by Debra Webb
Riley shook her head. “No. She’s very private. Not that she would have shared any of her business with me anyway.”
“Something made you think this guy was different,” Tony suggested. “Something more than just a study friend or a friend-friend?”
“Oh yeah for sure,” she agreed. “He was older. Maybe closer to forty. Like thirty-five or something.” She frowned as if trying to recall. “Dark hair. Blackish, you know. Taller than Tiffany. About your height, I guess. She acted all swoony around him like she was with some rock star.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Heavy? Thin? Muscular?”
“Kinda lean and muscular. Not the overdone body builder type. I remember thinking he looked like a construction worker but better dressed.”
Tony added those details to his notes. “When did you first notice Tiffany with this man?”
“Early last month. I remember because I’m a leap-year baby. When I was a kid, every year that wasn’t a leap year we always celebrated my birthday on March first. This year I was at a club in Macon with a friend. For my birthday.” She put the word in air quotes. “I saw Tiffany with this guy but I never got a good look at his face. It was dark and I was a little—”
“I get the picture. What was the name of the club?”
“Wild Things. Fair warning, it’s not exactly one of the better establishments.”
Obviously. If they served alcohol to minors the place fell far below that mark. “Is that the only time you saw Tiffany with this man?”
She shook her head. “Friday I saw her getting into her Jeep with him.”
“Her Jeep?” Tony pushed to his feet. He refrained from demanding why the hell she hadn’t told anyone this already. He needed her cooperative. “You’re certain it was hers?”
“Positive. The black Jeep Wrangler she drives has one of the pink breast cancer ribbons on the tailgate. I think she said her mom survived breast cancer.”
An ache pierced his gut. His sister had gone through a rough time four years ago. She’d been cancer free since. He hoped like hell she stayed that way. He did not want to lose her. This kind of stress was not good for her, or anyone for that matter.
“You’re certain it was Friday—the same Friday she disappeared?”
The girl nodded. “Positive. I told the chief I saw them together but I might have forgotten to mention the part about the Jeep. I really just remembered that part.”
“Thanks, Riley.” Tony moved toward the door, but hesitated before opening it. “I may have other questions about Tiffany. As long as you stay truthful with me, no one will hear about your secret from me.” He handed her a card with his name and number. Something else he’d dragged out of the box in the trunk of his BMW. “Call me if you think of anything else or hear anything. For now, I’ll talk to Chief Phelps about getting a sketch artist in touch with you. If we can locate the man you saw Tiffany with, he might be able to help.”
She accepted his card, then nodded. “Okay.”
Tony had Phelps on the line before he reached the first floor. He explained about the potential suspect perhaps being far more than just a new boyfriend, considering his age. “If you haven’t already lined up a sketch artist to meet with the roommate, I think you need to make that happen.”
“This is exactly why eyewitnesses are so blasted unreliable,” Phelps complained. “Fallon insisted she didn’t know the guy’s name and barely caught a glimpse of him on one occasion.”
Tony wasn’t surprised. Fallon had no desire to mention the club in Macon. She was more concerned with protecting herself than helping the investigation.
“I’ll get a sketch artist lined up ASAP,” Phelps assured him.
“We also need a complete forensic examination of Tiffany’s Jeep.” Tony exited the building and dragged a chestful of air into his lungs. He prayed this was the lead they needed to find his niece.
“Her vehicle is still in the parking lot at the college. You know something else I don’t, LeDoux?”
“Fallon saw Tiffany in the Jeep with an older man as recently as a few hours before she disappeared. The same older man she spotted her with at the club in Macon. This man may very well be the unsub we’re looking for. He may have driven the Jeep back to campus to confuse the investigation. At any rate, it’s a lead and I’m headed to the club now to follow up on it.”
Phelps hesitated for a moment. “I’m curious as to why the roommate was so forthcoming with you when she gave us diddly-squat.”
Tony had made a promise to keep Fallon’s secret and he would do that as long as she didn’t hold out on him. “She had some time to think about it. Realized what she’d seen might be important. I’ll let you know what I find in Macon.”
Tony ended the call before Phelps could ask any more questions or suggest he let the task force handle the lead in Macon. As he climbed into his car, he Googled Wild Things. If he was lucky, they had video surveillance.
If he was even luckier, they kept it as far back as a couple of months.
He hadn’t been lucky in a long time. He hoped like hell that unfortunate streak was about to change.
7
Wild Things Lounge, Macon, Georgia
5:00 p.m.
Tony fought to restrain his temper as he waited for the manager to pick through the wad of keys he’d dug from his pocket for the one that would unlock the door. No matter that he had called the club manager en route to Macon, he’d still waited an hour in the goddamned parking lot. According to the owner, who lived in Atlanta and was the contact Tony had called first, a new security system, including video surveillance, had been installed three years ago. The owner couldn’t confirm whether the recorded data from a month or more ago would still be available. The manager handled the day-to-day operations and such decisions were at his discretion.
While Tony had waited for the manager to show up he had walked around the building. There was a camera at the front entrance, the emergency side exit as well as the rear employee entrance. No cameras focused on the parking lot. No windows in the building. He’d glanced in the Dumpster noting the discarded condoms and drug paraphernalia which spoke to the establishment’s general clientele or, at least, those who hung out in the parking area.
His phone vibrated again. Angie. He let the call go to voice mail as he had the previous two. He wasn’t ready to talk to her. Anything he told her now would only get her hopes up. Until he had confirmed the roommate’s new story he wouldn’t share the information with his sister.
“You got a warrant?” Sean, the manager, asked as he finally unlocked the door. Then he leaned against it rather than opening it and waited for Tony to answer.
Sean Waldrop. Twenty-five. Shoulder-length hair badly in need of a wash. A few curly hairs that looked more like they belonged somewhere in the vicinity of his balls sprouted from his chin. Tony felt reasonably confident the tight, ripped jeans were cutting off the blood supply to his upper body and, more important, his brain. With the heavy metal band T-shirt, worn leather jacket and combat boots, he had the 90s grunge look down. So not the kind of joint he would have wanted his niece to patronize. Something else his sister didn’t need to know.
Apparently Tony didn’t respond quickly enough since Waldrop lifted his skinny shoulders in a shrug and warned, “No warrant, no entrance, man.”
If he didn’t have one hell of an ongoing hangover from the past week—maybe month—Tony would have taken that punk-ass attitude down a notch or two. Instead, he smiled and said, “I showed you my credentials already.” What was one more flash of his invalid creds? “The owner, Kenneth Jonas—you might recognize the name from your paychecks—gave me permission to look to my heart’s desire. You want to call him?” Tony offered his cell. “I’m certain he’d be interested in learning why your bartenders are selling alcohol to minors.”
Waldrop stared at him a moment before relen
ting. He opened the door. “Make yourself at home, Mr. Fed. I got shit to do.”
Tony waited for Waldrop to go inside first. The stench of nicotine had infused the air, the dark paneled walls as well as the worn upholstery, all of which was underscored by the smell of countless spilled beers emanating from the cheap carpet. Waldrop flipped on the lights, which only confirmed Tony’s assessment. Tables filled most of the space. A small tiled dance floor butted up to an even smaller stage while a long bar stretched across the far side of the space. A door behind the bar probably led to the kitchen and/or the office. Between the bar and the stage, a narrow hall disappeared into the darkness. A sign directing patrons to the bathrooms pointed in that direction.
“What’s the lighting like during business hours?” Tony asked.
Waldrop plopped a rack of glasses on the counter. “We keep the lights you see now on behind the bar and the stage.” He gestured to the stage. “The rest that stay on during opening hours are along the baseboards and under the tables—ambience lighting, they call it.”
In other words it was basically dark in the place during operating hours. The one camera Tony had spotted was above the mirrored wall behind the bar. “Is this the only camera inside?”
Waldrop picked up a rag and set his hands on his hips. “That’s it. Old man Jonas is a cheap motherfucker. I see that when I look at my paycheck, too.”
Tony decided it wasn’t worth the effort to point out that the owner was likely getting exactly what he paid for. The rows of liquor bottles behind the bar had his mouth watering. “Is the video recorder in the office?”
The manager hitched his head. “Follow me.”
The door behind the bar led into a small kitchen, as Tony suspected. The grill was blackened with use and the sink was stacked high with beer glasses and mugs. The rest of the counter space was cluttered with cans, boxes and utensils.
“Told you I had shit to do,” Waldrop said.
Tony doubted the regulars showed up every night for the health department rating. “Hopefully this won’t take long,” he offered. “I have shit to do, too.”
Waldrop opened the office door and gestured for Tony to go on in. “The system’s set up in that coat closet.”
The office had the same tired, dingy decorating scheme as the rest of the place. Papers were stacked in reasonably tidy piles on the desk. Part of a calculator stuck out from under one of the piles. An ashtray full of cigarette butts was jammed amid the stacks as if the smoker hoped it would all go up in flames so he wouldn’t have to file it. An oscillating fan sat on one of three file cabinets. Judging by the dust on the blades it hadn’t been turned on in years.
He opened the closet door. The VCR sat on top of a safe. The machine was off and covered with about as much dust as the fan blades. Frustration ground in Tony’s gut. He turned back to the asshole watching him. “When was the last time this thing worked?”
“Mmm.” He pursed his lips as if in deep thought. “About two months after they put it in. I think that was three years ago.”
Tony grabbed him by his shitty T-shirt. “Listen to me, asshole.” He put his face close to Waldrop’s. “I’m in a really bad mood. Someone I care deeply about is missing. I drove all this way hoping you were going to be my big lead. Turns out, you’re just a piece of shit with an attitude. Now I got no choice but to call in backup and show you just how unhappy you’ve made me.”
Shit-for-brains shook his head. “I don’t want any trouble. Tell me how I can help you, man. Seriously. Anything.”
Tony released him. He reached into his pocket for his cell and the man’s eyes widened. He held up his phone to relieve his tension and then showed him a photo of Tiffany. “Have you seen her? She was here with a dark-haired, older man about a month ago.”
Waldrop squinted at the pic. “She’s been here a few times. I don’t know the guy you’re talking about though. The chick’s usually with Hailey.”
“Hailey? Who’s Hailey?”
Waldrop snickered. “I don’t know her last name. She’s this older chick who comes around sometimes. I think she digs on younger girls. Know what I mean?”
Tony grabbed him by the throat. “I know what you mean. Now, how do I find this Hailey?”
He held up his hands, fear back in his eyes. “I don’t know, man.”
Tony tightened his grip on the scrawny bastard’s throat.
“Kayla knows her,” he squeaked. “She works here. She...she can tell you all about Hailey.”
Tony shoved him loose. “Take me to Kayla. Now.”
Clinton Road, 5:50 p.m.
Kayla Maples opened the door of her shabby duplex and immediately tried to close it. Tony used Waldrop as a doorstop.
Waldrop squealed. “Goddamn, man, you trying to kill me?”
Kayla screamed and ran for the kitchen. Tony shoved Waldrop aside and rushed after her.
“He’s a fucking fed!” Waldrop shouted from where he’d landed on the floor.
Kayla stopped and held up her hands. “I swear to God, I didn’t do whatever you think I did.”
Almost as good as a confession. Tony ordered, “Sit down.”
She inched her way back toward him but didn’t sit. Kayla was maybe twenty. She had short, curly red hair. She might be five feet tall and weigh all of a hundred pounds. Her face was clear; her skin looked healthy. Not the first visible tattoo. Since she wore shorts and a tee, he spotted no visible needle tracks either. But then there were a million ways to get high that didn’t show.
“I swear to God the pot’s not mine. It’s my brother’s. He lives here, too.” She turned big round eyes up to Tony. “Please, I’m a nursing student. Any trouble could get me tossed out of the program.”
“I don’t care about your brother or his pot.” Tony pointed to the sofa. “Sit. Tell me about Hailey.”
The girl frowned. “Why do you want to know about Hailey?”
“That girl she’s been hanging out with,” Waldrop piped up, “is missing.”
Kayla’s eyes rounded. “Tiffany? Tiffany Durand?”
Tony nodded. “You a friend of hers?”
“Not really.” Kayla shrugged. “I’ve seen her around the campus. I’m a sophomore at the same college. She started coming to the club last month.” She frowned. “I thought she was going to the beach or something for the weekend.”
“She’s missing.”
“Oh my God.” Kayla clasped her hand over her mouth.
Tony followed her gaze to the silenced television screen. The alert for Tiffany and Vickie Parton flashed on the screen.
“Tell me about Hailey,” Tony repeated. “Tiffany was hanging out with her?”
Kayla took a moment to compose herself. Waldrop collapsed on the sofa next to her and complained, “This guy is seriously fucking with my schedule.”
Kayla waved him off. “Shut up. I’ll help you open.” She lifted her attention to Tony. “Hailey Martin. She’s like thirty something. She comes to Wild Things a couple times a week. She’s a big tipper. She’s usually with someone younger and female, like Tiffany.”
“Did you ever see Vickie Parton, the other missing freshman, with Hailey?”
Kayla shook her head. “I’ve never seen Vickie before.”
“Are you and Hailey friends?”
“Not really.” Kayla glanced at Waldrop. Waldrop shrugged.
“What?” Tony demanded.
“They say,” Waldrop said, “she always has X handy.”
Son of a bitch. “Was Tiffany getting Ecstasy from her?”
Kayla shook her head adamantly. “I’m pretty sure Tiffany doesn’t do drugs. I didn’t get that vibe from her at all. She’s more like me—about getting her education.”
Tony looked to Waldrop. He shrugged again. “Who the fuck knows? I try my best not to see shit.”
This was getting
him nowhere. “Where can I find Hailey Martin?”
“I don’t know where she lives,” Kayla said, her eyes relaying the honesty in her words.
“Cell number?”
Kayla shook her head. “She acknowledges my existence but that’s about all. I’m not her type.”
“Hell, man,” Waldrop wailed, “you’re a fed. Just ask your po-po friends to get the 411 on the bitch. I got shit to do.”
“Did you ever see Tiffany with an older man? Dark hair?”
Kayla did some more of that frowning as if she were searching her memory banks. “Are you talking about Miles? Hailey has a friend named Miles who hangs out with her sometimes.”
“You have any other details on Miles? A last name?”
She made a face. “Sorry. I don’t. He’s tall, dark hair, late thirties maybe.”
“You talking about that guy who drives the Ferrari?” Waldrop asked.
“That’s him,” Kayla said. “I just figured he’s some older rich dude who likes to go after younger women.”
Tony had a bad feeling she was closer to being right than she knew.
Waldrop stood. “I gotta go, man. I do not want to get fired.”
“I appreciate your help.” Tony headed for the door.
“Wait!” Waldrop called. “You brought me here, man.”
“Kayla said she’d help you open,” Tony tossed over his shoulder. “Ride with her to the club.”
He walked out the door and scanned the neighborhood. At least he had a lead. It might not pan out but it was better than the nothing he had a few hours ago.
8
Doe Run Road
7:15 p.m.
Hailey Martin was forty and lived in a Mediterranean-style home on a good-sized lot overlooking the lake. Her income last year was listed as 41k. The house was at least a half-million-dollar estate. The same property in Atlanta would be worth four or five times that much. The Jag coupe parked out front was not only new but also registered in her name. The damned car alone cost more than she made in two years.
Either the lady was earning extra income off the books or she’d married well. Tony’s resource hadn’t found any information on her marital status. He climbed out of the BMW and walked toward the front steps. The sun was dropping behind the trees. He had hoped to get back to Milledgeville before dark but that wasn’t going to happen. He checked his cell. Ang had left two voice mails. Phelps had left one. None of the messages included an update. They only wanted to know where Tony was and what he was doing.
