Chapter 51
He sits in the cab of his Ford truck, staring out at the shimmering waters. It’s early morning, and the sun is still low in the sky. This should be a peaceful, serene time. But it’s anything but that.
The hum of nature is strong here—the rattle of a belted kingfisher, sharp cricket songs, resonating frog calls, even reptile sounds of wretched, slimy creatures slithering mere yards from where he’s parked.
The noise interferes with his thinking. His ability to reminisce is in serious jeopardy.
His head is pounding. Nothing new there. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t have the pain.
Actually, that’s not true. He knows exactly when it all began.
Lately, the pain has been shifting. Today it’s at the base of his skull; he keeps rubbing the protrusion of skin and bone at the top of his neck, wondering if he were to hit it with a sledgehammer would the pain finally dissipate for good? He’s already downed a half-dozen Tylenol. That shit’s not even effective anymore. He imagines his bloodstream choked with miniature acetaminophen soldiers, marching along his arteries and veins haphazardly, searching (in vain) for a battle, for a demon to slay. Damian wants to scream at their captain and show them the way—incompetent fuckwads.
What is truly needed right now is a couple shots of Evan Williams bourbon. Fuck the fact that it’s only seven
AM
. Only thing that stops him from reaching for the bottle this second is the meeting he’s got later in Miami. Can’t show up smelling like a distillery. That wouldn’t be good for business.
No, siree.
Damian shifts in his seat. Rolls down the passenger window because it’s becoming uncomfortable. Now the nature sounds are amplified, like it’s Dolby Digital up in this piece. He rubs his neck again, and thinks of her.
Closes his eyes so he can imagine her in all of her glory.
When she was pure. Untainted. Wholesome.
God, Damian has trouble remembering when that was. Seems like a lifetime ago.
In some ways it was just that.
A lifetime ago.
When things were different.
When things were good.
Once upon a time he was married. They loved each other very much. The two of them made up this incredible team: the envy of their friends and family.
Look at those two,
they’d hear,
look at the way she looks at him, the way he dotes on her. They’re gonna be together for life, no question about it.
Yeah, it sure seemed that way, back then.
Before she turned. Before things went bad.
What is it about women?
Damian muses.
They say they want a good man. A man who wants to settle down. A monogamous man. A man who desires a family. A big house. A stable career.
Damian wanted all of that and more.
She had that and more.
But it wasn’t enough.
Bitches always want what they can’t have.
When they’ve got it good, they want better.
When they reach better, they strive for best.
Bitches.
It don’t make no kind of sense.
To have all that—the envy of your friends, and to throw it all away. And for what?
Back then, in his other life, Damian was compassionate. He was zestful, the life of the party. He was everything a woman wanted in a man.
But it wasn’t enough.
He even forgave her for her first transgression.
Because he loved her that much.
But when he found out that she was infertile—and had known for
years,
hiding the truth from him—that shit broke him in two. Parading around in front of their close friends and family, telling everyone she couldn’t wait to be a proud mommy, going through the motions, trying to get pregnant, saying it would happen in due time, when in fact she had no intention because she couldn’t.
That fucked him up.
Made him a changed man.
He saw her then for what she really was.
A whore who used people.
Now he didn’t even speak her name out loud.
No longer allowed himself the luxury of uttering her name.
She didn’t deserve the good memories they had shared.
Didn’t deserve anything but what she got.
What she fucking deserved.
Damian utters a short laugh.
She just about killed him when she said she needed some time apart.
Time to sort shit out.
What the fuck does that mean?
Time to figure out what I want, Damian. What I need out of life.
Damian couldn’t believe it when the bitch changed her numbers, changed jobs, even where she banked.
Tried to disappear.
Melt into the woodwork.
Like she could actually get away from him.
Damian laughs out loud.
Bitch wanted to start a new life.
Give herself room to breathe.
To do shit that married people shouldn’t do.
You tried to hide from me.
Tried so hard to make it so I wouldn’t know where to find you.
Silly bitch, you think I’m not smart enough to connect the dots?
There are tears in his eyes now.
Not from pain.
But from laughter.
You wanted to disappear.
Start a new life?
No problem.
Bitch, watch me work....
Chapter 52
She picks up on the second ring.
“Ken, it’s Joe.”
It’s taken him four days to find what he was looking for.
Four days, using a combination of the Internet and some sweet-talking phone etiquette.
Considering Black Friday and the subsequent weekend, four days isn’t that bad.
“Good news. You got a second?”
“Yes. Let me close my door. Hang on.”
It is Tuesday morning.
It’s been an entire week since Michael and Zack left to go to Ithaca. The time apart from them has been excruciating, like the pain from a gaping wound. Kennedy has spent the days on autopilot, going through the motions, not sure how she makes it through each day.
But she has.
She’s back at her desk, raising the BlackBerry to her ear.
“Go ahead,” she says.
“I’ve learned that there was only one health-related conference in Miami the week that you and Michael were vacationing there. The 2005 Sports Physical Therapy Conference was held at the Miami Beach Convention Center. Six hundred fifty-two attendees. Close to a hundred from the State of Florida alone. About forty of those hundred were female.”
“How did you learn all this?” she asks, quite impressed.
“I’m good! Or have you forgotten?” Joe doesn’t wait for her to answer. “Finding out information about the conference was easy. Getting them to release the attendee list was something else altogether. But I used my charm, and a little law-enforcement pressure, and, well, here we are. We need to go over the list, Ken. See if any of these names ring a bell.”
“Okay.”
Kennedy’s mind is racing. She desperately wishes she could remember the woman’s name. She even texted Michael asking if he knew.
No response.
“You’re at work. I can fax over the list or swing by and give it to you in person. The sooner we narrow down these names, the better.”
“No, don’t fax it. Call me when you’re here, and I’ll come out. I don’t need any more drama here at work.”
“Understood. I can be there in about twenty.”
“I’ll be here,” Kennedy replies.
They carry their steaming coffees over to a vacant table.
They are at Jolt ’n Bolt, a coffee and tea house located in a former row house on Eighteenth Street.
Joe picks at his cinnamon-raisin bagel while Kennedy pores over the list. There are five pages, computer generated, and Joe has highlighted the female names with a yellow marker. She runs her finger down the names, looking for those that are familiar.
She flips from page to page, nothing jumping out at her. Frustration lines her face.
“Have you asked Michael about the girl?” Joe asks quietly.
“He’s not speaking to me right now.”
Kennedy’s lips are mashed together, and Joe witnesses her jawline flex.
Joe nods.
“Want me to call?” he offers.
Kennedy shrugs.
“I doubt he’ll talk to
you,
” she replies.
Kennedy shakes her head.
“None of these names seem familiar, Joe.” She drops the pages to the wooden table and reaches for her coffee. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why can’t I remember her name?”
“Don’t worry about it. We have her on video and in several photographs. And you’re fairly sure she lived in Florida. I’m betting it’s one of these women.”
“But none of the names jump out at me.”
“It has been four years,” Joe says.
Kennedy closes her eyes. Tries to concentrate. Forces herself to drift back to four years ago, South Beach, Miami, the Tides hotel, B.E.D., DeVitos. Suddenly she looks up.
“Dawn. Her name is Dawn.”
Joe suspends his chewing. He swallows hard.
“Dawn? Are you sure?”
Kennedy has picked up the pages and is scanning them quickly.
“Yes. Her name is Dawn. I remember now. Dawn . . . Dawn . . . It’s been on the tip of my tongue for days. Just couldn’t get it out until now.”
She glances up with a grimace.
“No Dawn, Joe. No Dawn on these pages.”
Joe’s brow furrows.
“Let me take a look.”
He goes over the list as Kennedy eyes him impatiently.
“It’s not there. I checked.”
“Okay. Okay. Let me think. It’s possible that Dawn is a middle name or even a nickname. Let me check the other pages back at the station. I’m going to call down to Miami-Dade and see what they can come up with.”
Joe sees Kennedy’s dissatisfaction. He pats her hand as he smiles.
“Don’t give up hope, Ken. This is our best lead yet. We’re close. These things take time.”
Kennedy nods.
“I’ve gotta get back to work, Joe. Call me if you learn anything.”
She smiles weakly.
“I will,” he says as he watches her go.
“Miami-Dade Police Department, Sergeant Costello. How may I help you?”
Joe is at his desk, unlaced boots on the metal top. He runs a hand along his facial scar, feeling the raised flesh.
“Sergeant Costello, my name is Detective Joe Goodman from the Metropolitan Police Department, Washington, D.C.”
“How may I help you, Detective?”
“I’m searching for a female who lives in Florida. She’s associated with a crime here in D.C. involving felony stalking, computer fraud, and larceny. I have a photograph and about forty or so names. I need someone down there to go through your DMV database and match the names with the photograph.”
“Sounds like something the feebies would be interested in,” the sergeant says.
“Yeah, probably, but I’m trying to keep the feds outta this. At least for a while, until we know more.”
“I hear you. You say you’ve got forty names?” the sergeant asks.
“Yeah,” Joe responds. “I know that’s a lot, but this is as close as we can get it right now. We know the victim and assailant met in Miami several years ago. We’ve traced her to a physical therapy conference that was held at the Convention Center. We believe she resides in your state. We’re starting with those attendees who registered with a Florida address. The vic recalls the name Dawn, but I don’t see a Dawn from Florida on the attendee list.”
“This is gonna take some time, Detective.”
“Understood. Can I fax you what I’ve got so you can get started? This is a priority for us, as the stalking has escalated.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great. Thanks, Sergeant. I very much appreciate your help. This won’t go unnoticed.”
“Just don’t blow up my phone every hour looking for answers. This ain’t the only case I’m working, you know.”
“I hear you,” Joe responds. “Read you loud and clear.”