Damaged

by Pamela Callow

  “You okay, Vange?” she’d asked.

  Vangie swallowed.

  The lights changed. The drizzle turned to rain as the car drew nearer, like the headlights were performing a magic trick. Damp crawled over Shonda’s bare arms, up under her skirt. The car slowed down in front of them.

  It stopped.

  She’d waited for Vangie to make her move. To sashay over in her heels and show her scrawny leg, maybe flash her red thong.

  She did nothing. The man in the car waited.

  “C’mon, Vange,” she’d said.

  Vangie’d muttered to herself.

  The passenger’s window slid down. “You workin’?” the man had asked from the dark recesses of his seat.

  Shonda couldn’t see his face but she sensed his impatience. “Yeah,” she said quickly. She’d grabbed Vangie’s hand before the man could say anything more. He opened the door, and Shonda propelled Vangie forward on her heels, pushing her into the car. She shut the door before Vangie could say anything. The car drove off.

  The queasy feeling had churned Shonda’s stomach again. The whole deal seemed off, different from the other times, wrong somehow. Maybe it was because Vangie’d been doing too much crack. It was changing her. Maybe she shouldn’t have put Vangie in the car.

  “Did you report this to the police?” Kate Lange asked.

  Shonda focused back on the lawyer’s face. She bet Kate Lange had probably never had a run-in with a cop in her life. To a lawyer, cops were friends, looking after the rich folks. But to Shonda, they were a threat. Runaways don’t go to no cops. “No.”

  Kate Lange showed no surprise at this answer. She shifted slightly on her chair. “What did she look like?”

  Shonda tried to picture Vangie in her mind. “She was real small. Old.”

  “Anything that made her special?”

  “Nah—” she started to say, but then a picture shot through her head. Vangie putting those fucking red shoes on. The fluttering tattoo covering her skinny ankle. “She had a tattoo. It was a bird…”

  Kate Lange leaned forward. “What kind of bird?”

  “Shit, I don’t know.” She stretched the hole in her shirt bigger. She used to know the name of it. “It’s a small bird. With little wings that fly really fast.”

  “A sparrow?”

  Shonda flashed her a look of disgust. “Nah. It sticks its nose into flowers.”

  “A hummingbird!”

  “Yeah.” Their eyes met in a look of mutual satisfaction. Shonda looked back down at the hole in her shirt. “It was orange and red. Real pretty.”

  Kate Lange wrote this down on a notepad. “Anything else?”

  Jesus, would she stop with the questions. “No.”

  “And there was another girl?”

  Shonda felt the pressure growing inside her. She needed another hit. But a vague memory crept across her brain. Karen…Karen what’s-her-name. She was supposed to meet her a few months ago after turning tricks to buy more dope but she never showed up. Shonda had been too high to worry about it.

  “Karen,” Shonda said. “Karen went missing. We figured she’d gone out west…” She shrugged. “Turns out the cops said she’d died of ex… of being out in the cold too long.”

  “Marian MacAdam said you told the police this and they did nothing about it.”

  “I told the cops about Karen. And Vangie. They told me it was so long ago it’d be hard to track her down. They wanted me to make a missing persons report.”

  “Did you do that?”

  “Yeah.” Shonda remembered the small black words. A woman cop had helped her fill in the blanks. She shrugged again. “But the cops did nothin’. And now Krissie’s missing.”

  “Krissie?”

  “Yeah. She’s another girl I know. No one’s seen her since Saturday night. But sometimes she goes home to Cape Breton to see her mother.”

  “Do the police know that?”

  “I’m gonna call them if I don’t see her…” She bit her lip. Krissie also went on smack binges. She wasn’t going to tell the lawyer about those. But she didn’t want to call the police and get Krissie dragged into the hospital. Krissie would be so pissed with her.

  Kate Lange stood. “Thanks for talking to me, Shonda. I’ll check on those missing girls for you. What are their last names?”

  “Vangie’s last name was…” She searched her memory. It felt like she was stirring sludge with a stick. “White. I mean, Wright.” She pursed her lips. “Don’t remember Karen’s.”

  Kate Lange took out another card and jotted a number on it. “This is my direct line. Call me on it if you remember Karen’s last name.” She handed it to her. “Thanks very much, Shonda.”

  “What’re you goin’ to do about all this?”

  “Once I track down the reports, I’ll see if there’s something the police might have missed. Then I’ll call you.” The lawyer glanced around the room. “Do you have a phone?”

  She stood and patted her pocket. “I got a cell. Here’s my number.” She recited it while the lawyer wrote it down. Then the lawyer headed for the door. Shonda unchained it, scanning the street before letting her by.

  “See ya.”

  Kate Lange stopped on the sidewalk. “Call me if you have any more concerns, Shonda. I would like to help.”

  You can’t help me. The thought flashed through her head. She steadied herself against the door. Fuck, she needed a hit. “Yeah.”

  “Goodbye.”

  She closed the door and leaned against it. Darrell would be back soon. She got to fill those baggies.

  22

  Kate drove back to her office, idly listening to her car radio. Her mind was on her conversation with Shonda. The girl was a drug addict, but her concern about her missing friends was genuine. She sorted through the facts: the first girl to go missing was Vangie Wright, about a year and a half ago. Then another prostitute by the name of Karen disappeared. But she apparently died of exposure in February…so that girl was accounted for. And the last girl—Krissie Burns—just went missing thirty-six hours ago. All these girls were transients and drug addicts, girls who easily moved around and fell through the cracks when they used. It didn’t mean they were victims of foul play.

  “Breaking news,” a chirpy female announcer on the radio said excitedly. “A serial killer is on the loose on the streets of Halifax!” She paused for dramatic effect.

  Kate shook her head. The radio stations were getting really desperate for listeners if they had to resort to pronouncements like that.

  “Yesterday we reported that police found the body of a young woman. They are viewing the death as suspicious,” the announcer added in an I’m-a-serious-news-anchor voice.

  Kate’s scalp prickled. She turned up the volume. “We have just learned this hour that sources close to the scene have indicated the young woman was killed in a similar fashion to fifteen-year-old homicide victim Lisa MacAdam.”

  Suddenly the announcement of a serial killer preying on Haligonians didn’t seem so preposterous. Could the victim be the prostitute whom Shonda said had disappeared on Saturday night?

  Kate waited for more details, her pulse racing. “And now a look at sports,” the news announcer intoned.

  “Damn,” Kate muttered. Until she knew who the murder victim was, she wouldn’t be able to get the missing Krissie Burns out of her head. She hurried back to her office. Ignoring all her messages, she checked the local news sites on the Internet. But there was no further information.

  Now what should she do?

  Call Ethan.

  But after their last meeting it was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She could call the police.

  She bit her lip. She could just imagine that phone conversation. Yes, I’m the lawyer who gave bad advice to the first murder victim’s grandmother and then reported her missing. I’m also the ex-fiancée of one of your detectives. You know, the one who humiliated him in front of your division on New Year’s Eve? Now I have informat
ion that may show you guys aren’t on the ball…or at least Vicky isn’t.

  They’d love that. Just as much as Randall would. His pointed warning flashed through her mind. Do a good job on the TransTissue file. She was still waiting to hear back from John Lyons about her memo. But what with the events of the past week, she’d barely thought about TransTissue’s defense, hadn’t even dug into the piles of research mounded on her desk. And if she really wanted to impress John Lyons, she should be determining the evidence needed to support their position. Panic welled inside her. She wanted this case. She wanted to do a good job. Not just to assure herself a spot on the LMB letterhead, but to prove to herself—especially after the Marian MacAdam debacle—that she actually was a good lawyer.

  But she couldn’t ignore what Shonda had told her.

  If the second murder victim was Krissie Burns, then maybe Shonda’s other missing girls were related to this case, too. The police needed to be given the heads-up.

  She reached for the phone. Her stomach clenched.

  Ethan’s cell rang as he was pulling out of the halfway house parking lot. Frustration seethed in him. Tracking down the ex-cons Judge Carson had put away was looking more and more like a dead end with the discovery of a second victim. Krissie Burns’s connection to Judge Carson was nil. Unless the murderer had been bitten by bloodlust and had begun to pick off other prostitutes for the fun of it, Ethan was wasting his time.

  “Drake,” he said into the phone.

  “It’s me. Kate.” Her voice was low, strained.

  His body reacted before his brain did: his heart accelerated, a vein pounded in his temple. Despite himself, despite his rationalizing that Kate was the wrong woman for all the right reasons, his heart squeezed painfully. He bit down on his bottom teeth. He couldn’t afford to feel this way about her. Especially after the way she pushed him away. She was in Randall Barrett’s camp now. And she couldn’t risk going against the bastard. He had to remember that. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

  “Hi.” He forced his voice to sound businesslike. “Did you find the notes?” Although Judge Carson had moved down the list of suspects, he still wanted the notes. Just to tie off loose ends.

  Just to make sure that Kate kept her promise to him.

  “No.”

  His disappointment angered him. He should have known better.

  She hesitated. “But I’ve got some information. It might be pertinent to the MacAdam case.”

  “Just a sec,” he said curtly. “I’m gonna pull over.” A convenience store was just ahead. He slid into a parking spot. “So. What kind of information do you have that wasn’t in the notes?” He allowed a derisory edge to sharpen his voice.

  He could feel her tension over the phone. It fueled his own in a perversely satisfying way.

  “I had a phone call from Lisa MacAdam’s grandmother. She met a girl named Shonda at Lisa’s funeral who told her some other girls went missing. Other prostitutes. One of them was named Krissie Burns.”

  “Krissie Burns?” His contrariness evaporated. That was victim number two. If this girl Shonda had actually seen the killer pick up her friend… “You sure?”

  “Yes.” She paused. “Was Krissie Burns the girl whose body was just found?”

  He hesitated. It was confidential information, and Kate was officially—and unofficially—off-limits.

  His conscience won out. She’d called him in good faith. “Yes. We’re still tracking down her family.”

  “How did you ID her?”

  “Vicky remembered her from her criminal record.”

  “Oh.” That one word spoke volumes. Vicky had also remembered Kate’s father from his criminal record.

  “She gave us our break, Kate,” Ethan said softly.

  “Yes. I understand.” Her voice was cool.

  “Did this girl Shonda report her suspicions to the police?” he asked abruptly.

  “She hadn’t reported Krissie Burns’s disappearance because she said sometimes she went to see her mother in Cape Breton. Apparently there were two other girls—”

  “When?” He tensed.

  “One was a long time ago, at least eighteen months. But Shonda only reported her missing a few months ago when her other friend disappeared.”

  “Neither of them have been heard from since?” His mind was racing. Eighteen months ago. Could the killer have been operating since then?

  “The girl who went missing a few months ago—her name was Karen—was found dead. Of exposure.”

  Ethan exhaled slowly. So at least one of the missing girls wasn’t a victim. And her death fell right between two missing girls, breaking up the chain of disappearances. “And the other one?”

  “Her name was Vangie Wright. She’s still missing. But the police told Shonda that she took so long to file the report she’d be hard to track down.”

  “That’s true, especially if she lived on the streets. We’ll have to determine if this Vangie Wright is even related to the case.” He stared out his car window. He knew what he was going to say next would rankle, but damn it, he had a job to do. “I’ll pass this on to Vicky. If anyone can track her down, it’ll be her.”

  There was silence. “Can you let me know what she finds out?” The unspoken message was clear: Kate wasn’t about to call Vicky herself. “I told Shonda I’d get back to her.”

  The implications of this slammed into his exhausted brain. “You’ve spoken to her already? I thought you’d gotten this information from Lisa MacAdam’s grandmother.” He fought to keep his voice calm. “Kate, this is a homicide investigation. We can’t have you interviewing potential witnesses. You know the best information comes from the first interview. It needs to be done by an experienced investigator.”

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry to Ethan. He knew once she got something in her sights, she was relentless about tracking it down. That had been a quality he’d admired in her. Until now. “I promised Marian MacAdam I’d talk to Shonda because she said the police weren’t doing anything about it.”

  “And you believed that?” He didn’t bother to hide his anger. Too little sleep, two murders too many and too few leads weren’t helping. “You think we’d just ignore the only lead we’ve got? You think we’re a bunch of idiots, Kate?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Did Randall put you up to it?” It’d be just like the bastard to mess around in a police investigation. He’d done it before. If he knew Ethan was on this one, it’d be all the more reason for him to get in the middle of it.

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  She inhaled sharply. “You really don’t think much of me, do you?’

  He couldn’t answer that. He didn’t know what he thought about her anymore. Finally, he said, “Stay out of this, Kate. There’s a psychopathic killer on the loose. Leave it to the police to handle. Stay away from Shonda.”

  She could not jeopardize a homicide investigation because of personal demons. Two young women were dead. And he was scared—yes, he’d admit it, he was scared—that there’d be a third. Soon. His eyes scanned the sky. When would it turn leaden and menacing with rain?

  “I can’t, I made a promise—”

  Kate needed to understand just how high the stakes were. “Damn it, Kate, there are young girls’ lives at risk here—”

  “I know—”

  “And you are jeopardizing them!”

  “No. I’m not.”

  He drew in a deep, frustrated breath. “Already you’ve potentially ruined our best source of information on the case by speaking to Shonda, and now you want to call her again and share confidential information. It could affect the whole outcome of our investigation. It could cause the killer to either not be caught or, worse, be released for lack of evidence.” He knew that she would understand the implications of this.

  There was a painful silence. “I was just doing what I thought was best.”

  He sighed heavily
. “Leave it to the police. We’re the good guys, remember?”

  23

  A gleaming black truck with an enclosed bed in the back pulled into Kate’s driveway at exactly 7:00 p.m. That was a good sign. He was right on time.

  She’d gotten home ten minutes before, her briefcase crammed with her neglected TransTissue research, the disastrous phone call to Ethan still running through her head. He’d been right about everything. But he couldn’t see that she’d tried to do the right thing, too. He thought she had ulterior motives. He didn’t understand that she was doing this to try to help victims, just like him.

  The truck door swung open and a young guy in his twenties stepped out.

  Whoa. She’d seen this guy before. Tall, blond, muscular. He strode toward the house, hips swaggering slightly. She smoothed back the corner of the living room curtain before he could spot her.

  Alaska jumped excitedly at her heels. She didn’t get many visitors, so anyone showing up on her front porch was worthy of delirious excitement. It was infectious. She felt a bit excited herself. It helped smother the loneliness that had suddenly hit her.

  A brisk knock announced the new dog walker’s arrival. She swung open the door, hoping that the Doggie Do dog-walking service would assuage her guilt at leaving Alaska alone for so long.

  “Hi,” the guy said, smiling. He had a great smile, warm and friendly. “I’m Finn Scott.”

  “Hi. I’m Kate.” She opened the door wider. “Please come in.”

  He walked in, his gaze taking in Kate in a slow, languorous sweep. Was that a look of appreciation in his eyes? Her cheeks grew warm, surprise mingling with a foolishly girlish glow. Being checked out was a welcome balm to her ragged ego after dealing with Ethan today.

  Finn turned to Alaska. The husky wagged his tail and nosed Finn’s hand. Just his hand, fortunately. She still remembered the way he had greeted Ethan. It had been a prescient foreshadowing of every interaction she’d had with her ex-fiancé since.