, I realized my hands and face were tight with numbing cold. Still, anger coursed through me at a frightening speed. The empathy I’d felt for the girl–that I still felt, somewhere deep–was buried beneath the intense desire to save myself and to regain control. I hated her for making me feel so shattered.
She cowered away from me, arms raised to cover her face. There were scratches on her hands to match the one on her cheek. Behind her splayed fingers were dull, frightened eyes. Her entire body trembled.
Without realizing it, my fingers had walked into my pocket, searching for the vial they wanted to be there. I saw myself throwing it on her, watching her fight for air and collapse, just like Brian Harrison. Would I feel remorse?
Chunks of broken bricks were scattered around the foundation. I could smash her head in before she knew what hit her. The darkness would give me cover. Who would miss her?
I stepped back.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” I barely opened my mouth in the effort to hold it together. “I’m freaked out, and I’m desperate.”
She sucked back a sob and wiped her dripping nose.
“You still have my card?”
She nodded.
“When you decide you want justice for Sarah, call me. Or call Detective Todd Beckett. I swear to you he’ll be fair.”
I left her in the alley before it was too late.
My breath came in hard gasps. Blindly, I made it back to Chris’s car. I fell into the seat.
“Christ.” He took my arm and twisted me to face him. “You’re white as a sheet. What the hell? Did Preacher show up?”
I shook my head and then pulled my knees to my chest without thinking of Chris’s expensive leather seats. Burying my face against my jeans, I curled into a ball.
“You’re freaking me out.” Chris nudged my shoulder and then tugged at my hair. I refused to budge, pinching my eyes closed and breathing in the smell of cold that still clung to my clothes.
Finally, his hand came to rest on my back. “What happened?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. I couldn’t voice it out loud. “Nothing. I’m just…stressed out. Please, take me home.”
He didn’t want to. He argued. Pleaded. Offered to buy me a carb loaded and extremely unhealthy breakfast, the kind he knew I usually couldn’t resist.
“Just take me home.”
He finally obeyed. The second he stopped in front of my building, I raced out of the car, shouting a promise to call him later. I wouldn’t keep it.
Inside my apartment, I locked the door and stumbled to the couch.
I’d truly wanted to kill her. Not for duty or justice, but because she’d pissed me off and I’d had enough. That truth absolutely terrified me.
22
Chris called on and off all day. I ignored him. Hours ticked by, and I sunk further into the couch. Any moment Todd and the other detectives would show up to arrest me. And maybe I wouldn’t put up a fight. What would be the point? Someone wanted me to take the fall, and I was certainly guilty of murder. The rest was just semantics.
Midnight came and went. Sleep tormented me along with the infomercials that seem to dominate the television. And then my buzzer rang. Glued to the couch with my own damp sweat, I felt as if I’d just stepped off the Flying Turns ride at Knoebels: swishy and sweaty and shaking with adrenaline, but this time it wasn’t driven by joyriding. Mac took me there during the summer of my freshman year of college. We’d spent the day riding the thrill rides at the park and eating all the food my mother said would kill us. Mac was going to be so disappointed in me.
Was the lethal injection table cold?
The buzzer wouldn’t stop. I stood up and nearly toppled onto my coffee table. Stumbling for a center of gravity, I shuffled to the door and hit the button.
“Who is it?”
“Justin Beckett. I’ve got to talk you.”
Immense relief nearly made me sink to the floor, and then déjà vu rolled through me. Last time this kid showed up unannounced, he dropped an atomic bomb on my life. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s an emergency. My brother sent me.”
Since Chris still refused to see his newly discovered sibling, Justin was referring to Todd. A flicker of hope or a warning signal? Either way, I had to know. I pressed the button on the intercom so hard my finger turned white. “Come on.”
Justin moved quickly, softly knocking just a few minutes later. I didn’t hesitate. “Get in here.”
Still lanky, with the characteristic gait of today’s lost youth, Justin hurried into my apartment. His hair was a bit shaggier, but his eyes were brighter. He stood straighter than he used to, a new confidence coloring his once dark aura.
“You look good,” I told him.
He blushed. “Thanks. I’m seeing somebody.
”
“I heard. Looks like she does you good.”
“Yeah.” He brushed his bangs off his forehead. “Listen, Todd sent me. He can’t contact you directly.”
Fear singed the hairs on the back of my neck. “What is it?” I knew the answer, heard it in the frantic tone of Justin’s voice.
“Tomorrow morning, the district attorney is going to charge you with Sarah Jones’s murder. They’re still waiting on the fibers, but he’s been convinced they’ve got a strong enough case without them. They broke your alibi.”
I expected to feel a resurgence of panic, for my legs to go weak and my stomach to revolt. But all I could do was stand and stare at Justin. My brain was aware of the irony of my being arrested for a murder I didn’t commit but probably would have eventually, and the unstable part of me wanted to laugh, but I could do nothing but stand in shock.
Finally, I spoke over sickly cottonmouth. “ADA Hale is charging me?”
“No,” Justin said. “The district attorney is handling this himself.”
So the client pushing the buttons had serious power. Senator Coleman’s greasy smile flashed through my mind, and I swayed. I grabbed the arm of the couch.
“Todd knows you’re innocent. He got into it with the chief, and he was kicked off the case.”
“And he sent you?”
Justin nodded.
“He’s going to get in trouble.” Why was he helping me? He thought I killed others, so what did the technicalities matter? I didn’t want to owe him anything. And I didn’t want the shame of knowing he’d helped me at great risk to his job and his own ethics.
“He didn’t use his phone. Used a pre-paid one like I have.”
I looked around my apartment, wishing Chris were here. “What do I do now?”