No Such Thing as a Free Ride (16 page)

Ellen slipped a pile of papers on Mrs. Mott’s desk and turned to leave. “It was nice meeting you, Brandy.”

“You too.”

Mrs. Mott called to her as she reached the door. “Ellen, have you by any chance seen Star around recently?”

“Star? Which one is she? I’m sorry, my goal is to know all the kids that come through here, but I’ve got enough trouble keeping track of my own cases.” She emitted a small, embarrassed laugh. “Well, it’s been a long day,” she ended, opening the door. “I’m heading out, Cynthia. Bye, Brandy. Good luck with your story.”

I waited for the door to close behind her. “Do you think it’s possible that Star went home?” I asked.

Cynthia shook her head. “Possible? Yes. But not probable. Well,” she said, standing up, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. The police took everything they thought was relevant, and Olivia’s office has already been cleaned out, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”

Ellen was in the hallway as I emerged from Mrs. Mott’s office. Nodding another goodbye, I felt her eyes on my back as I walked down the hallway and out the door.

*****

I was seriously low on dog food, so I swung by the 7-Eleven to pick up some beef jerky for Adrian. He absolutely loves the stuff and I thought he deserved a treat. While I was there, I grabbed a word puzzler magazine off the rack at the counter. My mother insists it wards off senility. “A puzzle a day keeps the Alzheimer’s away,” she always says, and it must be true because she heard it on
Oprah.

When I got to the car I realized I hadn’t eaten in hours, so I took out one of the sticks of beef jerky figuring my dog wouldn’t mind sharing. Then I thumbed through the magazine, zipping past the anagrams because they’re way too hard, until I found a word jumble and kicked back for a few minutes, enjoying my lunch.

As I sat staring at a group of mixed up letters that would eventually, if I was skilled enough, turn into a word, I began to wonder if dyslexic people automatically saw the letters in the “correct” position. I mean, if they normally scrambled up words in their own brains, then if the letters were
already
mixed up, wouldn’t the opposite be true?

And as I pondered this, something began to nag at the back of my brain, until it shoved its way to the forefront and smacked me upside the head.

“Harmony Valentine is dyslexic! That’s why she had such a hard time reading the word “apple.” Granted, lots of people function quite well with dyslexia, but maybe she was never diagnosed as a kid and didn’t get the academic help she needed.

Okay, Brandy, stop analyzing the state of public school education and think! Maybe Harmony got the letters right, but she somehow rearranged the order in her mind.

I took a pen and pad of paper out of my bag and wrote “SLIMEY 1.” Then I tried several different combinations until I hit on one that made an actual word. “SMILEY 1.”

I punched in the number for the DMV. “Yo, Cousin Glenda. It’s Brandy. Listen, I have a favor to ask you.”

Ten minutes later, Glenda called me back. “You were right on the money, doll. “SMILEY 1” is a silver Dodge minivan, belonging to a James Garner. Ha! Ha!” She let out a big belly laugh. “I wonder if it’s James Garner the actor. I loved him in The Rockford Files.”

“I’m willing to bet it isn’t. Can I get an address?”

*****

If I’ve learned nothing else over the course of the last several months, I’ve
have
learned that no man is an island, and if I need help I shouldn’t be too proud to ask for it. I was about to embark on what could turn out to be a dangerous mission, and I needed someone I could trust, someone to watch my back, someone I could count on to go to the mat for me. Barring that, I’d settle for someone who wouldn’t try to talk me out of it and would actually enjoy a little adventure. I called Janine.

“Sure, Bran, I’ll go with you. It’s not like I have a job or anything, and it sounds like fun. So, what does one wear on a recon mission anyway? Do I like dress up or can I go in flip flops and shorts?”

I wasn’t really sure, seeing as I no idea what our jaunt to the Greater Northeast would entail. “You can never go wrong with ‘Business Casual,’” I decided. “See you in about twenty minutes.”

There was something I’d forgotten to ask DiCarlo, so when I got to Janine’s I parked in front of her walk-up and punched in his number. He was still at the precinct.

“How did the cops know where to look for Bunny if they didn’t even know who they were looking for?”

DiCarlo let out a long suffering sigh. “You know I can’t discuss details of a case with you.”

“Yeah, I know… so just give me a hint. Who was it?”

“Brandy,” he said through gritted teeth, “I mean it. I’m not going to have this conversation.”

“
Ohhh, I get it
. There’s someone there with you. That’s cool. Just give me the first and last initials… Bobby? Hellooo…”
He hung up on me! Oh, fine.

I rolled down the tinted windows and honked, and a few minutes later Janine appeared decked out in a cammo mini-skirt and high heel sandals. She made a face at the Le Sabre and climbed in.

“What’s with the face?” I waited while she buckled up and then I put the car in gear.

“I thought we’d be taking Nick’s truck. You know, drive around in style for a change.”

“I gave the truck back.”

“Oh.” Janine contemplated this for a minute. “You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Nah. I’m good.”

Janine glanced around. “This is way better than Nick’s truck anyway. I mean we don’t have to worry if we spill something on the seats, and if somebody’s stomach gets upset, nobody will notice cause of the—y’know—mildew smell.”

“Yeah, it’s way better.”

“So what’s the game plan?” she asked, settling into my, apparently, unbearably gross car.

“Game plan? Oh my God, Neenie. I was so bent on finding out who owns the silver van, I totally spaced on what I’m going to say when I meet him. Jeez, I can’t exactly go up to him and say, ‘Yo, buddy, did you happen to pick up a fifteen year old hooker in your travels, and if so, do you remember where you put her when you were through?’”

Janine took out her make up bag and extracted her eye liner. “Where are we going, anyway?” She pulled down the mirrored sun visor and glopped some on her eye lids.

“Welsh Road…
are you dressing up for this guy?”

“You catch more flies with honey,” Janine said. “You might want to freshen up too.”

Call me old fashioned, but I really didn’t feel like gussying up for a creep who spends his lunch break trolling for underage prostitutes.

Following the directions that Glenda had printed out for me, we found ourselves cruising around a middle class housing development built in the late ‘70’s. Well-kept single-family homes dotted manicured streets with names like Lindy Lane and Bethany Drive, homage, no doubt, to the developer’s daughters.

We parked across the street from a white, two-story wood and brick house. Mini American flags lined the walkway leading up to the front door. A couple of cars were parked out on the street; a dark green Saturn and a Toyota Camry. A silver van was parked in the driveway, the back end visible from the street. I scrunched up my eyes and read aloud. SMILEY 1. Bingo!

Janine unhitched her seat belt, her hand on the door. “Let’s roll.”

“Um, Janine,
I’m
gonna roll. You stay here and if you hear me scream call 911.”

“That’s it?” She sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “I thought you brought me along to help you kick this guy’s ass.”

“That’s really nice of you to offer, Neenie, and if it comes to that, feel free to jump right in. But for now I thought I’d just pretend I’m a realtor in case there’s a Mrs. James Garner.” I reached into my bag and produced a calling card. It was from Ricco Realty and had a picture of an Asian woman with long dark hair. Close enough.

Janine dug into her bag and produced a card of her own. She had actually spent about a day and a half working at Tony Tan’s realty office and considered herself quite the housing expert. “Come on, Brandy. I won’t say a word. I’ll just be there to add a little authenticity.”

“Okay. But promise me you’ll let me do all the talking.”

“My lips are sealed.”

We opened the doors and climbed out. As we walked across the street I started to panic. I mean what if it’s all a giant misunderstanding and here’s this poor innocent guy who was—for all I knew—giving young girls rides to church services or something. The last thing I wanted to do was jump to any wrong conclusions. I’d just put it out there in a careful and non accusatory manner.

One half of a double garage door was open and a man was working inside. His back toward us, he was bent over, sorting nails in a box. The room was filled with art canvases, some very large, stacked neatly against the wall. I glimpsed one of the paintings; an “abstract” that looked like it was created by a three-year old, but would probably sell for about a million dollars if you told people it was painted by someone famous. I guess I’m not high brow enough to appreciate shit like this. It just looked like bad art to me.

The guy must have been expecting someone else, because he stood up now and turned toward us, smiling. “You’re home early, honey,” he said.

Gazing at the two strangers standing before him, confusion registered in his eyes. At that exact moment, recognition registered in mine.

“So, you’re James Garner, you son of a bitch.”

Janine snapped to attention. “Um, excuse my partner. She’s got allergies. We’re realtors and we’re just canvassing the neighborhood—”

“Forget it Janine. I know this scumbag.”

Garner paled. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you’d better get the hell off my property before I call the police.” He took a step back and stumbled, and for the first time I noticed his foot was in a cast. Good. It must’ve happened when he was running blindly down the alley after beating Crystal to a bloody pulp.

“I don’t think you’re going to want to do that. You don’t recognize me, do you? Maybe this will jog your memory.” I pulled out my can of pepper spray. He recoiled, and for a minute I thought he was going to pass out from shock.

“How did you find me? Are you the police?”

“You’re not in any position to ask questions, Mr. Garner.” (
Impersonating a police officer is a federal crime, but I think it’s okay if you just allude to it.)
“What you need to understand is we know who you are and we could make life very unpleasant for you unless you cooperate with us.”

I didn’t know where I was getting this. It’s like I was channeling some B-movie thug, circa 1940.

Garner dropped his voice to a dead whisper. “Hey, I know who you are. You’re a reporter, aren’t you? What? Are you in a ratings slump or something? Looking for a juicy story?” He gave a hard nod in Janine’s direction. “Well, whatever this street tramp told you is a lie. I’ve never seen her in my life.”

It took me a beat to realize the impression he was under, and then another to swallow my surprised laughter. Janine, however, was
not amused.

“I ought to pop you one, you little weasel.” Her fist tightened and for a minute I thought she’d make good on her threat.

“Janine, please. Look,” I said, turning back to Garner, “I’ll make this real easy to understand. I’ve got proof that you were a
client
of a young kid that goes by the name of Star. So, what are we looking at… statutory rape? But I digress,” I noted, pleased beyond belief that the bastard was sweating bullets. “Now, Star’s gone missing, and the last time anyone saw her, she was climbing into your car. Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“I swear to God I didn’t hurt her. We went to a motel, she—did her thing and I dropped her off on a corner somewhere. I haven’t seen her since. I—I was looking for her the day you saw me—”

“Saw you beating the shit out of another little girl?” I supplied, anger turning my voice hoarse.

Suddenly he jerked his head up, straining to see over our shoulders. I didn’t think it possible for a person to turn any whiter, but the last ounce of blood drained from his face as we followed his gaze down the street. A couple of teenagers were walking toward the house. The girl looked to be about sixteen, slim, pretty and petite, the boy, a year or two older and a head taller and built like a Fullback.

“Please,” he begged. “It’s my daughter and her boyfriend. You have to go.”

My stomach churned.
This sicko has a daughter?

They turned onto the walkway and stopped at the garage entrance.

“Hi Dad.” The girl stood on tiptoe to kiss Garner’s cheek before casting a puzzled glance in our direction. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’re interrupting.”

“Not at all,” I said, extending my hand to her. “My name’s Kim and this is my partner, Mary Beth. We’re realtors and we wanted to introduce ourselves to the neighborhood.”

“I’m Caitlin,” she told me, her eyes glued to Janine, “and this is my boyfriend, Ben.”

Ben gave a quick nod in our direction and began thumbing through the paintings. “Mr. Garner, I’ll get these out of your way soon. I had them stored in my dad’s sound studio out back, but I’ve been using that space while they’re away. I’m working on cleaning it out, though. Even though he doesn’t record music anymore, he still likes to go in there, y’know to get away from my mom sometimes.”

Garner forced a laugh. “No rush, Ben. When will your folks be back from Europe?”

“Another week.”

“Honey,” Garner said, “I’m just finishing up with these ladies. Why don’t you go inside? I’ll be there in a few minutes and I can help you guys put together that slide show you were working on.”

“We could just wait for you,” she said. “Hey, you’re not thinking of selling the house, are you, Dad? We haven’t even unpacked all of our boxes yet.”

“Caitlin, sweetheart, I assure you we’re not moving. You guys go inside and I’ll be there in a minute. Your mother will be home soon and we can all go to that new restaurant you’ve been talking about for dinner.”