“What it is I’m up to?” He’s fishing, and the last thing I’m gonna do is pass on information. That is, unless doing so would somehow benefit me.
I know exactly how and why a cop does this. They got rules and a special way of doing things. I’m not saying I always followed the rules back then, but nowadays I don’t have to follow them at all. Probable cause isn’t something I have to worry about anymore. These detectives do, and that’s what can mess things up for me.
“Well, Detective, that’s confidential information, but I know you have a job to do, so Mr. Gregory would be the one to talk to about what I’m up to.”
“I know all about PI confidentiality. Mr. Gregory said he hasn’t heard from you so he doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“When I have information I think he should know, he’ll be the first one I call.”
“Listen, it’s the family’s right to do what they want with their money. If they want to give it away, then that’s their call, but it seems to me all you’ve been doing is making the same rounds I’ve already made. And the last thing I need is you interfering with an ongoing investigation.”
“Detective Caine, I’m a retired police detective—”
“I know you are,” he interrupts.
“When I was working, the last thing I’d ever want was some PI stepping on my case, possibly screwing the whole thing up for me. You got your job and I got mine. Be assured that I know what I’m doing, and if I do pick up a good lead that might result in locating Miriam Gregory, you’ll be the second call.”
“I’ve spent months trying to locate her…That family has been through a lot. They don’t need someone giving them false hope. After Amanda Meyer was found, they got excited, thinking there might be a connection.”
“And you don’t think there’s a connection?”
“I’m not saying that, but I’ve been investigating missing children for a lot of years, and she’s been missing for a long time. I think you understand.”
“I understand, because the last thing I want to do is give the family false hope, but I’m also not gonna sit on my ass either, waiting for her body to show up at a morgue.”
“Watch yourself, Mr. Marr. We both know that since you located Amanda Meyer there are some possible new leads. I’ll be following through on those. I just want to make sure we’re not walking on each other here, or that you don’t get yourself in trouble mucking up an ongoing investigation.”
This is starting to take a bad turn, so I try to back up, ’cause the last thing I need is more enemies.
“I copy that, Detective. And by the way, have you been in touch with Detective Davidson? He’s working Amanda’s case.”
“I have.”
I decide to throw him a bone. Edgar’s gonna be in police custody anyway, so he’s already a done deal; I won’t have access to him anymore. I know how the Feds work, and there’s a strong possibility Detective Caine doesn’t know the Feds are probably in Edgar’s house right about now. In fact, if he did know, I think that’s where he’d be instead of talking to me.
“You may already know what’s going on this morning, but in case you don’t, you might want to give Davidson a call on his cell.”
“Okay,” he says, not inquiring further, because that would give up that he doesn’t know what’s going on.
“We both want the same thing,” I tell him.
“Maybe, but the motives are different.”
“No, not so different. You see, unlike you, this case wasn’t assigned to me, and certainly wasn’t one that I wanted to take on. But I did, and it has nothing to do with the money.”
“We’ll be in touch, then.”
“All right, Detective. You stay safe.”
Damn, that’s not how I like to wake up in the morning, so I lie back down to work the day out in my head.
Forty-four
After my over-the-phone interview with Tamara Moore, I drive to Justine Durrell’s home in Burke, Virginia. The phone interview was a waste of time, but for good reason. Tamara seems like a good girl.
I have to hand it to Edgar, ’cause he opened up a few doors in this investigation for me. Who knows? It might have been easier for Detective Caine if he’d known about Edgar when Miriam first disappeared. But then, like I said, the good cops (and I think Caine falls into that category) have rules. I have a feeling that going head-to-head with a wannabe tough boy like Edgar in a regular interview setting would not have worked as well. Don’t get me wrong. I know a few good cops who still go old-school like I did with Edgar, but not necessarily to my kind of extreme. I admit I do get carried away sometimes.
Justine Durrell’s mother is wearing running shoes and a workout outfit. It’s a bit too tight around the thighs and ass, but I get the impression she likes that kind of attention.
She walks me to the living room, but doesn’t offer me a seat.
In a sharp tone, she calls out, “Justine, get down here. That investigator’s here to talk to you.”
The living room is spacious, a bit too open, so I ask, “Would you mind if I interview your daughter in the den, maybe in private? It’s totally up to you. It’s just that some of the information concerning the missing girl is something I’d like to share with your daughter alone.”
“I don’t care where you interview her. I’m going on a run. And see if you can scare some sense into her while you’re at it. I don’t know what to do anymore, and you look like a man who knows how to scare someone.”
“I’ll have a talk with her,” I say, and then notice Justine making her way down a flight of stairs that leads from a second-floor hallway.
She’s tall and slim, maybe a little too slim. She’s wearing baggy gray boys’ sweatpants and a black T-shirt with sleeves that fall just over her bony shoulders.
“I’ll be back in forty-five minutes,” her mom advises, but I’m not sure who it’s directed at.
Justine plops herself on a large sofa.
“You the only one home?”
“My brother’s at a friend’s and my dad’s at work.”
“This’ll be a good spot to talk, then.”
I sit down, grab my notepad and the case jacket from my pack, and set the pack on the floor.
I ready my pen.
“You having problems with your mom?”
“She make that obvious to you? Because she sure does with everyone else.”
“Yeah, she did, a little. How do you get along with your dad?”
“What does that have to do with Miriam Gregory?”
“Damn, you don’t sound like a sixteen-year-old. You are sixteen, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m not one of your peers, so I think you need to step it down a bit, okay?”
She doesn’t say anything, just looks away. She probably heard her mother and that fucked up her attitude. I’ll stay away from the family thing.
“I think you know I’ve been hired to try to find Miriam Gregory.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s been missing for a long time, but it’s like I have to start from the beginning again. That’s why it’s important I talk to you and all of Miriam’s friends. She been a friend of yours for a while?”
“Since elementary school.”
“That’s a while. When was the last time you saw her or spoke to her?”
She almost answers right away, but then pauses to think about it.
“Early summer. I don’t remember exactly when, though.”
“Was this in person or over the phone?”
“In person.”
“Where did you see her?”
“At the park.”
“Okay, Justine, let’s start over. It’ll make it a lot easier on the both of us if you don’t just feed me bits and pieces. I don’t know this area. I’m a DC boy. So when you say park, for all I know you’re talkin’ about Lafayette Park.”
“South Run Park.”
“It just so happens I know a little bit about that park
. I’d like to show you a couple of pictures; tell me if you know any of these kids.”
I pull out a photo of Amanda and then the yearbook with Edgar’s photograph. I show her Amanda’s first.
“She’s a bitch,” she says.
I admit, but only to myself, that I am taken by surprise.
“What’s her name?”
“I think Amanda, and she’s not a friend of mine.”
“I got that impression. Why is she a bitch?”
“She stole my fucking boyfriend.”
“Did the police ever show you a picture of her?”
“No, and I don’t understand why you are.”
“I’ll get to that.”
It actually makes sense they wouldn’t show her a picture. Miriam went missing months before Amanda, and they didn’t know about Edgar until Amanda. I’m sure Caine is only a few steps behind me with interviewing Justine. At least I would hope he is. I open the yearbook and show her Edgar’s photo.
“Is this the guy who used to be your boyfriend?”
Now she’s really surprised, but she can’t hide it like I can. I can almost hear her thinking, How did he put that together?
“Yes, that’s Edgar,” she tells me.
I wanna tell her how lucky she is he got taken away by Amanda, but I bite my tongue.
Forty-five
When did you and Edgar meet?”
“Last year, but we didn’t really hang out until summer.”
“So he knew Miriam?” I ask, even though I already know.
“Of course. She was—is—my best friend. I mean, she’s not dead, right?”
“I wouldn’t be trying to find her if she were. Do you know a guy named Greg?”
She’s got that look again, wondering how I know all this.
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“He’s just a friend of Edgar’s. Do they have something to do with Miriam?”
“Aren’t you all friends?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You have a cell phone, Justine?”
“I used to, but my mom took it away. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“Okay, I’ll be straight with you, but that means you gotta be straight with me. Trust me, girl, I’ll know if you’re not.”
I shoot her my best, sort of hard but not too threatening look and she blinks, so that means I win.
“I know all about Edgar and his little weed-dealing crew at South Run. I know all about the two of you and your relationship. I know Miriam was mixed up in it, too. I don’t think it’s something your mom, or, for that matter, the police, is gonna take lightly. Am I right?”
I’m pretty sure the little nod she gives me means I’m right, so I continue.
“I used to be a narcotics detective in DC, but I played with the big boys, not the minors. You guys are too easy. It didn’t take me long to put together the connections. I still need your help, though. There’s still a lot I don’t know, mainly, where to find Miriam. So I don’t care about the drugs you’re doing or the friends you’re hanging out with. The only thing I care about is finding your friend Miriam, okay?”
“Okay.”
“But don’t get me wrong. If you lie to me or hold anything back, I’m going to give your mom everything I have, including a number she can call to have you get a piss test.”
“You can’t do that.”
Teenagers who haven’t been in and out of the system most of their lives are too easy to read and even easier to play. Justine’s obvious, like an actress in one of those low-budget films who tries too hard.
“Of course I can. We both know how that piss test will turn out, and we both know what your mom is gonna do, especially after I talk to her. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find yourself in one of those out-of-state all-girls boarding schools after Christmas vacation. You answer my questions, and everything will stay between us. I’m not a cop, so I can do that. You don’t answer, I go to your mom and I also go to the cops.”
She unslumps herself from the sofa.
“Who do you get your drugs from now, since you and Edgar broke up?”
She’s unwilling, but I sense it’s fear that’s holding her back.
“You don’t want to test me, Justine. I don’t want to have to mess your life up more than it already is.”
“Greg helps me out.”
“You got some sort of allowance? How’re you paying for it?”
She looks down.
“Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”
According to Edgar, Miriam liked crack, so I gotta assume she does, too.
I take a chance and ask, “What about the crack? Who’re you getting that from?”
“I don’t smoke crack!”
“I’m not playin’, girl. I know when someone’s using that shit. I can smell it on your skin. It’s a sweet smell. I know it well. You might have your parents fooled, but not me.”
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
“You already know you don’t have any rights in this household. Just remember the piss test.”
“I get it from a friend of Edgar’s, from DC. He gave me his number once.”
“I know you’re still smokin’ that shit, so how do you connect with him now, this friend of Edgar’s?”
She’s looking down again.
“Your home phone?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Maybe you sneak out at night to meet up with him? Or after school? That’d be easy, right?”
“It’s like I’m in a prison. My parents have everything locked up, even the windows. If I didn’t have to use the bathroom at night, they’d probably lock me in my bedroom.”
“When was the last time you saw this guy, then?”
“Last week.”
“So you get in his car and he drops you off at the bus stop or something and you walk home from there?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Sixteen years old.
Fuck.
It’s obvious what she has to do for whatever amount she’s getting from him, so I’m not going to embarrass her by asking again.
“It can’t be for long, though, because you have a curfew.”
“Just as long as the bus would take,” she says.
“Has he ever picked you up at home or dropped you off at home?”
“No. I’m not stupid.”
“So he doesn’t know where you live?”
“No. Why?”
“Some of these boys in DC don’t fuck around, Justine. It might seem like an adventure, but trust me, it ain’t. They can take it all away from you, the life you think you hate and more. So this dude, was he a friend of Miriam’s, too?”
“She knew him. Sometimes we all drove around together.”
“Did you ever go to where he stays in DC?”
“No.”
“Do you know if Miriam did?”
“I don’t think so. She would’ve told me if she did.”
“What about any other homes in DC? You ever visit anybody else there, maybe go with Edgar?”
“Once with Edgar, we visited some friends of his.”
“Do you remember any of their names?”
“No; they were Latino, though.”
“What did you do there?”
“We got high, mostly.”
“They ever ask you to stay there?”
“Yeah, of course, but we didn’t.”
“They ever take you anywhere else?”
“They took us to this club once in Adams Morgan. I forget the name. It had the word ‘village’ in it.”
“Columbia Village?”
“That’s it. They had pool tables.”
“Anywhere else? Maybe someone’s home?”
“No.”
“So those Latino boys never tried to force either you or Miriam to stay?”
“No. Why would they do that?”
“Are you getting your crack from one of those boys?”
&n
bsp; “No, not them.”
“Tell me who you’re getting it from, then.”
“I can’t.”
“So you’re telling me the last time you talked to Miriam was in the summer, around July?”
“Yeah.”
“You said she’s your best friend. Are you worried about what happened to her?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“It’s just that you seem so nonchalant about everything.”
“I’m not nonchalant.”
“You don’t seem to want to help me find her.”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
“What’s the guy’s name you get your crack from?”
“I said I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Then I guess I’ll hang out and wait for your mom.”
“You’re a real asshole.”
“I know I am. What’s his name?”
“I just know him as Playboy.”
“Playboy? You telling me you don’t know his first name?”
She hesitates, and then says, “Calvin, but everyone calls him Playboy. Please don’t have him arrested. I need him.”
“I’m not gonna have anyone arrested. I told you. I just want to find Miriam. If I ever talk to Playboy, he’ll never know I talked to you, so your relationship will be just fine. Don’t worry. What does he look like?”
“He’s a black guy, keeps his hair short and tight.”
“How old? Is he a big guy? Describe him.”
“He’s in his early twenties. He’s a couple of inches taller than me.”
“So he’s about five eight. What does he drive?”
“A really nice Lexus.”
“Color?”
“It’s black. Shiny black.”
“Two- or four-door?”
“Two doors.”
“Did you ever see his car tags, what state they’re from?”
“No. Why would I look at his car tags? He’s from DC, though.”
“Do you have a code name you use with him for crack?”
“Code name?”
“When you called him. I know you didn’t come out and say you wanted some crack.”
“We didn’t call; we texted. And we call them jellybeans.”
“That’s a good one. What about someone named Robbie? You know him?”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
The Second Girl Page 15