Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served Страница 25

“Yeah. Frye.”

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Catherine knew the instant her lover slipped away and the detective took her place. Rebecca swung her legs to the side of the bed and sat up in one ß uid motion. The muscles beneath Catherine’s Þ ngers tightened, as if preparing to surge into motion. The very air around Rebecca’s body crackled with tension.

“What was she wearing?”

Rebecca’s tone was sharp. Catherine did not need to see her face to envision the Þ erce focus in her ice blue eyes.

“No! Stay there. I’ll get back to you as soon as I make a few calls.”

Rebecca swore under her breath.

“All right. I’ll pick you up in Þ fteen minutes.”

As Rebecca closed the phone and stood, Catherine checked the clock. A little before six a.m. “What is it?”

“Sandy’s missing.”

v

Rebecca drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on her cell phone. Beside her, Mitchell sat rigid, her back so stiff it did not touch the seat. Her feet were planted ß at on the ß oor, palms pressed to her thighs. Her splayed Þ ngers were white.

“What exactly did she say when she left?” Rebecca asked.

“She’d set up a phone meet with Trudy. It was the Þ rst time they’d connected since the bust.” Mitchell’s voice was gravelly, her throat desert dry. She stared through the windshield at the familiar neighborhoods, registering nothing. There was an odd numbness in her chest and belly, as if she’d been gutted. There was no pain, only a vast emptiness, dark and endless. “She didn’t say where.”

“What’s your best guess?”

In the silence that followed, Rebecca pushed her own sick fears deep down inside. She’d put Sandy out there. Never mind that Sandy knew the risks. In the end, she alone was responsible for anything that happened to her. Sandy—sharp-tongued, quick-witted, tough, vulnerable Sandy. She probably weighed all of a hundred pounds. Jesus Christ.

“Mitchell?”

“I don’t know.”

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Rebecca slammed on the brakes, downshifted hard, and swerved to the curb. In the same motion, she turned in the seat and grabbed Mitchell’s shoulder, forcing the younger woman to look at her. “She’s out there, and we’re going to Þ nd her. That’s what we do. If anyone’s hurt her, we’ll take care of it. Now get your fucking head together, because I need you. And so does she.”

Mitchell blinked. The Þ ngers digging into her shoulder created small circles of pain, a welcome reminder that she was still capable of feeling. The sharp edges of Rebecca’s words cut through the mist of desolation that clouded her mind. She was not helpless. Sandy was not gone.

“The…diner, maybe.”

“No, too busy. Too many pimps who might see them.” Rebecca inched closer, easing her viselike grip. “Come on, Mitchell. She’s your girl. You know her. Someplace she trusts. Somewhere safe.”

“Chen’s. That’s where we used to meet, back when we Þ rst started…going out.” Mitchell shivered as the ice encasing her heart cracked. It hurt to feel her heart beat, but the pounding was a welcome ache. “South Str—”

“I know where it is,” Rebecca snapped as she shifted back into her seat, her foot already jammed on the gas pedal. The Corvette peeled down Bainbridge, the engine screaming in the nearly empty Saturday-morning streets.

v

“Yes, I remember,” Lilly Chen said. She’d answered their knock immediately, wrapped in a long robe, looking as if they hadn’t just awakened her from a sound sleep. “With another girl. Last booth in the back. Two o’clock.”

“Anything unusual happen?” Rebecca asked.

Lilly frowned. “I don’t think so. They talked, they ate. We were busy. Friday nights are like that.”

Rebecca sensed Mitchell growing restless beside her, but she kept her own posture and expression relaxed. Witnesses frequently didn’t realize how much they truly knew, and if they felt pressured, they often forgot or fabricated. Neither was desirable, especially not now, when they had so little to go on. “Do you remember any customers acting

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strangely right about that time—say, leaving without Þ nishing their meal?”

“There was one like that!” Lilly exclaimed, her eyes bright. “He ordered but didn’t eat. Left too much money on the counter because the check wasn’t ready.”

“What time was this?” Mitchell asked calmly.

“Just after two, I think.”

Mitchell’s heart jumped into overdrive. “Did he talk to them?”

Lilly shook her head. “No. No one did, or at least I didn’t see.”

“What about your waitresses? Would they have noticed?” Rebecca asked.

“My children. They were working last night. I could wake them.”

“No,” Rebecca said, “not right now. We may want to talk to them later, if that’s all right.” Questioning the kids would take too long, and what they needed now was an idea of where Sandy might have gone.

Finding out who might have gone after her could wait.

“Anything else you can think of? Anything that was at all different.”

Lilly started to shake her head again, then stopped. “Sandy gave me money at the table, not up front at the register like usual. I don’t remember seeing the girls leave.”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Back door?”

“Maybe,” Lilly agreed. “The Þ re door is back by the restrooms.

They could have left that way.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said. “Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Lilly called after them.

As they hurried down the sidewalk, Rebecca said, “There’s an alley that runs behind this row of storefronts. Let’s check it out.”

“Okay. Right.” Mitchell spun away, only to be jerked to a halt by Rebecca’s hand on her shoulder again.

“Take it easy. There’s probably no one still around, even if he did follow them out the back. But keep your head on straight.” Rebecca waited, watching, knowing that now was the moment that would deÞ ne Mitchell’s future.

Mitchell took a deep breath and thought back to the months and years of training that had been part of a career she had tried hard to forget. This was the war and these streets the battleÞ eld that she had spent a lifetime preparing for. Her mission was now, and nothing would

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ever matter more. The roaring in her head grew still. Her heart rate slowed, her vision cleared. The faint trembling in her hands dissipated.

She turned and met her lieutenant’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Þ ne.”

“Good. You approach from the north, and I’ll come in from the south. We’ll check the alley directly behind Chen’s Þ rst, and if there’s nothing there, we’ll follow their most likely path.”

“Understood.”

Five minutes later they met again beside the unmarked brown metal door that was only identiÞ able as Chen’s service entrance by the crates of moldering vegetable remains stacked by the nearby dumpster.

“Nothing,” Rebecca said ß atly. “Where would they likely head for?”

“Jesus,” Mitchell muttered, rubbing her face. “If they were done talking, Sandy would either check out the strip or come home.”

“If she thought they were being followed, she’d want to shake him pretty fast,” Rebecca mused. She turned, orienting herself in the narrow, dank alley, trying to put herself in the place of two frightened girls. “At 2:30 in the morning, the only activity around here is on South Street. It’s the only place they might be able to blend in with other people on the street.” She pointed west. “And if they were trying to make it to the strip, they’d go that way. I’ll take this direction, you head toward the river. Just in case I’m wrong.”

“What about backup?” Mitchell asked.

“No point yet. You have your cell?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll check in with you every Þ ve minutes. Call me sooner if you Þ nd something.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

v

Rebecca walked quickly, eyes scanning both sides of the narrow thoroughfare. All of the business establishments were closed, and it was too early for deliveries, so she was alone. City smells accosted her: gasoline, garbage, and an occasional hint of someone’s breakfast.

It was fall, and the morning was cold. She left her jacket open for easy access to her weapon. She didn’t think about Catherine. She didn’t think about Sandy. She thought about where a young girl running for her life

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might go. Her cell phone rang. It was three minutes before the next checkin time with Mitchell. She looked at the number on the readout as she pulled the phone from her belt. Her hand never wavered, but her stomach tightened painfully.

“Frye.”

Mitchell’s voice came through clear, surprisingly steady, surprisingly normal, except for the absolute absence of inß ection.

“I’ve got a body.”

v

Don’t touch anything, the lieutenant had said. Secure the scene, she had said.

Mitchell moved mechanically, instructing one of the uniforms who had arrived within minutes to cordon off each end of the alley with yellow crime scene tape, advising the other to start canvassing for witnesses. It was the Þ rst time she’d ofÞ cially acted as a detective, and she didn’t feel a thing. No pride, no arrogance, no nerves. Nothing. She didn’t feel anything.

“Mitchell.”

“Ma’am,” Mitchell said reß exively, turning toward the sound of Rebecca’s voice. Funny, how just that little bit of movement made her dizzy. The lieutenant had an odd expression on her face—a searching, almost tender look.

“What do you have?”

“Female…” Mitchell’s voice died and she frowned. Coughed.

Tried again. Odd, how much her throat hurt all of a sudden. “Female victim. Behind the dumpster. Down the alley.”

“Show me.” Rebecca ducked under the tape and put her hand in the center of Mitchell’s back. The muscles beneath her Þ ngers were as hard as stone. Rivulets of sweat ran from beneath Mitchell’s hair, soaking the collar of her leather jacket. “Are you certain she’s dead?”

“Has to be.” Mitchell moved forward in measured steps, stiff legged and disjointed, far from her usual ß uid stride. “So much blood.”

“Did you touch her?” Rebecca’s question was soft, her tone nearly gentle.

“No, ma’am. I saw…I saw an arm. The jacket.” Mitchell laughed, a short, broken sound. “That stupid jacket. I told her it wasn’t warm

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enough. She never listens.” She stopped abruptly Þ fteen feet from a green commercial dumpster. “There was blood everywhere. He shot her. He shot her in the head.” She shivered violently. “Oh Christ.”

From where she stood, Rebecca could see only part of the body.

A pale, open-Þ ngered hand extended from the sleeve of a bright red vinyl jacket. A shoe, its strap torn loose from the cheap plastic sole, lay abandoned close by. Part of a leg in shiny black satin. A thick spreading puddle that could only be blood. She’d seen it before. Hundreds of times. Smelled the scent of death, felt the hopelessness and despair.

This time, rage rode hard through her. Even as her fury mounted, her mind grew ever clearer, her heart colder.

“I want someone knocking on every door on both sides of this street for three blocks in every direction. Someone heard the shot—I want their name. No one interviews them but me. No one comes down this alley until the crime scene techs have cleared it. I want Flanagan.

No one else.” She angled her body between the victim and Mitchell. “I want you out of here. Go to Sloan’s. Wait for me there.”

“I want to see her.” Mitchell’s eyes were bleak, barren wounded things. “I didn’t…earlier. I saw the jacket. The blood. I can’t leave her here.”

“No. You go now. Do you understand?”

“Please. Please, Lieutenant.”

Rebecca hesitated, considered what she would need to do if it were…the pain struck so swiftly she gasped. Jesus. She gripped Mitchell’s arm and stepped close enough to her so that no one from the street could see them. This was Mitchell’s private hell, and there would be no witnesses.

“Come on.”

Together, they moved within three feet of the body and squatted down. With practiced, cool efÞ ciency, Rebecca surveyed the scene. The victim lay on her stomach, face turned away. She’d almost certainly been running and he’d caught her from behind, spun her around, and put the gun in her face. The exit wound told Rebecca that. There was so much blood even her hair color was obscured. A purse lay not far away, partially open, the clasp probably having been sprung from the force of the fall. Rebecca considered going through it, and then decided that Flanagan would shred her skin from her bones if she did. Beside her, Mitchell moaned.

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“All right,” Rebecca said sharply, starting to rise. “That’s it. You’re out of here.”

“No. No no no,” Mitchell intoned.

“Detective, I said—”

“There’s a tattoo on her ankle.”

“What?” Rebecca looked back down at the body, at the small rose tattoo just behind her ankle bone.

Mitchell stood swiftly, every drop of color bleached from her skin.

“That’s not Sandy.”

Without another word, Mitchell pivoted sharply, marched directly to the end of the alley, and ducked under the crime scene tape. She made it another ten feet down the street before she leaned against a lamp post and vomited into the street. A dozen cops saw her. No one laughed.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Here you go, kid. Drink some of this.”

Mitchell leaned against the lamppost, eyes still closed, laboring to get her system under control. She still felt dizzy, her stomach rolled dangerously, and her heart skittered crazily in her chest.

She inclined her head in Watts’s direction but did not yet open her eyes.

“In a minute.”

“Sure. Sure. Just take your time.”

“What are you doing here?” Mitchell Þ nally rasped, taking the can of soda he offered. “Thanks.”

“The Loo called and said we had a situation. I pulled up just as you were…uh…well.”

“Yeah. Nice show for all the uniforms,” Mitchell said bitterly.

“Fuck them,” Watts said emphatically. “And you owe me two bucks. I used my last quarter in the machine over there getting that soda for you.”

“I’ll buy you a six-pack.”

“Fair enough.” Watts hunched his shoulders in his shapeless sports coat. “Fucking freezing out here. So…I guess the scene’s pretty rough, huh?”

Mitchell took a mouthful of the tasteless but heavily carbonated liquid, rinsed her mouth, and spit it out into the gutter. Then she drained the rest of the can in one long swallow. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“What’s the story?”

“Looks like someone got Trudy.”

“Fuck.” Watts stiffened as if someone had poked him with a sharp stick. “Where’s Sandy?”

“I don’t know,” Mitchell said hoarsely. “At Þ rst I thought it was her…down there.”