Unspeakable

by Elisabeth Naughton

  “Stark?” He sipped his mocha again and set the paper cup on the table. “Eh. Kind of a pain in the ass, but we get along okay.” He pinned her with a look. “How ’bout you? I’m sure talking about the department’s the last thing you want to do. How’s the new gig? Still enjoying it?”

  Fake it till you make it. That had become her personal mantra the last year. “Good. Plenty to keep me busy too.”

  Callahan’s eyes narrowed as they held hers. And a heartbeat of silence passed before he said, “Liar.”

  If there was one thing she could count on from Brett, it was the fact he could see through the bullshit. Even hers.

  Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and gripped the warm cup in her palm. “It’s a job. Is that better? It pays well, and I’ve got an office with a great view, unlike your little basement hovel. I also don’t have Robinson breathing down my neck.”

  Brett chuckled and lifted his cup again. “Got me there. Your boss hiring? Maybe I should look into a new gig.”

  He was joking, of course. Brett would hate her job. He loved being out on the street where the action happened. That was where he felt most alive. In that way, they were alike.

  “Sadly for you, this one’s all mine.” She took a big sip to wash the bitter words down.

  Brett was silent for a few seconds, then said, “Give any more thought to opening your own PI firm? My buddy O’Donnell says there’s plenty of work for PIs in this city if they’re willing to—”

  “We’ve talked about this.” It was her turn to pin Callahan with a look. “I’m not interested in chasing after cheating husbands, which is the bulk of work a female PI in this town will get.”

  Brett frowned. “You don’t know that.”

  She did. Hell, it was the bulk of work she was getting in Renwick’s firm.

  Not wanting to think about that too much, she shifted in her seat. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Besides, my occupational status is not why I asked to meet with you.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. I wanted to thank you for the tape you passed my way. And to ask if there’s anything else you can tell me about the Melony Strauss missing person investigation.”

  Brett tensed and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. “I’m assuming this is off the record?”

  “Of course.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s your interest in this case?”

  There was no sense hiding anything. “Russell McClane is a Renwick client. I’m digging into his background for Andy but was curious if you had any new info on the investigation.”

  “Ah.”

  She wasn’t sure what that meant. “You’ve given me info before.”

  “This time’s different.”

  “Why?” She hoped it wasn’t because he was now a detective instead of a beat cop.

  He glanced around the coffee shop, checking to see if anyone might be listening. Appearing satisfied that they weren’t being watched, he faced her again and said quietly, “Because I’m connected to this case, and as such, I’m not supposed to be involved in it.”

  That triggered her interest receptors. She leaned forward. “How are you connected?”

  He shot a look around the coffee shop again. “My buddy O’Donnell? The one who runs that security company I told you about before? He’s engaged to Russell McClane’s sister.”

  Shit. She hadn’t realized that. “How’d they connect you to O’Donnell?”

  He huffed. “Do you not read the papers? O’Donnell and Kelsey McClane were caught in the Goldman Building collapse last month where they used to tape Good Morning Portland. She’s a big-time fashion designer. Her name’s been everywhere since that bombing. I played intermediary between her and O’Donnell and the FBI when they were being questioned.”

  Harper definitely remembered the bombing. It had been national news and a huge deal here in the Rose City. But she hadn’t paid much attention to the players.

  She tipped her head as she looked across the table at her friend. “Considering your connection, it makes sense they’re keeping you off the case. Of course, it also would make sense if you’re keeping tabs on the investigation.”

  His frown told her, yep, he totally was. “I don’t know Russell McClane personally.”

  That actually made things easier for her. “I’m not interested in your personal interpretation of the man. I’m curious about the facts of the case. Strauss is not that girl’s real last name, and we both know it.”

  Brett frowned again and looked around the coffee shop. “You’re gonna get me into trouble, you know that? And I haven’t even been at this job a full month yet.”

  She had him. The tension in her belly eased. “No, I won’t. Just tell me what you know. I promise no one will find out I got the info from you.”

  Brett sighed and met her gaze. “PPD’s still trying to find her. But yeah, Strauss is an alias. Best working theory at this point is that she was a runaway, probably living as a homeless teen on the street before she got roped into working at Leather and Lace.”

  “Do the detectives have any idea where she came from?”

  He shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Not yet, but they’re not looking into her background too hard. They’re more focused on finding her body.”

  “So they think she was killed? What evidence do they have?”

  “None.”

  “But you said—”

  “Listen carefully.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Have you heard any whispers on the street about a character named Robin Hood?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “You’re going to. We’ve had four dead prostitutes turn up in Portland in the last six months, on top of eight missing, underage girls. And working girls we’ve interviewed have whispered about a guy who goes by that name. Up until now, the department hasn’t been able to connect him to these murders, but with this case, they’re hoping to.”

  “How?”

  “However they can.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You think McClane is this Robin Hood character?”

  “I don’t. They want to pin that name on him, though.”

  Harper’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t understand. You just said you have no concrete proof tying him to Melony Strauss’s disappearance.”

  Brett shook his head and glanced around one more time. “You’re not following me. It doesn’t matter if they have proof. The string of dead prostitutes has drawn some national media to the city. And with all the bad press Portland’s received lately because of its sex-trafficking situation, it’s only a matter of time before the press connects this missing girl. The mayor’s pressuring the department to solve the case before it blows up on the nightly news. He’s planning to run for governor, if you don’t already know. An unsolved serial killer case is the last thing he needs at the moment.”

  That all made sense to Harper. “But why McClane? If there’s no hard evidence linking him to Strauss—”

  “Think back, Harp. Where have you heard the McClane name before? And I’m not talking about that bombing. There was another McClane in the news over a year and a half ago. Connected to a huge scandal here in Portland.”

  Harper’s mind spun. A year and a half ago she’d been pretty consumed by her own personal chaos. She couldn’t quite remember what scandal had happened in the ci—

  Her eyes widened when she made the connection. “Oh shit. Miriam Kasdan. The socialite who went down for child trafficking. There was a McClane connected to that case, wasn’t there?”

  Brett nodded. “Alec McClane. A reporter. Kasdan was implicated in his daughter’s abduction. McClane and his ex-wife were the ones who blew the lid off that whole case and are the reason Kasdan and her son are now sitting behind bars. Guess which politician Miriam Kasdan was a huge donor to?”

  Harper’s stomach pitched. “Gabriel Rossi. The mayor of Portland.”

  “Bingo. Millions of dollars in his political coffers, gone because
of the McClane family. When Russell McClane’s name turned up in connection with Melony Strauss’s missing person case, you can only imagine what the mayor’s reaction was.”

  Yeah, she could only guess.

  “The mayor’s putting pressure on the detectives working Strauss’s case to find her body. And when they do, it wouldn’t surprise me if they find a way to tie McClane to her death. He doesn’t have an alibi.”

  Harper’s stomach pitched. Guilty or innocent, no one deserved to be targeted simply because of a name. But her vision turned red when she remembered Noah Pierce interrogating McClane on that tape. “Please tell me someone has the smarts to take Pierce off this case.”

  Brett frowned again, looking sick himself before he tossed back the rest of his coffee. “Sadly, I can’t tell you that.”

  Her jaw clenched hard.

  “I know.” Brett lowered his empty cup to the table, reading her reaction even though she fought like hell to keep her face neutral. “Now you know why the guy is basically fucked.”

  Yeah, she did. Pierce had no morals and wouldn’t give a shit about falsifying evidence to please his boss. He’d fucked her over, and she’d been his damn partner. To get ahead in the department, he wouldn’t even think twice about framing an innocent man. When she’d watched that tape yesterday, she’d had no idea it could be this bad.

  Not that she was convinced Russell McClane was innocent or guilty of anything . . . but just knowing that Noah Pierce was itching to pin this on McClane made her that much more determined to uncover the truth.

  The bells above the door jangled, distracting Harper from her anger, and she glanced that way to see two uniformed police officers step into the café. They didn’t immediately see her and Callahan, and for that she was thankful. “I think that’s your cue to go.”

  “Yeah.” Brett rose and pushed back from the table, stepping to the side, out of the officers’ line of sight as they moved toward the counter to place their orders. “I need to get back to the office anyway.”

  “Thanks for the info. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. I can’t tell you if your client is guilty or innocent, but I can tell you that everything I know about the McClanes is on the up-and-up. They’re a good family.”

  Harper knew looks could be deceiving. She also knew that everyone had secrets. Her included. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Find the girl, Harp. Dead or alive, that’s the only way you’re going to be able to help McClane.” With one last glance back at the officers who still hadn’t seen them, Brett tugged his coat on and headed for the side door.

  Alone, Harper looked out the wide windows and watched as he jogged across the street in the late-afternoon light, stepped onto the sidewalk, and disappeared around a corner. She didn’t really care if Russell McClane was innocent or not. It wasn’t her job to judge a client one way or the other. But if the department was trying to frame him, that made the man all the more interesting to her. And, she had to admit, that made this current case a thousand times more appealing.

  For the first time in months, she was actually excited about her job. Which was more emotion than she’d felt in a really long time.

  Rusty knew it was probably a safe bet to lay low for a while, but he’d never been one to listen to logical advice—from others or his own conscience. And his current project was too important to ignore.

  He checked the picture he’d printed off one last time, memorized the details of the photo in the neon lights illuminating the dark street from above, then stuffed the picture into the inner pocket of his jacket. Clouds had moved in during the afternoon, and the temperature had dropped dramatically. Shrugging deeper into his denim coat, he moved down the damp sidewalk and slowed as he approached three women loitering near the entrance to a dark alley.

  All three were dressed in skimpy skirts, high heels, and short jackets that kept their arms and torsos somewhat warm but didn’t hide their bodies. And all three were dolled up with heavy makeup, big hair, and gaudy jewelry that marked them as working girls.

  He recognized the bleached blonde puffing on a cigarette while leaning against the side of the building. The other two were new. Or new to him.

  “Hey, handsome,” the blonde said, her dull-brown eyes brightening as he drew close. “Haven’t seen you ’round here in a while.” She drew a long puff of the cigarette and pushed away from the wall. “Thought you’d gone and forgotten ’bout lil ol’ me.”

  She blew smoke all over his face with her last words, then smiled up at him with a crooked Cheshire grin.

  “Been busy.” He glanced past the blonde toward the brunette and redhead watching him closely. “New friends?”

  “New, but not nearly as good as me.” The blonde cupped his jaw with long, red-tipped fingers, drawing his attention back to her. “You lookin’ for a good time, honey? You come to the right place. Barbie’s got ya covered.”

  The brunette huffed and crossed her arms over her ample chest, cocking her hip in what Rusty knew was meant to be a seductive move but fell short because she was too thin. “Her name ain’t really Barbie, and she don’t have no clue what a good time is. You want a real good time, sweet cheeks, you come on over here and let Minx take care a ya.”

  The blonde shot a glare over her shoulder. “You shut your mouth, Minx, or I’ll make sure you never work this town again.”

  The brunette’s whole body tensed, and she dropped her hands to her sides and curled them into fists with a glare that could stop traffic. “Oh, you wanna piece a me? Come on, then.”

  The redhead, leaning up against the building on the other side of the alley, rolled her eyes as if she’d seen this drama too many times to count and didn’t give a rip who won or lost.

  “Now, ladies.” Rusty had watched this scene unfold more than once himself, and he really didn’t want to get in the middle of a catfight again if he could avoid it. “No sense fighting over me. Sadly, I don’t have time for a good time. I’m just looking for a little information.”

  The blonde glanced back at him and frowned. “Information’s still gonna cost ya. Ya know that.”

  Rusty did. He pulled three twenties from his pocket and held them up. “I’m looking for a girl. Strawberry blonde, young, new to the scene.”

  The brunette’s eyes lit up.

  The blonde, however, only frowned deeper. “You tryin’ to save another one, honey?”

  Rusty didn’t answer. Tugging the photo from his inside jacket pocket, he held it up so the women could see, then said, “Seen her recently?”

  The blonde and the brunette studied the picture. In the silence, Rusty could see they were both trying to figure out a way to convince him they recognized the girl so they could take all the money.

  The blonde shifted in her sky-high heels. “Yeah, she’s familiar. I mighta seen her yesterday.”

  “No, I’m the one who saw her yesterday.” The brunette tensed as she stepped closer. “Barbie only pays attention to the guys. But I know I seen this girl.”

  “Shut up, you bitch.” The blonde shot a glare at the brunette before looking up at Rusty with big eyes. “You know I always tell ya the truth, honey. Don’t listen to Minx. What ya wanna know about the girl?”

  They were both lying. Rusty stuffed the picture back in his jacket pocket. “I need to know where she is. Tonight.”

  Wheels spun in both the women’s eyes. The blonde licked her lips and glanced at the brunette. “I-I’m pretty sure I saw her a couple streets over. Isn’t that where we saw her, Minx?”

  Minx shot Barbie a glare, then her eyes widened, as if she’d just clued in to the game. “Oh yeah. That’s right. We saw her over on Third, right? Near Voodoo.”

  Voodoo was the famous Voodoo Donuts shop in downtown Portland.

  “Yeah. That’s where we saw her.” Barbie nodded encouragingly, clearly thinking she could scam Rusty over and they could split the cash. “She’s workin’ Burnside.”

  “Yep.” The brunette nod
ded emphatically. “Workin’ Burnside.”

  Wrong. The girl wasn’t working any street. At least not yet.

  The redhead leaning against the wall huffed.

  Rusty glanced her way. Her back was to the wall, one knee bent, her high heel braced on the bricks behind her as she stood with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her fake fur coat and a bored expression on her face. She looked to be in her late twenties, thin but not overly so, and her skin was clear and healthy, showing no signs of the drug use so many in this line of work were known for. “You disagree?”

  Barbie and Minx both turned icy glares toward the redhead.

  The redhead frowned at the women. “Not necessarily.”

  The other two relaxed and looked back at him with expectant expressions.

  “They mighta seen that girl near Voodoo earlier,” the redhead said, “but she isn’t there now.”

  “How do you know?” Rusty asked.

  “Because she walked by here about an hour ago, and I paid attention to where she went.”

  Rusty pulled out the photo once more. “And you’re sure it was this girl?”

  The redhead pushed away from the wall and stepped forward, focusing on the photo. And as she drew close he saw that she wasn’t quite as old as he thought. Maybe early to midtwenties. And in her cleavage where her fake fur coat fell open, he noticed the faint end of what looked like a surgical scar on her sternum. “Yep. It was her. Don’t often forget a girl that young going where I saw her go.” Her gaze lifted to Rusty’s face and narrowed. “What’s a guy your age doing looking for a girl that young?”

  Rusty tucked the photo back in his pocket. “Here.” He held out the sixty bucks. “This is yours. Just tell me where she went.”

  Minx and Barbie both huffed in disbelief. The redhead only stared at the money but didn’t take it.

  Slowly, her gaze lifted back to Rusty’s. “Look, I don’t have a problem with a kid lying about her age to wait tables. We all have to do what we have to do, to survive. But I’m not going to be a party to someone taking advantage of stalking a kid all becau—”