by Jana DeLeon
“I think he’s slept a couple hours in the last twenty-four,” Shaye said.
No one said anything because they knew the score. In this type of case, time was of the essence. Every second that passed decreased the odds of finding the girl alive or at all. And they were too aware of what happened to children in those circumstances.
“The grandfather has money, right?” Eleonore asked. “We’ll just hope a ransom call is coming soon.”
Shaye nodded. It was the best possible scenario in a situation without any good ones. If the girl had been taken for ransom, there was at least a chance that she could come out of it alive and without extensive physical harm. The emotional damage was a whole different animal.
“Nothing yet,” Shaye said, “but they’re still hopeful.”
“As always,” Corrine said, “if there’s anything I can do…”
“Not right now,” Shaye said. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing anyone can do, but maybe after…”
Corrine had recently sold off all of her father’s businesses and started her own charitable organization, intent on helping as many children as possible. When the real estate renovations were complete, it would include housing for street kids and those in the foster care system awaiting placement as well as a mental health facility devoted to dealing solely with children who had been the victims of a crime.
Right now, things were in the building mode, but Corrine had rented some temporary office space and had two counselors already working with victims. Eleonore had helped her choose the staff and create the overall style and methods the facility would adopt as standard. When she was in momentary fantasy mode, Shaye hoped the facility had no clients and the counselors played Angry Birds all day. But then she bounced back to reality and knew the need would always be there. She was beyond grateful that Corrine had the means and the experience to fill a gap for so many kids who fell through the cracks because their family lacked the knowledge or finances to get them the help they needed.
“You working on anything new?” Eleonore asked, changing the subject.
“There’s always another insurance case to work,” Shaye said. “But as a matter of fact, I picked up a new case this afternoon. I got caught up reading the police file, and that’s why I was late.”
Corrine paused at the words “police file.” “What kind of case?” she asked.
“A cold case,” Shaye said. “Missing person from six years ago.”
“I presume the police exhausted all resources a long time ago,” Eleonore said.
Shaye nodded. “It’s a tough one. Twenty-one-year-old girl disappears from a bar in the French Quarter during Mardi Gras.”
“Those are not good odds,” Eleonore agreed. “I presume the family is pursuing this?”
“The missing girl’s twin sister—identical twin—and two of her friends. The photos I saw of the twins were uncanny. Like a mirror image except for apparently different personalities.”
“Was she there where her sister disappeared?” Corrine asked.
“Yes, so were the two friends who came with her to my office, husband and wife now. It was a group of five college friends who were attending LSU. They decided to take a road trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras since they were all legal adults that year. The missing sister went to the restroom, and the twin followed a bit later. When neither came back to the table, the girl friend went looking for them and found the one sister in the alley in a panic because she couldn’t find her sister. A statement given by a waitress said she saw one sister go out the back door and told my client when she asked.”
“No cell phone?” Eleonore asked. “I thought college kids had cell phones medically attached.”
“She had one, but all calls went to voice mail and no texts were answered.” Shaye told them about the cryptic text sent the next day and the use of the ATM.
Corrine frowned. “What are the chances she actually sent that text?”
“Given that she’s still missing—extremely low, in my opinion,” Shaye said. “The usual reason for such a move is to buy time, but this situation is atypical.”
“What do you mean?” Eleonore asked.
“If you wanted to buy time, you would send the text that night, before people panic and go to the police. Gives you time to get off the streets or out of the city before an alert goes up.”
Eleonore nodded. “I see. And the text came after they’d reported the girl missing.”
“Exactly.”
“So then what was the point?” Corrine asked. “Why send one at all?”
“I don’t know,” Shaye said. “But my best guess is that whoever took her figured she’d be reported missing and since they had the opportunity, they’d use it to get the police to back off. Maybe they didn’t think about it right after the abduction. Or maybe they figured the police would be so busy they wouldn’t launch an investigation right away. You know the prevailing attitude about teens who disappear. Well, this woman was an adult who probably spent some time living life on the less-than-cautious side.”
“So you think someone took her and believed the police would back-burner the case if they thought she’d jetted off with a man by choice or simply checked out of her life?” Corrine asked. “That’s…I don’t know…”
“Abhorrent?” Shaye suggested.
“Evil springs to mind,” Corrine said.
“And clever,” Eleonore said. “That’s always a bad combination. So did the police back-burner the case?”
“Not really. They called the hospitals the night before, but when she didn’t turn up by the next morning, the sister and friends went down to the police station. Of course, they refused to file a report until that afternoon and sent them packing. On the surface, it sounds bad, but I get why. A lot of people get drunk and wander off, then wake up the next day and return to their party. Anyway, the police went down the usual checklist for a missing persons case—checked the dumpsters and the alley—but the street cleaners had already come. So even if there was any evidence the night before, it was gone by the time they checked.”
Shaye sighed. “An adult disappearing during Mardi Gras is a hard sell for police attention with all the other things that happen that night. Especially when other things have more evidence and can be solved.”
“Any chance you can talk to the officer who handled the case?” Eleonore asked.
“He’s retired, which is a plus in my favor,” Shaye said. “I tracked him down and left him a message. We’ll see if he calls.”
“So how do you approach something like this?” Corrine asked.
“Two ways,” Shaye said. “First, I trace all their steps that night and talk to as many people as I can find who were in the bar. Sometimes people remember things later on that they didn’t right after an event happens. And sometimes things they didn’t think were important, therefore didn’t tell the police, are relevant.”
“So you retrace the friends’ steps as well as the detectives’,” Eleonore said. “That makes sense. What’s the second part?”
“I talk to people who knew the missing woman and see what the odds were that she chose to disappear. It’s always a possibility. Slim, perhaps, but people do it.”
“If someone wanted to vanish,” Eleonore said, “Mardi Gras in New Orleans provides the perfect backdrop.”
“It does,” Shaye said. “There’s one other avenue to check, but it’s weak. The group ran into the missing woman’s ex-boyfriend in a different bar earlier that night, and they quarreled before the group left. The police questioned him, but he alibied out.”
“None of it sounds very promising,” Corrine said.
“No,” Shaye agreed. “The likelihood of success is really low. I told them that. To be honest, I probably should have told them I’d read the police reports before making a decision.”
“Why didn’t you?” Corrine asked.
“The twin sister was so distraught. One of the friends did all the talking. When she finally got composed enough
to speak she said she kept dreaming that her sister was calling to her because she was alone. And there’s another thing—my client can’t remember anything about that night. Her doctors said it’s memory loss due to traumatic circumstances. Sound familiar?”
“I wonder if she saw something happen,” Eleonore said.
“I wonder that myself. I couldn’t help but think that her dreams might mean her memory will start returning, but of course, I have no way of knowing that.”
“That poor girl,” Corrine said. “Maybe if you don’t find anything, she’ll be able to let it all go. Maybe someone else covering all the ground again will be enough.”
Shaye nodded. That was her biggest hope. But she had serious doubts. She’d seen that look on Jenny’s face before. So many layers of disbelief, fear, and pain.
She’d seen it in her own mirror.
4
WHEN SHAYE LEFT Corrine’s house, it was about nine o’clock. About time for the bars to start hopping, but since it was Monday, she figured it wouldn’t be impossible to have a conversation with the bartenders. Or at least see if anyone who was working there that night six years ago would be willing to meet her somewhere to talk when they were off.
The French Revival was typical of New Orleans bars—located in a historic brick building, with large doors on the front that were usually open to the street. Tonight was a little chilly, so the doors were closed, and the street offered several prime parking spaces, verifying what Shaye had thought. The bar wasn’t overly busy.
The inside was a mix of industrial and historical with Mardi Gras decor hanging from the ceiling and on the walls. A bar stretched across the left side of the room and tables were placed to the right. A platform was at the back of the bar and a DJ was queuing up songs. Two tables were occupied with groups of four and a couple sat at one end of the bar. Shaye said a silent thanks that the music wasn’t blaring as she made her way over to the bar on the opposite end from the couple.
The bartender was tall and muscular and probably in his mid- to late thirties. His head was shaved, and he had that erect walk of former military.
“Evening,” he greeted her as he approached.
“You look familiar,” she said. “Have you worked here long?”
“Eight years now. If you’ve been in before, I was probably here. Don’t get many days off. What can I get you?”
She pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her purse and slid it across the counter. “Five minutes of your time.”
He glanced at the money, then studied her for a couple seconds, shrugged, and put the money in his pocket. “What the hell. Can’t get in too much trouble in five minutes, right?”
“The jail is probably full of people who thought the same thing.”
He grinned. “I guess I’ll take my chances. The clock just started ticking.”
Shaye pulled a picture of Caitlyn from her purse. “Do you recognize her?”
He took the photo and studied it, frowned, then shook his head. “No. I mean, she sorta looks familiar, but not in a way I can place.”
“She disappeared from this bar six years ago during Mardi Gras.”
“That’s it.” He nodded. “That’s why she looked familiar. The police came around several times, talking to me and the other staff. Even talked to some of the regulars.”
Shaye nodded. She’d read all the statements taken from the employees and the handful of regulars the police had talked to, but nothing illuminating had come out of the interviews.
“You don’t recall her being in here that night?” Shaye asked.
“Nah. It’s like I told the cops. A night like Mardi Gras is beyond crazy, and most people were wearing masks off and on anyway. I mean, she’s a pretty girl, but there’s a lot of pretty girls down here for the celebration. Between working the bar and having to help the bouncers escort the overly rowdy outside, it’s always crazy.”
“I understand. Is there anything about that night that you can remember—about her disappearance, I mean?”
He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. “You a relative or something?”
“No. Private investigator. The missing woman’s sister hired me.”
He frowned. “It’s got to be hard for her, right? Not having an answer.”
“It’s probably one of the worst things that can happen to a person.”
“I wish I could help, but all I know about it was what the other bartender told me—that some woman had gone to the ladies, then went out the back door and her friends couldn’t find her. The sister was upset, and I remember one of the waitresses asked me for a shot of whiskey to try to calm her down. That was the last I heard about it until the next day when the police came by.”
“So you never talked to any of their party, that you’re aware of?”
“If I did, it was only to serve them a drink. The drama happened at the back of the bar over near the hallway. I hate to say it, but after pouring that whiskey shot, I didn’t think no more about it. People get drunk and wander off down the street all the time, and it’s not uncommon for a woman to leave with a man she just met. I know it’s probably stupid, especially during Mardi Gras, but it is what it is.”
“I’d like to talk to the waitress who asked for the whiskey shot.”
“That was Alyssa.”
Shaye nodded. That was the name in the police file. “Does she still work here?”
“Yeah, she’s right over there—table near the stage.” He gestured to the back of the bar.
“And your name is?”
“Cody Reynolds.”
She stuck her hand across the counter. “It’s nice to meet you, Cody. My name is Shaye.”
He released her hand and stared at her for a second. “Wait. You’re that woman from television. The one who busted that human trafficker guy.”
“That’s me.”
“That was one seriously fucked-up situation. All those people. Man. Lucky you were looking into it because the police sure hadn’t caught on. Makes you wonder how many people like that guy are just walking around, no one having a clue.”
“Probably more than you think, which is far too many.”
“Well, good luck with this. If it had been any other night, I might have noticed something.”
“Here’s my card. If you think of anything, give me a call. And thanks for talking to me.”
He nodded and headed back to the other side of the bar. Shaye watched as Alyssa set some drinks on a four-top, then headed her direction as she took a seat two tables away from the foursome. The waitress was young, probably in her twenties
“You moving over from the bar?” Alyssa asked. “Waiting on someone?”
“Yes and no.” She pulled another twenty out and put it on the girl’s tray along with her card. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if you can take a minute.”
The girl looked over at the other waitress and waved, then pointed to the table she’d just served before sitting down across from Shaye. “You’re that woman—the society PI.”
“Um, well mostly PI. Very little society.”
Alyssa smiled. “My parents live in one of those neighborhoods in Atlanta. I spent my childhood avoiding those kinds of people. My parents are still embarrassed that I work at a bar. Doesn’t matter that I go to school during the day and am paying my own way.”
“They wouldn’t help with school?”
“Sure. If I went to the school they picked and studied the major they wanted.”
“Ah. Well, good for you.”
“What did you want to ask me about?”
Shaye took the picture out and handed it to Alyssa. “Do you remember this woman?”
Alyssa took one look at the photo and nodded. “Sure. That’s the woman who went missing…must be five years ago, at least.”
“Did you see her in the bar that night?”
“Not that I remember. But a lot of people were wearing masks and there’s never a shortage of blondes on the holiday. I just remembe
r her sister freaking out.”
“What was she saying?”
“Not much. She just kept saying her sister’s name, ‘Caitlyn,’ over and over again.”
“The bartender said you got her a shot of whiskey, but I figured if she was partying, she was already drunk.”
Alyssa shrugged. “Maybe. But she seemed more in shock to me than anything. When I was a kid, our next-door neighbor saw a woman get hit by a car, and she looked the same way—that same sorta blank expression. I remember my mom got her a shot of whiskey, so I did the same. I didn’t really know what else to do.”
“Of course not. It’s not the kind of thing you think you’ll be dealing with when you come to work.”
“Yes and no. I was new then and that was my first, but it happens way more often than you’d think. A couple times a month, at least. Not that they go missing forever. I just mean a woman leaving with some guy she met or just going home without telling someone. The friends always panic at first, but we never hear anything about it again, so we assume all is well. I mean, the cops would be here if it wasn’t, right?”
Shaye held in a sigh. She’d like to hope that women were smarter, especially with all the things that could happen, but she knew that a low amount of life experience and alcohol were often a recipe for bad decision-making.
“I’m glad that most turn out okay,” Shaye said. “And I’m sure the police would investigate if that wasn’t the case. So can you walk me through exactly what happened right before, during, and after your interaction with the group?”
“Sure. I was working this section in the back near the hallway. I saw the sister and another woman come out from the hallway, and the other woman borrowed an empty chair from the table nearest them and pulled it over to the wall and had the sister sit. I figured she was drunk so I didn’t think anything of it. When I passed that way to deliver drinks, I heard the other woman reassuring the sister that Caitlyn had probably just gone for a walk and would be right back. But the sister seemed so distressed that I stopped to ask what was wrong.”