On the floor in the sacristy lay a black plastic object, the one he had inadvertently pushed under the door. He grabbed it. In silver letters it read, Baciare Cosmetics. Casey held it out. “Drop a compact?”
“No,” Nell said, extending her hand. “Let me see.” She took and examined it. “Oh my.”
“What?”
She showed him the back. A white sticker with printed black letters said, “Nell Jenner, Independent Sales Consultant, Baciare Cosmetics,” with her contact information.
“You sold makeup to a nun?”
“Not yet.” She squinted.
“A priest?”
“No. But this is odd.”
“What?”
“This compact is out of production.”
“So?”
“They stopped making it right after I started selling.”
“And?”
“And the only person I sold one to was Elena.”
“Come on, there had to have been others.”
“No, I remember everyone wanted the new compact with more compartments because it came with free cleanser. Elena bought the old one to help me clear inventory.”
Tightness formed in Casey’s stomach, round and hard like an avocado pit. He sighed.
“No sighing, yawning, or doubting,” Nell said and walked out the door.
“Where are you going?”
“The cabbie said she was only hiding here while the DEA raided her apartment,” Nell said. “She may be back in her apartment.”
Or she’s hiding out in Florida, Casey thought. Or Quito. Or Uzbekistan. As they strode to the car, he wondered if Elena knew Nell was a federal agent. He guessed not.
Even if Elena is safe, he wondered, what would happen to her baby? After all, the fetus’s mother sold drugs and its father was a famous married man prone to steroidal rage. If that scenario didn’t set the baby up to be a future student-body president, what did? Even if Elena avoided prison and deportation, what life would she and the baby have?
To whom would Elena turn if the infant had colic and screamed and screamed—and screamed—until Elena wanted to rip off her own ears? She couldn’t turn to her mother, who lived thousands of miles away. Would Narziss be there if Elena had post-partum depression? Would he care about her hemorrhoids? Yeah, right. Elena probably didn’t have health insurance. Would she pay the hospital in cash with drug money?
They exited the church and walked toward the car. Casey turned to Nell. “So, are you investigating Elena for drugs or something?”
“Me?” Nell said. “No, that’s the DEA’s bailiwick.”
“Don’t you partner on cases?”
“From time to time, sure. But I’m on a different case.”
“What case?”
“I’m tracking a serial killer.”
A what?
Nell continued. “But I do happen to know a guy at the DEA who would love to know all about this. He’s tall, dark, and handsome; Elena would love him.”
They got into the Beemer. Nell turned the ignition and said, “Elena was here illegally.”
“You didn’t report her?”
“She’s my best friend.”
“And you’re a federal agent.”
Nell pulled away. “Look, reporting her to Immigration would get her sent back to Ecuador. I’d lose a friend, she’d be back with her drug-dealing father, and what would we gain?”
“One less drug dealer in town.”
Nell glanced at him as if he were trying to sell her on the Easter Bunny. “Like someone else wouldn’t take her place? All her customers would quit cold turkey?”
“I guess you’re right.”
“You know I am. And it wouldn’t help Elena one bit. I was trying to get her some help, connect her with people who could show her how to change her behaviors, get out of drugs and into a better life.”
“What happened?” Casey said.
“She disappeared.”
25
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26
As houses whipped past the Z4 windows, Casey tried to remember anything Elena might have said or done that could offer a clue to her whereabouts. Nothing fresh came to mind. As they wove through town, nearly everyone had navy-and-white Hail license plates or mini-flags sticking out of their car windows. A few houses had gigantic inflatable balloons adorning their front yards, made to resemble cartoon Hail football players. The team was a perennial focus but now, with the championship in sight, Hail hysteria had never been higher. Most Green Bay residents were not out to impress each other with fancy cars or tailored clothes; they were out to pull together and bond through civic pride.
As they approached the stadium on Chippewa Street, Casey looked ahead at Elena’s apartment. He yearned to see her at her door, perhaps returning from a trip. That would have been a surprise, but nothing compared to who he actually saw. “What the—”
“What?” Nell said, following his eyes to the apartment. On the second floor outside the apartment stood Shantell, with her spindly appendages, hugging her stuffed animal, crying, her mouth in an open frown. Nell pulled into the lot, parked hastily and got out. She sprinted up the stairs.
Casey followed. He stopped a few steps short from the top—close enough to listen but not so close as to scare the girl.
Nell leaned down to Shantell’s level and placed her hands on her own knees. “Hi, Shantell, remember me?”
Shantell nodded, sniffling.
“I’m Elena’s friend, remember?”
Shantell nodded again, tears streaking down her cheeks.
Nell hugged the child. “Sssh, it’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay. Where is your momma?”
Shantell sniffled and spoke in serrated breaths. “I. Don’t. Know.”
“How long have you been out here, sweetie?”
Shantell wiped tears on her kitty’s head. “Since dinner.”
Nell looked at Casey then turned back to Shantell. “You mean since breakfast?”
Shantell shook her head emphatically. “Last night, Momma took me out for dinner. I got a Happy Meal!”
“A Happy Meal?” Nell responded with inflated grandeur and a slight smile.
Shantell nodded, pulled out a plastic toy from her pocket, and grinned for the first time, flashing dimples.
“Wow!” Nell said. “That’s the coolest pink pony I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you,” Shantell said, chewing on one of her braided pigtails. At least the poor girl wore a winter hat, a hood, and fleece mittens. Without them, she might have gotten frostbite or pneumonia.
“Didn’t any of the neighbors invite you in?” Casey said.
“Momma says not to talk to strangers, and never to go with them.”
“You have a smart momma,” Nell said gently. “Where did she go?”
Shantell shrugged. “I ran up here, but Momma never came up.”
“Did you go back down to look for her?”
Shantell nodded. “Mm-hmm, but our car was gone.”
“Did you see her leave with anyone?” Nell said.
Shantell worked out knots in her pony’s hair with a small plastic brush. She nodded. “I’m hungry.”
“We’ll get you some food soon, sweetheart. But first, it’s really important to talk about who was with your mom last night before she went away, okay?”
Shantell glanced at Nell. “Our neighbor.”
“Do you know the neighbor?”
Shantell nodded.
“What is the neighbor’s name?” Nell said it ever so gently, as if the answer were an eagle’s egg she had to delicately return to its nest.
Casey’s heart fluttered with the thought that perhaps Rihanna had left with Elena. Could this be the key tip to find her? From a four-year-old?
Shantell stroked the toy pony’s mane.
“Can you describe your neighbor?” Nell tried.
No response.
“Was it a boy or a girl?” Nell said.
Shantell looked up from the toy. “A man.”
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Nell glanced at Casey. “A man. Okay, very good, Shantell. It’s safe to tell me what he looks like. Remember, I’m not a stranger. I’m here to help your momma. You know that, right?”
Shantell nodded, tending to her pony. Casey wondered if Happy Meals were her only source of toys.
“Who was with your momma?” Nell said.
Shantell looked at her and said, “I came down the steps and saw Momma drive away in our car with the statue man.”
26
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26
Hailangelo wanted to hold Leila, place her in a bubble to protect her from harm. But he knew he couldn’t and kept his distance, in order not to risk her recognizing him as her customer from Fixate Factory.
Leila and Amelia sat on a bench along the sidewalk across the street from the Union. Hailangelo looped around them to eavesdrop.
“I knew the city was small enough that I could bump into him,” Leila said, “but it was like preparing for a tornado—I bought the insurance but never actually thought a twister would rip through.” A single tear trickled down her cheek.
Amelia wiped it away. “Are you sure it was him?” Victims of violent acts often thought they saw their attackers.
They watched the rapist walk to his car in the adjacent uncovered parking lot across the street next to the Union. “Yes,” Leila said, as if in a trance. “It’s definitely him.”
“Let’s go write down his license plate number.” Amelia stood up.
“I can’t believe he hasn’t learned a thing about fashion all these years,” Leila said in a hollow drone, staring blankly after the man. “I mean, black shoes and a brown belt? Where are the fashion police when you need them, right?”
“Lei, are you okay? If you don’t want to check his license, I under—”
“I wish he would have just killed me,” Leila said angrily.
Hailangelo raised a brow. He could fix that.
Tears trickled down both women’s cheeks.
“No, no,” Amelia said, moving so they were face to face. “I know you’re upset—you have every right to be. But please, don’t say that.”
“At least if he had killed me, I wouldn’t have had to live with the rape. He takes a girl’s virginity, innocence, and mental health.”
Amelia glanced at passersby. “Do you want to find someplace private?”
Leila ignored her, already in her solitary world. “Then he doesn’t even recognize me. He steals my dignity and now the theft is complete. He has gone free while I’m behind mental bars. If self-respect was like housing, I’d be homeless.”
Amelia squeezed her upper arms. “You have people who love you.”
Hailangelo rolled his eyes, half-expecting Amelia to break into a maudlin pop song encouraging listeners not to commit suicide.
Arms at her sides, Leila’s tears flowed. Then, Hailangelo noticed her countenance harden, as if magma boiled below. She said, “I gotta go.”
“Where are you going?” Amelia asked.
Leila kept walking without answering.
Amelia followed her. “Wait, Lei. Stop.”
Leila stopped and pivoted, fists at her sides. “I’ll text you later. Let me go.”
“But—” Amelia tried.
“This is something I need to do on my own, okay?” Without giving Amelia a chance to answer, Leila turned and left.
Casey and Nell escorted Shantell to the Z4 and drove her to Leila’s apartment. They had no carseat for the child, but saw no alternative that wouldn’t delay their search for Elena—and now Rihanna. A few moments could save Shantell from becoming an orphan.
Casey called ahead to make sure his mother was there. She was, and agreed to watch the girl so Casey and Nell could follow up on Shantell’s tip about the “statue man,” whom she later identified as their neighbor and said his yard had a lifelike statue of Todd Narziss in it.
“Hailangelo,” Casey said. He suffered a sleep attack, his head and shoulders slouched over. Nell shook him out of it.
“Why do you do that?” Shantell said.
“It happens when I’m surprised,” Casey said.
“Like scared?” the girl said.
“Yeah, like that. Or it could be a happy surprise. Any sudden change of emotion.”
Adrenaline surged, and Casey struggled to maintain his composure. He explained to Shantell that his mother would take care of her until hers came back. He hoped it would be soon. Shantell seemed fairly unfazed, content with playing with her new pony in the back seat. “Is Momma at work?” Shantell asked the grown-ups.
Casey turned to face the girl. “We’re not sure, big girl. But we’re going to find her for you.”
Shantell’s lower lip swelled into a pout. “Why does Momma have to go to work all the time?”
“Well…” Casey glanced at Nell for help but got none. “I guess so she can pay for your food and apartment.”
Shantell exhaled. “I’m sick of that answer.”
Nell grinned.
“Me too, kid,” Casey said, turning back to face forward. “Me too.”
Nell typed Hailangelo’s street address into her phone and conducted a reverse search. “The property owner is Thomas Meintz.”
“That’s him,” Shantell said. “The statue man is Mr. Meintz, my neighbor.”
Nell looked gravely at Casey. “I have the address for his shop. Leila’s apartment is on the way.”
27
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26
Hailangelo drove his car, following Leila’s rusty Buick LeSabre, who in turn followed her rapist in his sparkling blue Shelby Cobra. They wound down the road, passing colonial after Victorian after Frank Lloyd Wright house. The sculptor wondered what Leila would do when her rapist arrived at his destination. His instincts told him to abduct her before the rapist could. But he couldn’t bear to interrupt—the volatile situation titillated him.
Finally, the rapist drove into a driveway. Leila parked diagonally across the street, and Hailangelo a block behind her. Could her rapist really live in Maple Bluff, this upscale suburb of Madison just blocks away from Governor Moeller’s mansion?
Hailangelo squinted and his lips curled up slightly. Status didn’t prevent people from committing felonies.
Hailangelo used his smartphone to run a Web search for the street address of the man in the Cobra, and it came back as owned by a Brian and Rachel Twig. Hailangelo giggled. His name was Twig? How brittle, anemic, infertile. He searched for that name in Google. A Tennessee newspaper article appeared. Brian Twig had been previously charged with sexual harassment in Nashville, but the charges were dropped. There were thirteen more articles, all about dropped rape or harassment charges. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Brian had been a very naughty boy. This had to be her rapist, and this had to be his house.
Hailangelo and Leila watched Twig walk into his abode. He embraced someone, probably his wife Rachel, inside the door. Hailangelo had brought binoculars, and noticed Rachel wasn’t classically beautiful by any stretch but was still out of Twig’s league.
A minute later, Twig returned to his car. He retrieved something out of the back seat—a briefcase—and then closed the door and walked toward the mailbox near the end of the driveway.
Leila ducked down in her car to be out of his sight. But when she peeked through the window, Twig wasn’t paying attention. He pulled letters and magazines from the mailbox and walked toward the house, his back now to Leila and Hailangelo.
She quietly opened the car door and approached Twig’s house, jazz-running as one would learn to do in dance classes. By the time Twig heard her, she had halted five feet behind him.
Twig startled and turned.
Hailangelo held his breath. Leila pulled a pistol out of her coat pocket. She muttered something to Twig, but Hailangelo couldn’t hear it. He rolled down his car window.
Twig started, “I—”
Leila shot him in the groin. The blast echoed throughout the neighborhood. A dog barked from a neighbor’s yard.
Brian grabbed his crotch and fell. He managed to turn his face to the side before impact, but skinned his temple on the icy ground and began to seep blood. “Ah, God, aaah!”
Leila shoved her shoe under his stomach and rolled him over. “Recognize me now, Brian? Maybe it’s the blue hair.”
“Ah, God!” He writhed on the ground.
Hailangelo grinned. God’s not going to help you, Brian. He didn’t help all the women you raped.
As if on cue, Leila pointed to her scar from the burn. Hailangelo wondered if it was her permanent scarlet letter.
Blood coated the snow around Twig. “You shot me!”
“Astute observation, Twiggy.”
“You crazy b—”
“Brian? Jesus!” Rachel came out the front door, back straight, palms out, fingers flared. She tucked her long brunette hair behind her ears and bent down by her husband. She glared at Leila and screamed. “You shot him?”
Leila just stood there, amused, gun held casually at her side.
Hailangelo slunk in his seat and gazed out the window. This woman is insidious. Someone after my own heart.
Brian vomited on Rachel’s designer shoes. She recoiled and exclaimed. Leila put a fist to her mouth and looked away, giggling. Hailangelo laughed with her.
Rachel yelled, “Get away from my husband!” She reached inside her pocket, retrieved a cell phone, and dialed 911. She spoke into the phone but Hailangelo couldn’t hear her.
Leila held up the gun and wagged it back and forth admonishingly. She leaned over Brian and said something Hailangelo couldn’t hear.
Rachel appeared to age a decade in two seconds. She suddenly snapped the cell phone shut.
Brian Twig writhed in the red snow. Hailangelo read his lips as he said, “Help me, Rachel.”
Leila clenched fists at her sides and screamed vitriol at Twig.
Rachel stood over him on the other side, slowly shaking her head. Hailangelo guessed her husband had promised to change his ways, to start anew in Wisconsin and leave all those “false, audacious” accusations in Tennessee. His wife had given him extra chances and he had betrayed her.
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