“I like what you’ve done with the place,” The Businessman said, closing the door behind him and stopping just inside it, ignoring the cold air seeping in behind him.
“Shut the hell up,” The Muscle replied, walking halfway across the room before stopping and turning. Folding his arms before him, he rested his forearms atop the ridge just beginning to develop at the top of his stomach, much of his body carved from dense flesh that seemed to be slabs of fat and muscle mixed together.
Pushing aside whatever amusement there was to be derived from his surprise visit, and more importantly the discomfort it caused his cohort, The Businessman said, “I wanted to speak to you about the girls.”
“What about them?”
“I fear that seeing the news report yesterday may not have had the intended effect,” The Businessman said, having recalled what he witnessed the night before.
“Maybe for you,” The Muscle countered, “but my crew is scared shitless.” He paused a moment before adding, “Truth be told, they were before too. It was one of yours that got out of line.”
Feeling his cheeks burn as blood rushed to his face, The Businessman waited for the sensation to pass, not wanting to give The Muscle the satisfaction of seeing him seethe.
“I don’t mean that,” he replied, “I mean that it worked too well. Right now they’re too damned afraid to even do their job.”
At this The Muscle thought for a moment, working his tongue along the inside of his mouth. “Nothing I can do about that. Not like I can scare them into not being afraid.”
The Businessman opened his mouth to respond before pausing a moment. He held up a finger, shaking it just slightly at The Muscle, before saying, “Actually, I think that’s where you’re wrong.”
Across from him The Muscle’s gaze narrowed, but he said nothing, waiting for The Businessman to continue.
“I think perhaps we may need to soon send a second message, reminding them why they’re here and what happens if they don’t produce.”
For the first time since his arrival The Muscle’s scowl softened a bit, his head rocking back just a bit in understanding.
“And just what did you have in mind for this second message?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There was no pause for recognition to set in, no questioning of who Reed was or why he and his partner were standing on the front doorstep. The moment Alaina Blair opened the front door she put things together in her mind, her face crinkling, her left hand rising to cover her mouth. There she stood, shoulders quivering as she attempted to stifle tears, before succumbing to the emotion and letting both hands fall to her sides.
“I’m sorry, Alaina Blair?” Reed asked, his mouth formed into a circle, one hand extended before him.
Without saying anything she gave an exaggerated nod of her head, red blotches appearing on her cheeks, tears streaking down either side. After a moment she drew in a sharp breath of air, willing herself into a state of semi-composure, before whispering, “It’s Beth, isn’t it?”
How she knew that just from the sight of him, Reed had no idea. It was apparent they had a great deal to discuss, though he didn’t particularly want to do so standing outside, the afternoon air growing colder, a persistent breeze blowing in from the northwest. Every few moments it shoved another gust over his body, strong enough to move the front flaps of his jacket, to tussle the hair atop Billie’s head.
“Ms. Blair, could we possibly speak inside?”
A look of dawning passed over her face as she stepped to the side, clutching the edge of the door in one hand and using the other to motion them inside. “Yes, please, I’m so sorry.”
Keeping Billie pulled tight to his side, Reed stopped on the small tile foyer, waiting for her to close the door and step back before motioning down to his feet.
“Shoes?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving a hand at him while moving onto cranberry carpeting, the plush flooring absorbing all sound. “Come on in.”
“Down,” Reed commanded, watching as Billie melted flat to the floor before placing her leash alongside her and following Blair into the room.
The house had a warm, lived-in feeling that vaguely reminded Reed of his parent’s house in Oklahoma. Outfitted in a mix of gold, green, and cranberry, the furniture was overstuffed with blankets tossed over the back of them, the end and coffee tables made from wood.
Along the far wall was a fireplace with a trio of logs glowing red, tendrils of yellow flame rising upward in an uneven pyre. Lining the mantle above it was a series of framed photographs, Blair in many of them, a man Reed assumed to be her husband and an infant child in the remainder.
In the corner stood a Christmas tree in full regalia, the lights on, shimmering from the heavy layer of tinsel coating the outside of it.
With her back to him, Blair stopped at the closest end table and snatched a pair of tissues from a decorative box before settling down onto the corner of the couch. She tucked her feet up under her and leaned onto the arm of it, both arms bent at the elbows, pressing the wipes under her nose.
The comment Zawyer had made earlier about the age of staff writers returned to Reed’s mind as he sat down in an armchair across from her, resting just off the edge of the seat and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
Despite the obvious presence of some baby weight, Alaina Blair was a handsome woman with a heart shaped face and thick dark hair pulled straight back. Clearly not expecting company, she wore fleece pants and an oversized cardigan over a white tank top, fuzzy socks on her feet.
Already her eyes were red and puffy, Reed knowing the ensuing conversation would only make things worse.
“Ms. Blair,” Reed said, pausing just slightly so as to choose his words carefully, “why do I get the impression you’re not terribly surprised to see me here?”
Another visible quiver passed over her face, top lip trembling for just a moment, before she caught herself, drawing in another deep breath. “Because every time the doorbell has rung for the last three months I’ve worried it would be you.”
The entire drive over from the Dispatch, Reed had tried to piece together how this conversation would play out. Aside from a name and an occupation he still knew precious little about his victim, unsure how to best approach things.
Already it was clear that any plan he had arrived with would have been futile, Blair clearly holding the information he’d been chasing.
“How so?” Reed asked, lowering his tone, not wanting to make things any worse for her than they already were.
Blair started to answer before pausing, shifting her gaze from the floor between them to look at Reed directly.
“Can I ask you first, how did you find me?”
For a moment Reed considered giving her a convoluted story about stopping by the office before thinking better of it. Bethanee Ing had clearly thought enough of this woman to have her permanently etched onto the soles of her feet, trusting her implicitly.
If Reed was going to get everything he needed from her, he needed to do the same.
“A phone number was found tattooed in Chinese symbols on Bethanee’s body,” Reed said. “When I called it, the message said to come find you.”
Blair’s mouth and eyes all three opened wide for a moment before slamming shut, her entire body again reduced to convulsing with heavy sobs as she brought the tissue to her face. There she remained, partially hidden from view for the better part of a minute as Reed turned away, staring at his partner, content to give the woman all the time she needed.
Once the bout passed she lowered her hands, her face shiny with moisture, the redness having extended from her eyes to encompass most of her face.
“I told her and I told her and I told her,” she whispered, shaking her head just slightly, “but she wouldn’t listen to me.”
Remaining silent, fighting back every question that sprang to mind, Reed stared at her, waiting for her to continue.
“Six months ago, r
ight after she’d wrapped the story about the insurance exchange, Bethanee came to me with something,” Blair said.
There she paused for a moment, considering things, before beginning anew.
“Somehow she had gotten wind of a new enterprise in town. She was convinced that somebody was importing young Chinese girls and using them for nefarious means.”
“Nefarious means?” Reed asked, holding out a hand to pause her just momentarily.
“Yes,” Blair replied, nodding, “and everything that comes with that. Acting as hostesses in new local establishments for those pretty enough, strolling the corners up and down High Street for those that weren’t.”
Without realizing it Reed felt his eyes go wide, his eyebrows rising in tandem. It was no secret that the sex trade existed in Columbus, the town as susceptible to the world’s oldest profession as any other. Adding international underage trafficking to the mix changed things tremendously though, pushing it into federal jurisdiction, the kind of thing task forces were built on.
“She had it in her head,” Blair continued, “that as a young Asian woman herself, she would be able to assimilate easily enough, do some poking around.”
Again Reed’s eyebrows rose, this time accompanied by a quick shake of the head. The moment Blair had begun to explain the subject matter Ing was looking into he had started to piece things together, the vanity and naivety of youth making it an easy plan to track.
“Oh, God,” Reed muttered. “And you guys went for this?”
“No,” Blair said, dropping the tissues away so Reed could see her full face. “No. Absolutely not. I told her there was no chance and shut it down cold.”
More than once Reed had encountered witnesses that took some liberty with details after the fact to better their own standing. As he sat and stared back at Blair though, he could tell that there was no such thing going on here, the conviction she spoke with quite real.
“Okay,” he conceded, “so then how...?”
“Are you familiar with Bethanee’s work at all?” Blair asked.
The question surprised Reed for just a moment, again forcing him to pull up the conversation he’d had downtown a short time before.
“A little bit. The lunch worker issue, the health insurance thing.”
“Right,” Blair said, jabbing the wad of tissue in his direction. “Well, after the health insurance piece, her wattage was through the roof. There were rumors that some of the big media outlets were starting to come around, offering the kind of money and exposure that we could never hope to.”
“So you guys bent?” Reed asked. “To save a rising star?”
“Not you guys,” Blair corrected, “them. The brass, as you might call it.
“By that point I was off to have my daughter. It wasn’t until after I stopped by a few weeks later to introduce her to everybody that I even realized Bethanee was gone.”
The familiar tangle in the pit of his stomach pulled a bit tighter as Reed looked at her, his weight rocking forward and raising his backside off the chair before settling back into position.
“You mean to tell me she’s been gone for that long and nobody called it in?”
“Nobody would have even known she was missing,” Blair replied. “The investigative writers aren’t like the beat guys, they don’t have a deadline every afternoon. Sometimes, especially if they’re undercover, it isn’t uncommon for them to go off-grid for a while.”
The situation sounded remarkably close to what Reed dealt with on the force, his own position being far different from McMichaels or Jacobs, which in turn was a stark contrast to the guys working deep cover.
If what Blair was telling her was true and Ing was inside, it wasn’t that hard to fathom that it had been weeks or more since somebody heard from her.
“How had she just, as you put it, gotten wind of this?” Reed asked. “If that’s true, it certainly isn’t the kind of thing people just advertise.”
“I don’t know,” Blair replied. “Once I told her no way, it was too dangerous, she seemed to let it go at that.
“Must have just been waiting until I went off for maternity leave and then took it to the next guy.”
“I spoke with Reggie Zawyer earlier today,” Reed said. “He had no idea where she’d been or what she was writing.”
“Which means she went to the top,” Blair said, “clear to the C-suites.”
“So she took those other offers out there and leveraged them into getting the story she wanted,” Reed reasoned aloud.
A deep sniff pulled Blair’s head back a few inches, the sound wet and phlegmy. “Sure sounds like it.”
“And they would have been all too happy to let her do it?” Reed asked.
“Pssh,” Blair snorted, letting her derision show, “those guys keep trying to delude themselves into believing that the 1920’s and the golden age of newspapers is set to return any day now. If they thought there was something they could milk from this, they would have signed off without thinking twice.”
Pressing his palms against his knees, Reed rocked back just slightly. Rotating his head at the neck, he turned to look at Billie, her chin raised at attention, her gaze fixed on him.
“If she was investigating something – this ring you mention or anything else – she would have notes, right? Something to document her findings?”
“Assuming she had anything?” Blair asked, pulling Reed’s attention back toward her, “Yes.”
“But you’re not so certain?” Reed asked.
For a moment Blair remained silent, considering the questioning, before finally shrugging slightly. “I honestly don’t know. Bethanee was good at her job, but like you said, these wouldn’t be the kind of people to just hand things over.”
Unable to disagree, Reed nodded slightly, thinking things through. What had just been shared with him could be nothing more than conjecture, but it could also be an enormous bust for several organizations in the area. Before he could hope to cull them together, to begin making a move though, he had to have something concrete outlining what was going on.
Reaching into the front pocket of his jacket, Reed extracted the folded up printout of Ing’s driver’s license. Folding it back just far enough to see the address printed beneath her picture, he read it off before replacing it, his attention aimed at Blair.
“Can you tell me, is that still her home address?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Somehow the majority of the work day had already slid past, the hours melting away in a blur of interviews and jaunts back and forth across the city. Already at just half past three the sun was almost completely gone from the sky overhead, the winter solstice just a couple days away, bringing with it the shortest days of the year.
Exacerbating the lack of daylight was the plummeting temperatures that seemed to grip the region, each day getting a bit colder and showing no signs of relenting. The threat of a nor’easter had been mentioned once or twice already on the local news programs, the steady gusts that had settled in days before seeming to be a premonition of things to come.
When Riley had first passed, Reed had thought of packing up and heading elsewhere, trying his hand in a new city. He knew that every place in Columbus would be irrevocably earmarked with her presence, one memory after another that would keep the wound from ever fully healing.
In the course of his deliberations he had considered putting in applications across the south, going to someplace warm, where everybody’s skin was bronzed by the sun, their hair a shade or two lighter than normal. No longer would he be forced to wear a coat five months of the year, having to scrape the frost from his windshield in the wintertime.
Florida, perhaps. Maybe even California, or Honolulu.
Once the initial throb of pain had started to subside, the notion of leaving waned as well. As much as he knew that seeing all their familiar haunts would be difficult, he reasoned it was a pain he wanted to carry. The thought of it fading brought with it the potential of her memory d
oing so as well, something he could not abide.
Still, he couldn’t help but think as he walked to the manager’s office of the Schollman Square apartment complex with his shoulders hunched up tight against his neck that it would be nice to maybe work on loan someplace through the winter months.
As if reading his thoughts, the wind only persisted in blowing harder, sending a chill the length of his body as he increased his pace to a jog, covering the last few steps and jerking the door open, almost shoving Billie inside.
For a moment both paused inside the door, drawing in the warmth of the office, before Reed even bothered to survey his surroundings to find the woman seated behind a wooden desk staring right at them. A bemused smile covered the bottom half of her face as she looked on before arching an eyebrow.
“Chilly out there, huh?”
“Getting colder by the minute,” Reed replied, making no apology for the display she’d just seen.
Sliding his badge from deep in his coat pocket, he waved it at her before replacing it, taking a few steps closer into the room.
“Detective Reed Mattox, my partner Billie, CPD. I wonder if you have a tenant here by the name of Bethanee Ing.”
The woman, appearing somewhere in her early forties with dark hair bearing the first streaks of grey, glanced to the computer beside him without reaching for it.
“I’m not sure right off. We have over two hundred units here, I’d have to look.”
Pausing a moment, Reed waited for her to make some motion to do it, but none came.
“Well, can you please look?” he asked.
“What’s this about?” the woman asked, all prior mirth having faded away. She narrowed her gaze just slightly, twisting her head to the side.
“It’s about an ongoing investigation,” Reed said, feeling his ire already starting to creep higher. So far in the course of the investigation he had already encountered too many self-important people, the runaround routine fast growing old.
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