by Louisa Luna
“Your guy sure she’s here?”
“Yes.”
Cap kept knocking, driving a stick in an anthill and shaking it around. Up and out, everyone.
Then footsteps, and a voice shouted either at Cap or the dog or both, “That’s enough! That’s enough!”
The door opened, and there was a slice of a woman, fat, loose gray curls on top of her head like Easter basket grass, and the dog, medium-sized, pushed his black-olive nose on either side of the woman’s legs.
“Yeah?” she said.
“Mrs. Lanawicz?” said Cap.
“Who’s askin’?”
Great start, lady, thought Cap.
“My name is Max Caplan; this is Alice Vega. We’re private investigators working with the Denville Police.”
Mrs. Lanawicz remained unmoved. She eyed them both.
“I’m all paid up on tickets,” she said.
“Ma’am, we’re hoping you might help us locate your son, Charles Bright.”
A little flare in the dull eyes at the name.
“He ain’t here,” she said quickly.
“Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“He lives up Camden. I don’t know; I ain’t talked to him in six months.”
It was like she had rehearsed a few different things but forgot she was supposed to pick only one story.
“It’s very important we find him,” said Cap. “It’s about the Brandt girls.”
Mrs. Lanawicz puckered up her mouth.
“He’s got nothing to do with anything like that,” she said.
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” said Cap. “We’re looking for someone he used to work with at the Giant, hoping he can give us a lead.”
Mrs. Lanawicz stepped back, a little disarmed.
“Like I said,” she said, quieter now, secretly sheepish. “He ain’t here.”
“Do you have a phone number where we might reach him?” said Cap.
From the side Cap saw Vega step back, off the walkway, toward the street. Now where are you going, girl?
“Nah, he uses those disposable cell phones because he can’t afford a plan, a monthly plan.”
“Address?”
She placed her hand, thick and arthritic, on the doorframe.
“He’s living with my niece, I think. It’s, uh, 2040 Filbert in Camden.”
Cap watched her eyes wander to where Vega was. He didn’t turn around.
“2040 Filbert in Camden,” he repeated. “That a house or an apartment?”
“It’s a house,” she said, still watching Vega.
“Your niece have a phone number?”
“Yeah, I have it, I think some—” she said, and then she stopped, mid-thought and mid-word, and she made her mouth into a little O and her eyes shot open wide.
“What?” she said, pointing past Cap.
Vega charged by him and shoved the door open, Mrs. Lanawicz falling backward but managing to steady herself against a table an eighth her size. The dog looked like a large hamster, a shaved square patch on its side, and continued to bark.
“What the hell are you doing?! You can’t do this,” Mrs. Lanawicz shouted, bringing her claw hands to her head.
“He’s upstairs,” Vega said to Cap, heading for the stairs.
“Vega, wait, goddammit,” Cap said to her.
Vega stopped at the bottom and shot him a glare.
“This ain’t right! This ain’t right!” said Mrs. Lanawicz, waving her arms. “You people think you can do whatever you want.”
Cap looked around, faded floral-patterned couches facing each other, green carpet flipping up at the corners, narrow staircase to the right.
Mrs. Lanawicz struggled to walk, her legs bowed, back bent at the base. She made her way toward Vega, shouting various threats: “You can’t come into my property. I have a lawyer. This is a home invasion situation….”
“Mrs. Lanawicz,” Cap said loudly. “Shut up for a second.”
She shut up and blinked, and sort of a whirring sound came from her throat, reminded Cap of an eggbeater.
“We’re not going to hurt you or your son. We’re not going to arrest either of you. But if we leave and find out you were holding back information or harboring your son here, then there will be a good deal of trouble landing in your lap.”
Then she started to cry and let out a plaintive moan. Sometimes it really didn’t take too much.
“He’s sick; he hurt his back. Please don’t hurt him,” she said to Cap.
Vega looked at Cap once more and then took the stairs, two at a time.
Cap turned to follow, and Mrs. Lanawicz grabbed his sleeve.
“He hurt his back working construction two years ago,” she whispered, spitting on him a little bit.
“I understand that,” said Cap, unlatching her.
He followed and Mrs. Lanawicz started to climb slowly behind him. The dog ran in a little circle at the bottom, barking and wiggling.
On the second floor, Vega glanced at the closed doors and approached the one with Eagles and Flyers stickers lining the border.
“Can you wait a minute?” said Cap in a hushed voice.
“He’s right in here,” she said, finger touching the door.
“How do you know?”
“Cigarette butts all on the right side of the lawn, tamp marks on the sill. This sill.”
Mrs. Lanawicz kept coming, bellowing.
“He’s sleeping right now! He needs his sleep!”
Cap whispered, “You don’t have to break every fucking door down, Vega.”
This seemed to surprise her.
“Not every door, Caplan,” she said, almost sweetly. “Just this one.”
She pushed open the door, slammed it against the back wall.
The room was dark and humid, dirty curtains drawn over the single window. Posters of wrestlers, male and female, covered the walls. Cap doubted the décor had changed since Charlie Bright had been in junior high. There was a figure in a twin bed stirring under a blanket, without urgency.
“Charlie!” yelled Mrs. Lanawicz, almost at the top of the stairs. “They’re police, Charlie!”
This got his attention. Charlie Bright sat up on his elbows, long hair and a raggedy beard and small eyes lolling around.
Cap held his hand out to Vega. Stand back for one second, he said to her in his head. To his relief, she did.
“Charles Bright?” said Cap.
“Yeah?”
“We need to ask you some questions about a former co-worker of yours, Evan Marsh.”
Bright coughed and spit into a mug on the floor next to his bed.
“Don’t know him,” he said.
Cap sighed.
“Charlie, they wanna ask you questions!” yelled Charlie’s mother from the hallway.
“I worked at the Giant six months ago,” said Bright. “I’m out on disability.”
“What’s the injury?” said Cap.
“Back. Got a pinched nerve between L4 and L5.”
“I would imagine you’re medicated for that,” said Cap.
Bright sucked on his two front teeth.
“Got legal prescriptions from doctors.”
“He’s got a pinched nerve,” said Mrs. Lanawicz, breathing heavy in the doorway. “Between L5 and L6.”
“I told them!” yelled Bright. “They don’t want to listen.”
“So just to clarify,” said Cap. “You were employed by the Giant during roughly the same time frame as Evan Marsh, but you never met him or associated with him in either a personal or professional context?”
“Uh,” said Bright. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Then he yawned.
You dumb motherfucker, Cap thought. He looked at Vega and said, “I’ll get Mama.”
Vega’s eyes lit up, Roman candle style, and then she charged the bed. Bright was so surprised he pulled the blanket up to his face, trying to hide. Vega gripped the sheet beneath him and yanked. Bright shouted and rolled out of the bed, la
nding hard on the floor.
“No! My boy!” screamed Mrs. Lanawicz, lurching forward.
Cap held his arm in front of her, not forcefully.
Meanwhile Bright moaned, and Vega stood above him and shoved her boot into his neck. Bright coughed and grabbed her ankle. He tried to build some rocking momentum with his legs, lifting them up and down, but he was overweight and doped and didn’t have the sharpest reflexes, it turned out.
“What are you—cops?” cried Mrs. Lanawicz.
“Evan Marsh,” said Vega, crouching down. “We know you knew him.”
“I don’t know where he is,” said Bright.
“He’s nowhere,” said Vega. “He was shot in the fucking face.”
Bright stopped squirming.
“Marsh is dead?” he said.
“You ain’t cops!” announced Mrs. Lanawicz, departing from the doorway. “I’m calling the cops!”
“That’s right, Charlie,” said Cap. “He knew something about the Brandt girls and someone didn’t want him to talk. So if you know something about the Brandt girls, someone might not want you to talk either. You following this?”
Bright’s face was red, veins squiggling down his temples.
“He came to me.”
“Who did?” said Cap.
“Marsh.”
Cap nodded at Vega, and she removed her foot from Bright’s neck. Bright sat up and coughed, rubbed his Adam’s apple.
“He offered me money. Fifty K to move two girls.”
He stopped talking and looked up at them, embarrassed.
“I didn’t do it,” he said, scissoring his arms in front of him like an umpire. Safe. “I didn’t take it. I didn’t want to get involved in all that. Come on.”
“He flat out asked you?” said Cap.
“We were smoking after work one day, and he said it all off the cuff, that he’s got a way for me to make fifty K, and all I gotta do is drive the car.”
“And you weren’t interested in that at all?”
“No, man. You can clean this place out; you’re not gonna find fifty K.”
“Where did Marsh get that kind of money?”
“I don’t know,” said Bright. “I swear, I don’t know who was laying it out.”
“Do you have any idea who might be interested in a deal like that?”
Bright struggled to sit up, hunched over his knees.
“Shit, man, this is fuckin’ D-Ville,” he said, laughing, sad in a way. “Take your fuckin’ pick.”
—
Traynor had a list.
They’d put Bright in a small room with the cop named Harrison, and out had come a list. Now Vega was in Traynor’s office with Cap, Harrison, and the Fed. She stood in the corner while the men talked.
“Revs Cleary, John McKie, Harland DeMarco, Jason Boromir, goes by Bent. You remember these guys?” Traynor said to Cap.
“Little bit,” said Cap.
“They’ve all been in and out two, three times for possession, but nothing sticks. If they’re dealing, they clean out before we get to it.”
“We’re just going on Mr. Bright’s opinion at this point?” said the Fed.
“That’s correct,” said Traynor, looking up from his notes. “You’re saying this might not be the best use of our time?”
The Fed didn’t move. “I’m saying that, yes.”
It was maybe the most civilized exchange Vega had ever heard. It was like they were discussing what color to paint the living room.
Then she said: “It’s Bright’s opinion, but these are Evan Marsh’s known associates, right?”
The men turned to her.
“Right,” said Traynor.
“And they’re dealers or fences or whatever?”
“Right. Users at the least.”
“So you’d agree that’s a demographic likely to traffic in large sums of money illegally obtained?”
“Ma’am,” said the Fed. “I have no doubt these gentlemen are likely candidates—what we’re looking at is men and the time it will take to chase all of them down. We’re looking at the most likely, and how do we discern that in the quickest amount of time possible.”
She stretched her fingers at her sides, thought, Well, we stop sitting around fucking chitchatting about it for one motherfucking thing. Then she glanced at Cap. He was staring at her intently, and then he tilted his chin downward, nodding. She was confused by the gesture at first, couldn’t identify his expression.
It was conviction, that thing underneath. I am calm because I believe in you. I am right here.
“So ten minutes, okay?” she said, her mouth dry. “You have something on them, right—pictures, priors?”
“Yeah,” said Traynor.
“Let me and Caplan look at them for ten minutes, that’s it, match up the names to Maryann Marsh’s list. See if anything jumps?”
She said it like a question out of respect. I am not pissing on your investigation, Chief. I will not make trouble, Special Agent. I will stay out of your way and keep being right, and you all can come around any time you want.
—
In the blue room Ralz laid out photos and files. The faces were all familiar to Cap—he wasn’t sure if that was because he knew them personally or if they just looked like a hundred other drug dealers he’d shoved into the back of his car when he was a cop. Same dim stares, same dumbass tribal tattoos, same line of bullshit too—I wasn’t there, been outta town since Tuesday. Where’s your warrant, asshole? And then the ones who wanted to get to him, threats spit through their hillbilly teeth: You got kids, officer, I’ll find ’em. Sure hope you have a daughter.
“So,” said Junior, impatient. “What’s the course here, Cap?”
Cap looked at the three of them—Hollows, Ralz, and Vega—and realized they were all waiting for him, and also that it might be a nice thing to stop and take a little dip in the moment, but there was no time.
“We’re taking ten minutes, seeing if anything jumps for anyone. We’re looking for a type desperate enough to get past dealing or fencing or possession into kidnapping.”
“Okay,” said Junior, picking up a mugshot. Shaggy red-eyed stoner. “Revs Cleary, last time in was last year for speeding; we found marijuana in the car but just under thirty grams. He was in County for a month and released.”
Cap flipped through the file and handed it to Vega.
“Jason ‘Bent’ Boromir. Busted for possession of oxy, but the cognitively impaired prosecution couldn’t manage to prove that he had intent to sell. Apparently he had a couple thousand pills and ten boxes of commercial food service sandwich bags for his own personal use. Did just one year at Allenwood.”
Cap and Vega stared down at the photo—shaved head, teardrop tattoos. Cap handed her the paperwork.
“Harland DeMarco,” said Junior.
“I know this guy,” said Cap, remembering.
He held the picture in his hand. DeMarco was older than the rest, with white hair and tinted glasses, looked like he should have been at the other end of a craps table.
“I thought Forman got him,” said Cap.
“Forman did get him,” said Junior. “On back taxes. DeMarco lived in a new development, kept his stash in the damn wine cellar. The warrant said we could search the immediate premises, and his lawyer, some ringer from New York, got the jury to agree that the wine cellar didn’t count as immediate. We could have him on a felony. Instead we get back taxes.”
“Fuck me,” said Cap.
“Classic Denville clusterfuck,” said Junior.
Cap passed the file to Vega, said, “I can’t see him getting into kidnapping kids.”
“Why the hell not?” said Junior. “He’s got his hands in everything else from here to Harrisburg, why not kidnapping?”
“Junior,” said Cap. “Likelihood. Odds.”
Junior pawed at the ground with his foot.
“All right,” he said. “Then I say Bent could do it—he smokes a little meth himself; he’s pretty sh
ithouse crazy. Revs, no—if we’re placing odds, no.”
“Why not?” said Cap.
“He’s a stoner, he has family money, and the only reason he deals is because he got kicked out of private school. I don’t like him for this.”
“John McKie,” said Vega, sliding a folder toward Cap.
She held on to the picture.
“Sure, McKie could do it,” said Junior. “Did a little time for assault and possession. And sexual assault, I think.”
“But not of a minor,” Cap said, reading.
“So what? We’re just looking for kidnapping, not abuse, right?”
“Right.”
“Caplan,” said Vega.
They all turned to her. She stared at John McKie’s photo, her eyes covering the page quickly, manically.
“Yeah?” said Cap.
“Look familiar?” she said, flipping the photo around.
He saw and thought, Goddamn yes it did, it really truly did.
—
It made Alyssa Moser smile, the mugshot.
“Yeah, I see it, sure,” she said. “And he’s having a good day, but still, you shouldn’t, you know, get your hopes up.”
“We understand,” said Cap. “We just want to see if this photo sparks anything at all in your uncle’s memory. We’re comfortable with long shots, Miss Moser.”
Alyssa shook out her shoulders and said, “Okay, then, let me go make sure he’s awake.”
She left them, went down a hall, into another hall; then Vega heard her speaking softly. She looked at a glass case full of plates and thin-stemmed glasses.
“You realize—” Cap started.
Vega held up her hand to him, said, “I realize.”
“You’re not even going to let me finish?”
“I’m not,” said Vega. “I realize.”
“Well, okay,” said Cap. “Miss Vega realizes.”
She started to smile, and Alyssa Moser returned.
“You can come in,” she said.
They followed her down the hall, into a room where an old man lay, propped up by pillows, his head thin and spotted.
“Uncle Roy, these are the folks I told you about. They’re trying to find those girls,” said Alyssa, her voice amplified.
Roy Eldridge stretched his neck, his head reaching toward them.
“Hello,” he said with some effort.
“Hi, Mr. Eldridge,” said Cap. “We’d like to show you some pictures, and if anyone looks familiar to you from last Saturday at Ridgewood Mall, or if you remember anything at all from that day, we’re hoping you could let us know. Does that sound all right?”
