Never Look Down

by Warren C Easley

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Have you seen her lately?”

  “No. She hasn’t been around.”

  I stood there for a moment appraising her, my eyes focused on her face. She averted my gaze and looked down at the sidewalk. I said, “Listen, Kiyana. I don’t have time to screw around here. If you know something, you need to tell me. Is she the tagger, K209?”

  She shrugged. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either.

  “This girl’s in grave danger, Kiyana. If the people who are looking for her find her before I do, she’s going to die.”

  She looked up at me, her face clouded with uncertainty and concern. “I don’t know anything.”

  I stepped forward and got right in her face. “Yes, you do, Kiyana. Do you want her death on your conscience? Do the right thing here.”

  She stepped back, and her eyes got moist. “She doesn’t want the cops involved.”

  “I know that. I told her I’ll represent her, that I’ll do what I can.”

  The uncertainty drained away, and her eyes narrowed down. “You don’t get it. She can’t have the cops involved. And she doesn’t trust you about that.”

  I huffed a breath of frustration. “Look, tell her I’ll do everything in my power to shield her from the police. I’ll find her a safe place. She can stay in the background while this is being cleared up. We’ll find a way.”

  “She has a safe place.”

  “Right,” I scoffed. “Where is it?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me. She said the less I know the better.”

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Kiyana hesitated, twisted one side of her mouth up, and shuffled her feet. “You mean it about the cops?”

  “Yes, I mean it.” I nodded in the direction of the school. I can ask in there, but that might really blow her cover. And don’t worry, I won’t tell her where I got the information.”

  She looked relieved. “I’ve never been to her place, but it’s across the river on Sandy, above a shop that sells audio stuff, used, I think. She’s not staying there. She told me.”

  “That’s okay. It’s a place to start.” I decided to press my luck. “Do you have a picture of her?”

  She sighed with resignation. “I’ll e-mail you one of the two of us. I have your address. She has short hair now.” She locked onto my eyes and held them. “Find her, Mr. Claxton. And remember, no cops.”

  I found the audio shop—Kleiman’s Pre-Owned Stereo—on my phone and drove right to it. I figured I might not be the only one interested in the place, so I cruised by first, looking for a stakeout. Seeing none, I parked off Sandy three blocks down and walked past the place on the other side of the street, again looking for and seeing no sign of anyone hanging around.

  The shop occupied the ground floor of a dilapidated three-story building. The shop was closed. A separate door and street number on the east side of the shop marked the apartment entry. I walked down two blocks, crossed the street and approached the building. I slipped into the outside door, which opened into a musty vestibule that had two keyed mailboxes, one each for the second and third floor apartments. No names were attached.

  An inside door leading to the staircase was ajar, so I let myself in, stopped, and listened. Nothing. I took the stairs to the second floor and knocked softly. The knock sounded hollow, like the apartment was empty. No one answered.

  When I reached the third floor, my stomach took a sickening drop. “Oh, shit.” The front door was buckled in the middle and off its hinges. I stepped over it and went in. The place had been tossed. The door to a back bedroom had also been kicked in, and the only window in the room was wide open. The back bedroom was Kelly’s. I could tell by the framed pictures of Don Spence looking back at me from various mountaintops, a poster of a group called the Black Keys, and high school textbooks and library books scattered on the floor. Judging from the authors—Camus, Austen, Angelou, among others—Kelly Spence was a serious reader. A laptop rested on the bed with its hard drive missing. I didn’t see a cell phone. A roller suitcase sat empty in a closet stocked with clothes. A battered chest of drawers looked reasonably stocked, as well.

  Nothing in the room hinted at Kelly’s whereabouts, or so I thought at the time.

  I looked out the window to the alleyway a good thirty feet below, then back at the smashed-in door. The only means of escape from the room had to be a galvanized downspout that ran along the corner of the building, adjacent to the window. I shook my head in disbelief and whistled softly. The conclusion seemed inescapable—Kelly got away using the downspout, a feat I wouldn’t have attempted if the devil himself had been chasing me. And by the look of things, it had been a very close call.

  I quickly looked through the rest of the apartment, discovering only that Kelly had a roommate named Veronica Townsend, who had also left the place without packing. A small dog seemed to be missing, too.

  I left the apartment untouched and let myself out of the building, clicking the inside door shut. As I was walking back to my car my cell chirped. “Cal? It’s Tay. I checked at DHS. Kelly Spence was in foster care, but she ran away over two years ago. They have no records on her after that.”

  “Thanks. Look, Tay, can you get away for lunch, say at that little deli? We need to talk.” She agreed.

  Tay and I made a good team. Maybe she could help again, because I didn’t have a clue what to do next.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Cal

  It was crowded and noisy in the deli, so Tay and I ordered sandwiches and coffees and retreated to my car. It was a cold, blustery day, so I started the engine to keep us warm. When I finished describing my encounter with Kiyana Howard and what I’d found at Kelly’s apartment, I said, “So I’m torn here. I should probably go to the police right now. Her safety’s my main concern.”

  “Well, she’s evaded the police, the bad guys, and you so far. Maybe she’s safer than you think.”

  I nodded. “I’d like to believe that.”

  “Are you exposed legally?”

  I paused to consider that for a moment. “No, but I’m on the ragged edge.” I chuckled. “That’s nothing new. From a legal perspective, I still have no incontrovertible proof that Kelly Spence is K209. I’m just trying to verify that she’s the witness she claims to be. No law against that. And remember, if Kelly decides to get amnesia, the cops can’t touch her.”

  “Okay, so it’s still about finding her, and that’s probably the best way to protect her. She’s somewhere where she has access to a computer. Using her own would be too risky, and it’s stripped of its hard drive, anyway. She’s not using her phone. That would be worse, and we would’ve seen a tag in the messages she sent. She could be using a tablet, I suppose.”

  “Not likely. She’s living below the poverty line.”

  “Maybe this friend of hers, Kiyana, is secretly helping her, you know, providing a place to crash, a computer.”

  I shook that off. “I don’t think so. The last thing Kiyana said to me was “find her.” I think she meant it. She even sent me a picture of Kelly.”

  “Maybe Kelly’s hiding out with her roommate somewhere. What’s her name again?”

  “Veronica Townsend.” I nodded. “Could be. I tried a quick search for her but nothing came up. I need to talk to Kiyana to get more information. She didn’t say anything about Kelly having a roommate.”

  The car went silent except for the whir of the heater fan. The windows were coated with a thin glaze of condensate, giving the outside world a kind of ghostly appearance. The clues for finding Kelly Spence seemed just as ephemeral.

  Tay said, “Well, if I needed a computer I’d go to the public library.”

  I sat back in my seat. “Good thought. She had a ton of library books in her room. That would be a logical place for her to go and set up an anonymous account.”

&
nbsp; Tay nodded and was already busy pulling up a map of the Multnomah County Library locations on her cell phone. “Ugh. There are nineteen branches in the city.”

  I looked at the display. “The Central Library’s just down from the school. She’s too smart to use that one now that the shooter has figured out who she is.”

  “Right. And by the same logic, she wouldn’t use ones closest to her apartment, either.” Tay rotated her phone for a landscape view. We both peered down at the tiny screen. “That would probably rule out the Albina, Hollywood, North Portland, and Gregory Heights branches,” she said.

  I nodded. “Yeah, and if we take out the branches at the outer edges of the city, that leaves what, four possibilities? Northwest, Holgate, Woodstock, and Belmont. I took a sip of my coffee, which had gone cold, but I hardly noticed. “By God, it’s worth a shot.”

  ***

  Tay and I cobbled together a plan, and then she went back to work and I went back to Caffeine Central. There was one small problem with the so-called plan—it assumed that Kelly would re-establish e-mail contact, and that was not a given.

  I took Archie out when I got back. He headed for the river, pulling at his leash. I stopped him at the Burnside Bridge. “Okay, big boy, we’ve got to turn around.” He looked back over his shoulder with that baleful expression that always makes me feel guilty. He lived for his walks and runs with me. I tugged gently on the leash, and he just looked at me without budging. I sighed. “Look, I’ll owe you, okay?” I tugged again and he turned and headed us back toward Caffeine Central. That dog of mine’s a tough negotiator.

  I had a briefcase of paperwork from Dundee and several phone calls to make, so I set to work at my desk, keeping one eye on the computer. At 12:06, the e-mail I was hoping for came in.

  Hello Mr. Claxton. Have you made any progress in the case? I checked the newspapers today and I didn’t see anything. Please give me any news you have! I’m getting worried you won’t catch the killer.

  I hurriedly typed a reply.

  Hi K209. Whatever you do, stay in a safe place. Don’t take any chances. I don’t have anything yet, but I’m waiting on some important news. Stay close to your computer and I’ll be in touch. It may take a while, so sit tight.

  I signed off and bolted out of the office with Arch on my heels. I didn’t want to take my dog with me, but what could I do? I owed him. I drove first to the Northwest Library, which was the branch of the Multnomah County Library System closest to me, and parked on Thurman Street. I pulled up the photo of Kiyana Howard and Kelly Spence that Kiyana had sent me and studied it one more time. The two friends were in front of the school, smiling back at the camera. Kelly was two or three inches shorter than Kiyana, with dark auburn hair, big, expressive eyes, and a couple of creases—not quite dimples—that bracketed a charming smile. She had a trim, broad-shouldered build that suggested athleticism. She wouldn’t be hard to spot.

  One glance told me there wasn’t a teenage girl in the computer section of the library, or any sign of one waiting for access. I hurried back to my car and headed over to the Naito Parkway and then across the Ross Island Bridge. I parked on SE Seventy-ninth and hurried into the Holgate Library. The trip took a little less than twenty minutes. Two of the computer stations were occupied by teenage girls, but I quickly ruled out both of them and left.

  It took me another twenty minutes to eliminate the Woodstock Library.

  I looked at my watch. It had been over an hour since I e-mailed Kelly. I wondered if she was still online. I hoped so. I backtracked to Cesar Chavez Boulevard and headed straight north.

  The car in front of me took the last open space in front of the Belmont Library. I smacked the steering wheel. “Damn it, that was mine!” I had to drive another three blocks before I found a slot. As I hurried up the street I hardly noticed the kid with a backpack and small dog who passed me going the other way.

  Every computer in the library was occupied, and there was no sign of Kelly. I did a quick tour of the rest of the library, but she wasn’t there. I stood in the stacks, hands on hips, and thought about the fifteen other library branches out there.

  I blew out a breath of frustration. There’s got to be a better way, I told myself.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Kelly

  Earlier that same day

  Kelly felt the vibration first. Then a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from the bottom of a deep well. She spiraled up from sleep like a diver surfacing for air. Spencer. Spencer is growling. She lay there frozen, struggling to clear her head, which was partially covered by the sleeping bag. A light came on, and a hand gripped her shoulder and shook it. “Hey, what’re you—”

  Spencer burst out of the sleeping bag, barking furiously, fangs bared.

  “Whoa, little critter! Calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  Kelly sat up, her chest constricted with terror. The shadowy figure of a man retreated, a flashlight in his hand. She grabbed the dog and pulled him to her chest, the light blinding her. Spencer struggled to get free, but Kelly held him tight with one hand, and put up the other to deflect the light beam.

  The man lowered the beam so it wasn’t shining directly in her eyes and kept his distance. “What in the world are you doing up here, child?”

  Kelly sat there, too afraid to speak.

  “Did somebody let you up here? I’m supposed to have the only key.”

  The dog growled and yapped another series of warnings. She hushed him. “I’m sorry, mister. I’ll leave now. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “How’d you get up here?” he insisted.

  Without answering, Kelly climbed out of the bag and began to pack up. Spencer stood between her and the man, growling intermittently. She finished packing, clipped the dog’s leash on, and followed the man through the exterior door and down the stairs. He was short and stocky with salt and pepper hair and walked with a slight limp. When they reached the third floor landing, he turned to face her, his eyes betraying a kindness he was trying hard not to show.

  “You gonna tell me who let you up there?” he said. “I could lose my job for this.”

  “Sorry, mister. It won’t happen again.” She moved past him and started down the stairs. He moved aside reluctantly.

  “Don’t you have a place to sleep, child? It’s cold and wet out there.”

  “I’ll be okay, mister. Nobody let me in. You don’t have to worry about your job.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he called down to her. “Then how did you get up there?”

  “I climbed up,” Kelly said over her shoulder.

  “Sure you did. And I’m Michael Jackson.”

  When Kelly came out of the building she broke into a run. She didn’t think the man would call the cops, but she wasn’t taking any chances. It took a moment for the dog to react, but then he streaked out in front of her, his short little legs a blur. Dawn had broken, but the sun was blocked by a layer of low, thick clouds, and the streetlights were still on. When she got over to Ankeny Street she stopped in the shadows at the side of a building to catch her breath. The enormity of what had just happened crushed down on her like a huge weight. She slid down the wall, put her face in her hands, and squeezed her eyes tight to hold back the tears. Her refuge. Gone. The one place on the planet where she really felt safe. Gone. Everything was ruined. The tears came in a series of long, throbbing sobs. Spencer wagged his tail and whimpered softly. He tried to squeeze between Kelly’s knees, but she wouldn’t let him. “Go away,” she hissed.

  She suddenly felt exhausted, lacking the strength to hold it together any longer. It was too much. And what did it matter anyway? she asked herself. Rupert was just a crazy old homeless man that nobody cared about. And your so-called family, what a joke. Veronica doesn’t give a shit about you. Kelly sat there and cried some more, but when she straightened her legs out, the dog jumped on her lap and began licking
her face until he finally made her laugh. Well, she admitted, there is Spencer. He needs a home.

  The bakery on Ankeny was warm and cozy, and as Kelly downed a hot chocolate she began to feel a little better. Spencer wolfed down the ham from the croissant like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t bite Kelly’s fingers this time. When a stack of newspapers arrived, Kelly stood at the rack and read through one. No news about either the Claudia Borrego shooting or the beating death of Rupert Youngblood. She felt a sharp stab of disappointment. What was taking them so long?

  It started pouring outside, so Kelly decided to have another hot chocolate and wait it out. The library was her next stop. She wanted to hear what Claxton had to say. She couldn’t remember if the library opened at ten or noon on that particular day. Either way, she had time to kill. She needed a plan, anyway. She knew she could find a safe place to sleep that night. After all, she told herself, lots of kids sleep on the street every night in Portland. But at the same time she was tired and close to the breaking point.

  A day, maybe two. If nothing breaks, she decided, I’ll give this thing up and go to Seattle. Surely Veronica will want Spencer back. Maybe she’ll take me, too.

  ***

  The rain finally eased off as it usually does in Portland. Kelly arrived at the Belmont Library promptly at ten and groaned when she realized it wouldn’t open until noon. She took the steps, sat down under the portico, and leaned against one of the pillars. She consoled herself that at least she would be the first in line for a computer. The young busker with the Malamud showed up not too long after that. Kelly sat out on the steps and listened as he practiced his Bob Dylan songs. Spencer took his spot next to the Malamud like he’d been doing it forever.

  When the library finally opened, Kelly was the first in and first to sit down in front of a screen. She immediately logged in to her Hide My Ass! account and sent a message to Cal Claxton. He answered her right back. Finally, some good news! Or at least, Claxton said he was expecting to hear something, which she assumed was good news.