She blinked and looked around. Father Patrick was staring at her with a look in his eye, as if she had been doing something very strange.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. “I was just thinking about—” She looked down and saw what she had drawn on the paper. A strange, four-letter word and three more letters followed by some numbers. She realized right away that they were from her latest dream. They must be some kind of clue, but at the moment she didn’t want to think about it. She had to get out of there.
“I’m sorry, Father,” she said quickly, tearing off the piece of the paper with the writing on it and stuffing it into her pocket. “I’m going to be late for work. Uh, dinner you said, right? Yeah, we’ll have to do that some time. I’ve got to go, though. Bye.”
Maureen left her garbage on the table and rushed out of the coffee shop and into the burning sunshine. She ran down the street and stopped in front of city hall. She looked up at the clock tower for the time. Twenty minutes until her shift started. She sat down on the steps to catch her breath and drew the piece of newspaper out of her pocket and stared at the letters and numbers, wondering what they meant. It looked like a code; it meant nothing to her.
Maureen crumpled up the paper in frustration and was about to throw it to the ground when she stopped. She didn’t know why, but instead of doing that, she smoothed the paper back out, folded it tightly, and stuffed it back into her pocket. Then she got up and made for the bar.
EIGHTEEN
Maureen decided to go in through the alley door of Anderson’s. She wasn’t sneaking in, she just didn’t feel like being seen until she was ready to put on her show at the bar. The episode at the coffee shop didn’t let her make it back to her apartment, so she wasn’t able to glamorize herself in the way that the regulars were used to seeing her. Equally unfortunately, she only had on her regular bra, which meant the girls wouldn’t be out tonight. Without her usual cleavage, she’d have to work on her makeup a little more to make her tips. If she could even force her smile to the surface.
She moved quietly through the back storage area to the employee bathroom where she kept some emergency cosmetics hidden. She avoided detection and within seconds was rummaging through her makeup bag. She decided she would go with smoky eyes and just a little lipstick as her look for the night, and she was just getting out one of her brushes when the door flew open behind her.
“Maureen,” Mr. Anderson said, walking through the door, “need you out front.”
“Jesus, Todd!” she shouted back. “What if I was on the can?”
“Don’t tease me,” he replied sarcastically.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she told him and turned back to the mirror.
“You don’t need to do your makeup.” He turned toward the door. “Hurry up.”
Maureen stuck up her middle finger as the door closed. She decided to at least put on a little concealer to hide the bags under her eyes. Outside of them, the effects of the previous night’s drinking were non-existent. She wasn’t sure whether to be proud of that fact or concerned. Escaping into a bottle was nothing new for her, but the prevailing theory was that hangovers got worse the older you got, not better. She really didn’t have time to think about that now. Mr. Anderson’s strange tone had set her on edge, and she had no idea what she was walking into. She gave herself one last look in the mirror, drank a sip of water from the sink’s faucet, and headed out to find out what was waiting for her.
She rounded the corner into the front of the house and was greeted by perhaps the least welcome sight she could have imagined. Sitting at the bar with Mr. Anderson, sipping a glass of water, was Detective Benitez. He and her boss were speaking in tones low enough that she couldn’t hear anything other than dull murmurs, even in the empty bar. Their faces were serious, and she could only believe that whatever happened next, it wouldn’t end well for her.
She cautiously approached, trying her best to keep her face even. They immediately broke off their conversation as soon as her footsteps echoed off the walls and turned to look at her. She caught a quick smirk flash across the detective’s face, but it was wiped clear by the time she was standing next to him. The three stood silently for a few beats too long for Maureen’s liking, and so she decided to break the silence.
“Okay, gentleman,” she said, making her best effort at a mocking tone, “what can I get you?”
“I’m actually going to excuse myself and let you two talk,” Mr. Anderson said, got up from his stool, and disappeared into the back.
The detective watched him leave and then turned to Maureen. “I told him I was here on business for the FBI. Sure hope that little tidbit doesn’t get back to Layton.”
She moved behind the bar and filled a beer mug from the tap. She set it on the bar and pushed it toward the detective.
“Would love to, but can’t,” he said, pushing it back toward her. “We’ve got work to do.”
The word we made her heart jump. What could he possibly mean by that? Maureen reached out, took the mug of beer, and drank down half its contents in a single gulp. She made sure to keep her eyes glued to the detective, trying to pick up any tell.
“Didn’t think I came here to say that, did you?” he smirked.
She shook her head and continued to sip the beer.
“But you heard right. I said ‘we’. I need your help. But, thanks to some excitement this morning at the department, I’m not, strictly speaking, part of the investigation anymore.”
“And what sort of excitement is that?”
“I punched out a worthless, asshole sergeant,” he said, shaking his head and stifling a laugh. He cast his eyes down and began caressing the knuckles of his right hand, as if massaging them after a job well done. Maureen could see the remnants of dried blood on them, not only confirming that he was telling the truth but confirming how proud he was of the badge of honor.
“I think I’m going to need some more context here.”
He launched into a synopsis of what had happened to him that morning. “So,” he concluded after a few minutes, “as you can imagine, I’m looking for a partner on this. And I’m going to need one that has a certain aptitude for working on the fringes of the law. The way I see it, you’re still a person of interest in this whole business, so what better way for you to prove that you’re innocent than by helping solve this thing?”
Maureen finished her beer and went back to the tap and refilled the mug halfway. “It sounds like you’re giving me a choice, but you’re really not, are you?”
“I think you pretty much ran yourself out of choices the moment you decided to break into the Lowes’ house,” he replied.
He may well have been right. She would have to go along for now, she decided. “Why me?”
“I think your abilities will give us some insights that the rest of the investigation can’t uncover.”
He’s not even trying to be subtle. “So, you’re going to use me?”
“Is that a problem?” he asked with annoying playfulness. “If you’d rather spend your time here with your lovely customers, by all means, do it.”
Maureen rolled her eyes and took another sip of beer. “So what’s the plan?”
“Well for starters, you’re going to stay with me until this is all settled. We’re going to start at my place by going through all the evidence I’ve collected so far. Maybe between that and your visions, we’ll come up with something.”
“Not much of a plan,” she scoffed. “I’ve already told you that I don’t see the future.”
“Yeah, I know. I was listening. I’d be glad to hear any other suggestions.”
Of course, Maureen didn’t have any. She wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful about the endeavor, but the detective was beginning to intrigue her. Plus, she wanted to see what he would do if they were to fail.
“Well then, Detective,” she said, raising
the mug and then draining the remainder, “I guess we’re gonna go and catch us a murderer.”
“It’s Manny.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Maureen set the beer mug in the sink and turned to head into the back to tell Mr. Anderson that she was leaving, likely never to be back. The detective got up and began to follow her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, rounding on him. “I’m only going in back to tell my boss what’s going on.”
“I’ve given him the broad strokes of the situation,” he said. “Besides, I need to make sure you’re not going to try and run.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Not really.”
Maureen threw up her arms, let out a sigh of frustration, and continued toward the back of the building with the young detective shuffling along behind her.
“Todd,” she said upon stepping into her boss’ cluttered office, “the detective is taking me out of here. I don’t expect I’ll be back.”
“What?” he responded, clearly blindsided at the prospect of actually losing her as an employee.
“I won’t be working here anymore,” Maureen talked fast, hoping to fluster the man. “I’ll take what I’m owed for the last week and get out of your hair.”
“But, I . . . ,” Mr. Anderson stammered, shuffling through his papers. “I haven’t gone over the books yet. I thought I’d have more time.”
“I’ll take an even two hundred then,” she said putting out her hand. “And I’ll go ahead and help myself to a couple of bottles of whiskey from the back. Not the cheap crap you keep up front, either. And you drink tequila, right Detective?” She turned toward him.
Detective Benitez was leaning on the door frame watching the two of them. He perked up when she addressed him, as if being shaken awake. All he seemed to be able to do was nod.
“All right, and two bottles of tequila while we’re at it,” she said, turning back to her boss.
Mr. Anderson’s face began to redden and he stood up, fists clenched. “You can’t possibly think I’ll let that happen.”
“Why not?” Maureen replied. “I’ve been a good worker. Made you more money than I’ve cost you, that’s for sure. But that’s fine, keep the cash. I’ll just help myself to the bottles. I’m sure you can figure out how to compensate yourself for the loss of inventory.”
Anderson didn’t say a word as she turned away, satisfied with her performance. She patted the detective on the shoulder and motioned with a jerk of her head that he should follow her. They made their way to the storeroom. Maureen grabbed an empty box from the hall and handed it to Detective Benitez. He began to protest, but she shushed him with a finger and set about filling the box with four bottles of some pretty decent bourbon, two of white tequila, and three six-packs of beer.
“What do you need all this for?” the detective managed to spit out as they entered the alley behind the bar and made their way toward his truck.
“Medication,” she replied.
“Excuse me?”
“So where to next?” she asked, ignoring his question. “If I’m going to be pressed into the type of service you have in mind, I’ll need to stop at my apartment and grab some of my things.”
“Yeah that’s fine,” he replied. “And then we’ll get some Chinese or something before we go back to my place.”
The rest of the walk to the detective’s truck and the drive to her apartment were completed in silence. Maureen could sense that the young man had absolutely no idea how to proceed. The tension seemed to grow in his body, and that made her more uncomfortable than the situation as a whole.
“I suppose you’ll want to come up with me to make sure I don’t jump out of the window or something,” she mocked as the detective pulled up to her curb.
“That’s the plan,” he said stiffly, putting the truck into park.
Once inside the apartment, Maureen headed first into the bathroom to grab her toothbrush and then to the nightstand to grab her bottle of pills. She pulled a duffel bag out from under the bed and tossed the items in before hoisting it onto her shoulder.
“Uh, no,” the detective said.
“What?”
“I’m thinking you should leave the bag and just take some clothes and whatever toiletries you need,” he said. “You can just carry them loose.”
“And why would I do a stupid thing like that?”
“Having all of your things in a bag ready to go makes it easier for you to run,” he said.
Jackass. Maureen selected two pairs of jeans, one pair of cut-off shorts, three tank tops, a bra, and four pairs of panties. She removed a pillowcase from one of her pillows and tossed them in along with the toothbrush and pill bottle. She decided to leave her cash where it was. The detective could pay for everything.
“I don’t suppose I’ll be able to do wash if things take longer than you think, will I?”
“We can come back if you need fresh stuff.”
Maureen gritted her teeth and slung her makeshift pack over her shoulder. Detective Benitez grinned at her. Maureen kicked her duffel bag back under the bed and stomped out of the room. She would make him pay for every snarky look he gave her.
NINETEEN
“So, what exactly are we looking for?” Maureen said, shuffling through a stack of papers in front of her.
“Anything that could indicate a link between Tom Lowes and Sandra Locke,” Manny said, exasperated that he had to keep reminding her.
The brown box was sitting on the front stoop of his house when he and Maureen had pulled up, just like Agent Layton had promised him it would be. Also as promised, the inside was neatly piled with photocopies of the notes that he had taken and all of the personal information that he’d received from the county that morning. There was also a full workup of each of their financials added in. The documents, however, were merely sorted into two piles, one for the Lowes family and one for Sandra Locke. His moo shoo pork had gone cold before Manny had managed to further categorize each document. More than a dozen piles now lay on his coffee table, and each one needed to be scrutinized. It was going to be a long night.
“I didn’t think you’d be making me do busy work for you,” Maureen grumbled, carelessly tossing the piece of paper she was holding onto the table and grabbing another egg roll. “I don’t know how to do any of this. I thought I was going to help you catch a killer.”
“Most detective work is done just like this,” he replied, trying to keep his patience. “In homicides like these that have the hallmarks of a serial killer, there’s usually a reason that victims are chosen. Now in this case, both of the victims were small children. As far as I’m concerned, there’s only two reasons to kill a child. The first reason is rooted in some kind of sexual desire. And that’s not the case here, right?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“Then we’re most likely looking at someone who wants to hurt the parents by hurting their children,” he said, picking up another paper from the Lowes’ financial pile and holding it up. “Hence why we’re looking for connections between the parents. So make yourself useful.”
“I’ve already told you what the knife looks like. What else do you want?”
Manny sighed and massaged his temples. In the truck, she had described a knife with a twelve-inch, curved blade and dark wooden handle with some odd symbols carved into it. But she couldn’t describe those symbols as anything except “not English” and said she could recognize it if she saw it again. She then handed him a piece of newspaper and told him that the words and numbers written on it were from another dream. It was a clue, but wouldn’t be much help if they didn’t have a perpetrator to search. Manny got up out of his armchair and went to the spare room that he used as an office. He picked up a yellow legal pad and pen from his desk, came back into the living room, and tossed them on Maureen’s lap.
&nbs
p; “Here,” he said, sitting back down, “why don’t you help me by writing down what I say. We’ll make a chart of where these two families intersect.”
“Don’t detectives usually do this sort of thing on a big board or something?”
“Sure, we could,” Manny shrugged back, “but I’m not exactly welcome at the precinct. So we’ll just have to go low tech, okay?”
“Fine,” she said, picking up the take-out box that held the egg rolls. There were only two left of the original order of eight, and he hadn’t yet had one. Maureen grabbed both of the remaining rolls without looking in his direction and plopped them onto her plate.
“You’re not even going to offer me one?” he teased, pointing at her plate.
“Why, do you want one?” Her mouth was full, and little flecks of pork and cabbage flew out as she talked.
He couldn’t help but laugh and wave his hand in indication that she could eat the rest. Judging by the spartan nature of her apartment, he surmised that she didn’t keep a lot of food around, and therefore it made sense that she was taking advantage of the big meal she had in front of her. He grabbed a napkin from the bag next to his feet and tossed it at her. She gave him a sour look as she snatched it off her lap and wiped her lips.
“Okay,” he said, trying to get back to business. “Let’s turn the pad on its side lengthwise and put Tom Lowes’ name at the top of one side and Sandra Locke on the other. Locke’s spelled with an ‘e’. Okay, now for some common things. The kids went to the same school. They both went to St. Mary’s Catholic Church.”
“Where Father Patrick is,” she said. The statement seemed to come out of nowhere.
“Uh, yeah, that’s right,” said Manny, puzzled. “I didn’t know that you go there. You don’t strike me as much of a churchgoer.”
“I’m not,” she said sharply. “I just met Father Patrick walking down the street one day. He likes to talk.”
“My parents go to Mass every now and then. That seems to be what most people say about him. I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard good things.”
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