by Kit Frazier
He pulled a compact digital camera from his fanny pack and tossed it to me.
“What’s this for?”
“I want shots of all the volunteers and lookie-loos that show up. I’m having the geeks set you up a station at base.”
“You think the person responsible for the fire will be in the crowd?” “Almost always are.”
I stared down at the small camera. “And you’re choosing me for this duty because I’m non-threatening and no one will ask why I’m taking pictures?”
“It’s because you’re cute and I trust you with the job.”
I growled. I hate cute. Cute is for kittens and fuzzy bunnies.
But since I had no argument for that, I snapped a few wide shots of the assembled teams, then pocketed the camera and headed back for base with Marlowe in tow. He strained against the leash, eager to join the column of handlers and dogs. I knew how he felt.
I thought about my job at the newspaper my quest to get off the obits and onto a real beat. Some things never change.
“Easy, killer,” I told the dog. “We’re on coffee and cookie patrol.” The dog whined.
I patted his head. “For now.”
Olivia had already set up the radio feed and was arranging maps and mission logs when a brown and white prowler screeched up the dirt driveway, spewing red dust and gravel as it spun to a stop. Hollis climbed out of his car, his dog clambering out after him. The dog snuffled about, probably looking for someone to bite. He should have considered taking a chunk out of his handler.
Hollis was dressed in full cop regalia, from trooper boots to big brown Stetson. His nose was still red where he’d miscalculated the proximity of my foot.
I smiled. Who says no good deed goes unpunished?
“Everything’s under control,” he announced to no one, which was okay because no one paid him any mind. He hiked up his belt and looked at Cantu. “Thanks, pal, I got it from here. Got deputies out doin’ interviews, gatherin’ intel. We’ll meet back here at twenty-three hundred to brief the team leaders.”
His gaze caught mine and he faltered, puffing his chest out. Animals do that when they’re establishing territory. I wondered if Hollis was just going to get it over with and pee on my leg.
“What’s she doing here?” Hollis growled, and Cantu stretched out to his full length, reminding me of a jungle cat, his tightly coiled muscles ready to spring.
“Cauley’s assisting me on coms,” he said.
“Not on my op she doesn’t,” Hollis sputtered, craning his reddening face at me. He was sucking on the ragged end of an old cigar and made a blatant attempt to blow the blue smoke in my face.
I smiled pleasantly, brought up the camera and snapped a photo. Later I would make a to-do list, and at the top of it I would write
1. Annoy the hell out of Junior Hollis, and then I would check it off with the satisfaction of a job well done.
Cantu squeezed the bridge of his nose like he had a headache coming on. “Hollis, she works at a newspaper. It makes sense she organizes the message.”
“And speaking of message, here comes Miranda,” I said. Hollis’s head swiveled in her direction, and he sucked in his big stomach.
Men are so predictable.
“You know,” I lied through my teeth, “she’s an old friend of mine, and she’ll be running the live feed for KFXX. Want me to introduce you?”
He rolled the cigar along his lower lip, and I almost felt sorry for Miranda. Then he grinned. “Let me get Napalm. Chicks dig dogs.”
I thought about Faith, wondered where she was and if she was all right as I watched Hollis preen for Miranda.
Good to know his priorities were in order.
“What gets said in here stays in this tent ‘less I say so,’ Hollis announced, sucking on his cigar. He started the presentation twenty minutes late to reiterate that we were snuffling around in his territory. ‘Detective Cantu has agreed to sit in on this meeting as a consultant.’
It was hot and dark and musty in the tent. The body heat from half a dozen hot, tired cops and team leaders made it that much worse.
My back was damp with sweat as we sat in rows of rickety metal chairs that reminded me of Sunday school.
A twenty-something, buzz-cut deputy I didn’t recognize flicked on a PowerPoint presentation. The first slide spelled out “Operation Finding Faith” on the front wall of the tent. I wondered if Hollis was going to include theme music.
Hollis paced in front of the projected image, chewing his cigar, hands clasped behind his back, channeling General Patton. Napalm sat quietly near the speaker, eyes following as Hollis paced.
I leaned toward Cantu. “I am going to figure out a way to get that dog.”
“Aren’t you already in enough trouble with Hollis?” he whispered back.
Hollis pulled out an aluminum telescopic pointer, flicked it out to its extended length, and slapped it at the image on the makeshift screen. On cue, a photo of Faith appeared.
“We are here today in search of Faith Puckett,” he announced.
It was an older photo of Faith. Long, dark hair; lovely, large eyes Audrey Hepburn in another life.
Hollis cleared his throat. “Caucasian, eighteen years of age, small stature, ‘bout ninety pounds. Last time she was seen, she was wearin’…” Hollis shuffled his notes, waiting for his deputy to switch screens. “Pink Barbie pajamas?”
Hollis looked at me, and I nodded.
Onscreen, the photo faded, and a new one took its place: Faith fronting a band that looked like a bunch of choir boys. Her hair was still long, but it was pulled back, and she wore the same green John Deere tee shirt I’d seen her in at the Pier. I pondered the significance.
“She smoked Camels, lit them with matches, so be on the lookout for butts and wooden matches. She was last seen at her home at approximately twenty-three-hundred hours yesterday. There’s been no movement on her bank account or credit cards, no calls on her cell.”
I noticed the way he spoke about her.
One of the main things I’ve learned since I began my gig on the Dead Beat is that most of the time, the deceased are still referred to in the present tense. Faith hadn’t been gone an entire day yet and Hollis was already referring to her like she’d gone to smash guitars in that big punk band in the sky.
“Now,” he said, slapping the canvas. A map flashed into view, a twenty-mile perimeter marked in red around the Point Last Seen.
“His perimeter’s not wide enough, is it?” I whispered to Cantu. “And that was twenty-four hours ago. We got what, another twenty-four hours before we got a snow cone’s chance in Hades of finding her?”
Cantu nodded. “You’ve been studying.”
“I have a good teacher,” I said. His dark skin went a little crimson, and I smiled.
“Now,” Hollis said, whacking the pointer against his palm. “We’ve interviewed friends and family and have drawn some conclusions that should help narrow the search.
“As you know, the subject was involved in the shootout at the federal courthouse. Her brother was s’posed to testify against Selena Obregon, the leader of a gang who call themselves El Patron. Obregon is in the wind, and El Patron may be on the move.”
Hollis rustled his stack of papers. “Other things to consider. The subject was in the middle of a record deal that could have made her a target, but…” He waited as the slide switched.
“The subject worked at an establishment called Boners,” he said, and a series of masculine hoots went up around the dusty air.
“We supposed to go brace witnesses?” a young deputy quipped. Next to me, Cantu’s jaw muscle clenched.
Smiling, Hollis slapped the smirking deputy on the back. “Do what you feel you need to do, Willis, but the county don’t pay for lap dances.”
I raised my hand. “Why is this necessary?”
Hollis shot me a look reserved for the very young and the very stupid.
“Because, princess, we’re attempting to establish a s
uspect, a motive, and an opportunity.”
Nodding, I raised my hand again. “But she wasn’t there that night. At the club, I mean.”
“Far as we know,” he said. “You got any idea what kind of perverts hang out at that kinda place? A girl works at a rundown strip joint, it widens the number of suspects.”
My blood began to percolate, and he motioned the deputy manning the PowerPoint to continue.
“These are photos of the subject’s room at her mama’s house,” he went on.
A wide shot of an expensive-looking Tuscan-style home shimmered against the tent wall.
“The subject’s father died some time ago; the mother married Cullen Ainsworth II.” The slide faded to a back yard shot of paradise, complete with an elaborate pool with a vanishing edge that appeared to fall into the main basin of Lake Austin.
“As you can see, the girl’s mother married well.” Another chorus of snickers.
I have been around cops my whole life. I know that humor is a defense mechanism, but this humor showed no hint of defense.
These guys were not taking Faith’s disappearance seriously, even with a burned body. I got a sudden urge to kick Hollis in the leg and steal his dog right then and there.
Hollis cleared his throat. “We have not had a ransom call or any contact from anyone claiming to have kidnapped or harmed the girl.”
The slide changed, and a beautifully appointed white and ecru room appeared, followed by a shot of a closet full of neatly aligned sweater sets on wooden hangers.
It had all the warmth and coziness of a nudist at the North Pole. “This is the girl’s room. You can see that she was provided every conceivable comfort…’
He motioned for a slide change. “Yet she chose to live here.” A digital shot I’d taken of the burned-out trailer.
“From what we figure, we got a number of possible scenarios,” he went on, glancing over at Cantu for approval.
“One: a gangland payback based on the fact that her brother was on his way to testify against an up-and-coming gang moving in on Syndicate territory. Two: a boyfriend didn’t like the fact she might be going big-time with her music and wanted to keep her all to himself. Three: some client at the club decided to pop his cork. Or four: she did it herself.”
I sat stunned, forgetting the metal chair digging into my tailbone. I looked over at Cantu, who was frowning.
I didn’t bother to raise my hand this time.
“What do you mean did it herself? Her house is burned down, a woman who looks like her is burned beyond recognition, not to mention her brother, the only family she’s got, is dead.”
Hollis’s voice rose. “She chose her burnout of a brother over her mother and a good life in a big house a far cry from that rundown piece of shit she was living in.” Crimson flushed Hollis’s face, and I thought he might be heading for a stroke. “Maybe she found a way to get out of that hellhole she was in. We got to take that into consideration. This is America, Miz MacKinnon. You got a right to disappear if you want to.” He drew in a lot of air and held it. “We’re done here for now,” he said. “See Olivia for assignments.”
We were being dismissed.
“Cauley, can we talk a minute?” he said, giving me that cop-eyed stare meant to make me quiver in my undies.
All it did was make my lip curl.
Cantu hung back as the searchers and volunteers set about their tasks. Together, we waited for Hollis to get to the point.
Hollis squinted at Cantu, and I could see he wanted the detective to take a hike. I did an inward smile. Apparently, Hollis didn’t know much about Cantu. Duty, honor, and damsels in distress were his specialty.
“Look,” Hollis said. His voice rasped like he was having some control issues, and I knew it was some stupid guy thing about wanting to rip me a new one while maintaining Cantu’s respect.
Ignoring me, he went straight to Cantu. “I’m giving her some latitude because she’s a friend of yours. But don’t think for a minute she gets special favors.”
Cantu didn’t move.
“And I swear to God any of this winds up in the papers without my say-so, I’m going to chicken-fry her liver for lunch.”
Cantu said nothing. There was something bigger going on in the room that I wasn’t privy to, and then Cantu said, “You ready?”
He was talking to me.
“Oh. Yeah,” I stammered. “I just…yeah.”
I retrieved Marlowe from Olivia, and Cantu walked me to my Jeep. At that moment, every ounce of adrenaline drained from my body, and my blood felt like cold sludge running through my veins.
“You okay?” he said, and I shook my head. “I’m just really tired all of a sudden.”
Marlowe and I climbed into the Jeep, and Cantu waited until the key in the ignition jarred the engine into gear.
He was quiet for a long time.
“I know he’s got you pumped, but this isn’t fun and games,” he finally said. “People are dying. There’s a federal witness dead, a girl burned, and a girl missing, and we don’t know why.”
I nodded, but I said, “Yet.”
Cantu stared at me for a long time. He shook his head. “God, you remind me of your dad sometimes.”
A slow smile spread over my face. I leaned out of the rattling Jeep and kissed his cheek. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“You going home?” he said, and I smiled.
“Yes.” It wasn’t a total lie. I’d go home sometime, but not anytime soon. Cantu looked at me like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t say anything.
I hit reverse and Marlowe braced himself as we backed up. “Cantu?” I called over the engine noise.
He turned, moving slowly, like he was trudging through mud. His eyes were hooded and tired.
I smiled at him. “Thank you. And say hey to Arlene for me.”
Cantu nodded and smiled. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
I gasped. “Say it isn’t so.”
He smiled. It was a small smile, but it was enough. I put the Jeep in gear and headed to Copy Mate.
I patted the little digital camera. I had some photos to print, a girl to find, and a dog to save. Life, sometimes, is complicated.
Chapter Eighteen
I called Logan on his cell, prepared to leave him a message as I headed down I-35 toward the all-night Copy Mate near the university.
The phone clicked on, and instead of the standard hello, Logan said, “I heard you had an interesting night.”
A couple of interesting nights, if you counted my midnight liaison with Logan. My cheeks flushed, and I said, “Hello to you, too. How is it that you always seem to know what I’m doing?” I wasn’t sure if I should be irritated or flattered. In truth, it made me feel safe.
“Where are you? Are you okay?” I said.
“I’m fine,” he said, but he sounded tired.
I noticed he only answered the second part of my question but didn’t press it.
“Any word on how the marshal’s doing?”
“He’s out of intensive care. He should be going home in about a week.”
“That’s great news. You find any leads on Obregon and her escort?” I said, and he blew out a breath.
“Running down some intel. What about you?”
“Faith. I’m heading to the copy place on campus. Cantu put me on cookie and Kool-Aid patrol, so I spent the evening handing out refreshments and taking pictures of other people searching and rescuing.”
“You sure she’s missing and not just gone?”
“Her trailer’s burned down.”
“There’s that,” he said.
“And a girl who looks a lot like Faith got burned like a briquette in Faith’s trailer.”
“And the girl?”
I shivered; the beautiful girl’s burned body, the smell…“She’s on her way to Brookes. The EMTs are hopeful.”
“Cauley, you gotta be careful,” he said, frustration pulsing in his voice.
I was starting to get annoyed. “No, I haven’t heard from Fiennes. You think he has something to do with this?”
Logan didn’t say anything, and a flicker of fear sparked in my center.
With the phone shrugged to my ear, I rolled into the parking lot and climbed out of the Jeep, leash in hand, wincing as Marlowe nearly yanked my shoulder out of its socket, heading for the door. “Jeez I feel like my whole body got beat with a ball bat
“If you know what it feels like to have your whole body beat with a ball bat, then you’ve got bigger problems than I thought, kid.”
“Yeah, I heard you’re a funny guy.”
“I’ve heard that, too. As far as the ball bat, it’s the adrenaline drop. It’ll pass. Eat a banana and take some aspirin. I’d say get some sleep, but I’m guessing that’s out of the question. So what happened?”
I told him and he listened, and I knew he was putting the pieces together, looking for similarities, coincidences, and things that didn’t belong.
“So what’s next?” he said.
“Logan, Hollis is running that mission like a joke. If he was smart, he’d let Cantu lead.”
Following the dog into the store, I nearly tripped through the automatic double doors, and I waved at the two night guys manning the register.
Marlowe was still in his bright orange SAR vest, and the guys grinned at the dog as we breezed through the fluorescent, artificially cooled air. That’s one of the cool things about service dogs: you can take them almost anywhere. I took a place in the back row of cubicles and pulled the camera out of my purse.
“It’s not Cantu’s jurisdiction,” Logan said.
“If I hear that one more time today I’m going to scream,” I said, plugging the camera into the printer. “And Hollis couldn’t find his dick with both hands and a flashlight.”
“Wow,” Logan said. “I’m scared of you.”
“Got any advice?” I said, and Logan was quiet. “Stay out of trouble.”
I sighed. “I just feel like I’m not doing anything. I mean, Faith was counting on me. I’m the last person to see her before she disappeared.” I thought about Josh watching me put her to bed in her Barbie pajamas. I got a very creepy feeling. “Well, I was the last one to talk to her. And you should have seen Marlowe. He was ready to roll.”