Johnson reached behind me and closed the door. “Sit down. Please.”
I sat down and waited.
“First of all, we have rules for a reason. Secondly, I’ve been in this business for over 30 years, and I can assure you it’s not for the great pay.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
He shook his hand, waving off my apology. “Her street name was Blondie. She was one of our hardcore cases, fully immersed in street life. There are so many, you lose track sometimes, but this one—I’d often wondered what happened to her.”
He gave a small shrug. “Her case worker was a woman named Eleanor Grady.
“Is she here now? May I speak with her?”
“She doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Do you have a number where I can reach her?”
“Look, I’ve told you more than I should already. I’m not at liberty to give out personal information on former employees.”
I stood again. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Johnson.”
He opened the door and walked me out, stopping short at one of the cubicles. He hesitated for a beat and then addressed the man seated at the desk. “Harris, this is Brandy Alexander. She’s trying to get in touch with Eleanor Grady. Any idea what happened to her?”
“I haven’t seen Eleanor since she quit last year. I think she moved to Philly. You know who might still be in touch with her is Kathleen. She’s not in yet, but if you have a card, I’ll pass it along to her.”
“I’d really appreciate it,” I told him, digging around in my bag for my wallet.
I only had one left and I’d wrapped some used gum in it so I told him I’d call back later to speak to Kathleen.
On the way out I stopped in front of a large framed photo that was hanging on the wall in the entry. In the picture, Isaac Johnson was accepting some kind of award. Office workers were lined up behind him, smiling in the background.
My eyes settled on a middle aged woman standing to the left of Johnson. “I know her,” I said. “She works at New Beginnings, a homeless youth agency in Philadelphia.”
Isaac cast me an odd look. “I’m confused. If you already know how to get in touch with her, why would you need Kathleen to arrange it for you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s Eleanor Grady.”
*****
“Bobby! I’ve got to talk to you.”
“I’ll call you back. I’m in the middle of a crime scene.”
“But it’s important.”
“More important than a double homicide?”
“Those people are already dead. It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”
Bobby didn’t answer. He just hung up. Unhhh!
I’d left Child Welfare with more questions than I’d started out with and drove back over the bridge again into Philly. On my way to the station I stopped at Staples and picked up a poster sized tablet and markers. Spreading the paper out on my office floor, I knelt down in front of it and began writing.
Eleanor Grady, AKA Ellen, is the case worker in Lindenwald for a girl who mysteriously disappears. The girl eventually turns up dead. She had been pregnant and, apparently, died from a heroin overdose. Not long after, Eleanor moves to Philly and begins work at another agency. A few months after she begins working there, another girl disappears under suspiciously similar circumstances. That girl is subsequently found and her death has the same M.O.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Another girl, this time, suffering a miscarriage, is found. The miscarriage is caused by what is assumed to be a self inflicted heroin overdose. Star disappears at around the same time. Then Star’s case worker, Olivia Bowen is murdered. Bowen worked at the same agency as Eleanor Grady.
Could it just be a weird set of coincidences that placed Grady in the wrong place at the wrong time or could she have orchestrated the deaths of these girls for profit? Did Bowen have information about Grady that Grady wanted suppressed? Is that why Bowen was killed?
But then what about the eyewitness who saw Bunny talking to Bowen just hours before she was killed? And what about Star? According to Crystal, Star was unable to have children. So if she wasn’t pregnant, what possible use could she have been to Grady?
I started a new page marked “Star,” and under that I wrote “Suspects” in big bold letters. I guess I was hoping that if I wrote big enough, the truth would miraculously appear on the page the way the Virgin Mary does sometimes on a tortilla or in a bleach stain on a pair of blue jeans.
“What are you doing on the floor?” I looked up to see Eric standing above me, dripping mayonnaise from a turkey sandwich onto my notes.
“Yo, Eric. Watch it.”
“What’s a Little Red?” he asked, bending down to get a closer look.
“Pimp. Charming guy. You’d like him.” I sat back on my heels and stretched the kinks out of my neck.
“Alexander, need I remind you that I’m the guy who signs your pay checks? You could show me a little more respect.”
“Eric, you do not sign my paycheck. But as long as you’re here, I could use someone to bounce some ideas off of.”
“Bounce away,” he said through a mouthful of turkey.
“Okay, remember that girl I told you about? The one who’d gone missing?”
“Yeah. How close are you to finding her?”
“I’m not sure.” I said, pointing to the chart paper. “It’s become a lot more complicated since the last time we talked.” I filled him in as best I could within the five minutes Eric’s attention span was good for.
“So, in other words,” he said when I was finished, “you’ve got one real crime—Olivia Bowen’s murder. The girls who died could all turn out to be eerie coincidences, and Star—” he shrugged. “She may have taken off on her own.”
“Yeah.” I conceded. “But I don’t think so. There are a lot of people out there who would be happy to see that kid dead. For starters, there’s her pimp. She was threatening to leave him. And then there’s this client of hers. He was the last known person to be seen with her. Maybe she was blackmailing him. Threatening to tell his wife. Except that his alibi appears to check out.
“Then there’s this psycho bitch named Bunny. She hated Star. She not too fond of me either, but that’s a whole nuther story. The thing is, I keep trying to put my efforts into finding Star, but all this other stuff keeps cropping up, and I can’t help but think it’s all interrelated somehow.”
“You’ll figure it out,” he said, polishing off his sandwich. “In the mean time, how’d you like a permanent gig as Godfrey the Traffic Dog? You got a stack of fan mail last week after you filled in for Kevin.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Okay, it was mostly from this one really old guy out in Langhorne who thought your portrayal had nuance. I’m not really sure what nuance is, but apparently Kevin doesn’t have any.”
“Um, let me sleep on this, okay, Eric?”
“Sure. Get back to me.”
*****
I spent the better part of the afternoon checking out Eleanor Grady on the Internet, but that was a dead end. No Facebook page, nothing on Classmates.com, no blogs about her political views, the latest novel she’d read or the status of her dog’s hysterectomy. The woman simply did not exist in Cyberspace.
Next, I called Cynthia Mott, only her receptionist said she was on vacation. It was just as well, seeing as I really didn’t know how receptive she’d be to my theory that her employee was a modern-day Jack the Ripper stalking pregnant prostitutes for profit.
The more I thought about it though, the more sense it made. Eleanor Grady had access to the girls’ files, so she’d be able to target the pregnant ones. Only it was doubtful that she worked alone. Did she have a partner within the child welfare system, and if so, how widespread was the corruption? The thought gave me a stomachache.
I put in another call to Bobby, but he didn’t pick up, so I took that as a sign from God that there really wasn’t any n
eed to trouble DiCarlo with my speculations. It’s not that he wouldn’t take me seriously. I just wanted to be sure I knew what I was talking about before I asked him to put one more thing on his already overloaded plate.
I got out my James Garner Things to Do list and ran my eyes over it. Talk to owner of garage Garner uses to see if anyone made a copy of his car key. Well, if I’m going to ask the guy if he employs car stealing, joy riding kidnappers, I should probably do it face to face. Okay, what’s next? Check out motel Garner supposedly took Star to on the afternoon of the day she disappeared.
I got out the matches Crystal found in Star’s backpack and Googled the location for the Lemon Tree Motel. It was in the same general direction as the garage. Grabbing my pocketbook I headed out.
I’d parked my car on the street in order to avoid the creepy new attendant Management had hired to patrol the parking garage. Last week I’d caught him peeling off bumper stickers he’d found personally offensive and replacing them with “Jesus Loves You” decals. And while I’m all for Jesus loving me, I thought that was really nervy.
The car had been baking in the sun all day and it was steaming hot inside. I unlocked the door and hopped in. Turning on the engine, I adjusted the mirror and blasted the air conditioning. As I pulled away from the curb I remembered I’d left my laptop sitting on my desk, so I drove up in front of the building and got out, leaving the engine on to cool off the car. I figured it would be safe, since the Le Sabre was older than half of the city’s population, which really cut down on its desirability factor.
Out of breath, I grabbed my laptop and took the stairs two at a time back down to the lobby. My car was still there, proof positive that I couldn’t give it away if I tried.
I climbed back in and was about to put the car in gear when I was struck with the putrefying odor of massively sweaty gym clothes. I did an automatic armpit check. Nope. Not me. Wow. Something must’ve crawled into the air conditioning duct and died.
I checked the rear view mirror and jumped a mile as two beady eyes, surrounded by a halo of wiry, copper-colored hair stared back at me.
“Surprise.”
Chapter Fifteen
I screamed and tried to scramble out of the car, but she snaked her arm around my throat and slammed me back against the seat. My hands flew up to wrench her tattooed arm away. Bunny held fast, digging into my skin with grimy fingernails.
Grabbing the steering wheel, I searched frantically for the horn. She raised her other arm, and I glimpsed the tip of a knife, its reflection gleaming in the mirror. She pressed the blade against the base of my skull, drawing blood, and I cried out in pain.
“Shut the fuck up and drive,” she snapped, releasing her arm from around my neck.
As I was not in a position to argue I drove.
Hands shaking, I pulled away from the curb and started off down the street, my eyes darting about in search of a police cruiser, cop on horseback, meter maid, anyone who even remotely resembled an authority figure. I drove slowly, as one erratic move could send the knife plunging into my flesh.
From deep within my pocketbook my cell phone rang. Bunny made a grab for it, checking the readout.
“If that’s John, could you tell him I’m indisposed and ask him to walk the dog for me?”
She answered by rolling down the window and tossing the phone out.
“Bunny,” I said, gauging my words carefully, “I get why you’re mad at me, but I swear I didn’t rat you out to the cops. I could help you if you let me. I don’t believe you killed that woman.”
“What makes you so sure?” she asked, spewing rancid breath all over the back of my neck.
Maybe it was just my optimistic nature that preferred to think of Bunny as a misunderstood youth rather than a murdering psychopath.
Bunny leaned in close to the side of my head. “I’ve got some friends waiting for us,” she said, her mouth practically sucking the wax out of my ear. “You brought the cops down on us. You fucked with my family and now you’re going to pay for it, bitch. How’s it feel driving to your own funeral?”
“Not that great. Look,” I said, sweat trickling down my side, “could we just pull over and talk about this?”
“If you don’t keep your fucking mouth shut I’m going to cut your fucking tongue out.”
“Jeez, Bunny, you could’ve just said no.” Oh fuckin’ A. Why am I baiting her like this? Why can’t I develop a nervous tick instead of running at the mouth in tense situations?
In the rear view mirror I caught sight of a police cruiser coming up behind us. My heart rate tripled and I prayed they’d zoom up next to us, but they hung back, allowing a Smart Car to wedge in between us. Stupid Smart Car.
“Make a right at the corner,” Bunny ordered.
My panic deepened. She was taking me farther away from the cops and the city. I had to stay on main thoroughfares if there was any chance of getting out alive.
The light was turning yellow so I slowed down to stop. “Keep going,” she screamed. “Make the goddamn turn!”
Oh shit! I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. So I did.
The corner was clear, so I wrenched the wheel to the right, grabbed a hold of the door handle and bailed out.
My shoulder hit the ground and I rolled a few feet into the intersection. The car kept going up onto the curb and slammed into the light pole. I laid in the street in stunned silence, blood oozing from the side of my head.
Bunny emerged from the car and stumbled down the street. I forced myself to my feet and hobbled after her. A crowd started to gather as the cops pulled up to block off the intersection.
“Stop her,” I yelled as she began picking up steam. “She’s getting away!”
I lunged at her back, catching her around the middle and we landed hard on the sidewalk, Bunny rolling on top of me from sheer momentum. I extended my arms and felt a searing pain in my left shoulder as I shoved her off me. She made a grab for my throat and I twisted out of reach, balled up my fist and delivered the sweetest right cross you’d ever want to see, hitting her dead center in the nose. Bunny was down for the count.
I felt a pair of strong arms lift me off her, but before I could utter a word of thanks, pain shot down the length of my left arm as my hands were wrenched behind my back and cuffed.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” I yelled, twisting around to eyeball the cop. “She’s a fugitive! She’s wanted for questioning in the Olivia Bowen murder case. You guys should be thanking me, not cuffing me!”
Two more cop cars arrived on the scene, followed by a fire truck and an ambulance.
A guy in shorts and a wife beater undershirt stood on the corner staring at me and nudging his friend. “Yo. It’s that chick from tv. You know, the one that wrestles alligators and shit. Yo! How you doin’?”
Oh my God. I’m in the middle of being arrested and this guy’s flirting with me!”
“Great! And thanks for watching WINN!”
Bunny was starting to stir. Blood gushed from her nose. It looked broken. Good. A paramedic was bent over her, checking her vital signs. She pushed him away shouting a few choice words about his sexual preferences and then spat at the officer crouched down beside her. He looked like he wanted to give her a swift kick. To his credit, he didn’t.
“Please,” I told the officer. “Just call your precinct. I’m telling you the truth here.”
He left me sitting on the curb, handcuffed and humiliated while he went to confer with his buddies.
My head was pounding and the back of my neck stung as if someone had poured acid on it. When I’d bailed out of the car, the knife scraped the surface of my skin. I was lucky she hadn’t sliced my head off.
The cop came back in a few minutes and he was a lot nicer the second time around. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Ms. Alexander,” he said, uncuffing me. “We’d appreciate it if you could come with us down to the station and make a statement.”
“No problem,” I told him, getting to my feet. And in the next instant I was on my way back down to the pavement.
I woke up in the E.R. There was a huge knot on the side of my head where I’d hit the sidewalk, so I was sure I was hallucinating when I opened my eyes and saw Nick staring back at me. I blinked and he was still there.
Gaah! How long has he been watching me sleep? Was I drooling? I need a comb! I need a toothbrush! I looked down at my clothes, torn and bloodied from my dive from the car. I need a fashion makeover!
“Um, hi.”
“Hello, Angel.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“The hospital called me. Seems I’m your ICE number on your cell phone.”
“Oh,” I said, turning beet red. “I mixed you up with a different Nick. My ‘In Case of Emergency’ was supposed to be Nick San—ford—stein. We went to high school together. Great in a clutch! Voted most likely to succeed!” Oh God, Brandy, just stop talking!
Nick cut me a smile. “I could call this Nick San—ford—stein for you, if you’d rather.”
“No, no. Stick around. I mean as long as you’re here. So, how did I end up here, anyway? The last thing I remember is punching Bunny’s face in. Did the cops arrest her?” I asked in a sudden panic. “I need to get out of here.” I tried to swing my legs over the side of the bed but a wave of dizziness forced me back down again.
“Hold on there, Darlin.’ You’ve been out cold for a while.”
A nurse came in and checked my vitals. Actually, three nurses came in where none were needed, which led me to believe I was not the big attraction. “Glad to see you back among the living,” she said, but her eyes were on Nick. “Your room is just about ready.”
“My room? Oh, but I can’t stay! I’ve got to find a runaway girl, help the police catch a killer, plan a baby shower for over 300 guests plus take my dog for a walk, he has to go potty. I’m very busy!”
“I’m sure you are, but you’re going to be here for the next 23 hours so that we can observe you.”
No Such Thing as a Free Ride Page 21