by Beverly Long
“Maybe you’ve forgotten this. We’re here to investigate a crime. We’ve got a lot of people to talk to. I didn’t think it made sense to spend any more time with Liz.”
“Liz,” Robert repeated.
“Yeah, Liz.” Sawyer did his best to sound nonchalant. “She told me I could call her Liz.”
“Since when do you hang all over witnesses?”
“I wasn’t hanging all over her. She seemed upset. I offered her some comfort. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s called compassion.” Sawyer started to walk away.
Robert kept pace. “That wasn’t compassion I saw. That was a mating call. What’s going on here, partner?”
Sawyer didn’t know. Didn’t have a clue why he started to unravel every time he got within three feet of Liz. “Liz Mayfield is a material witness to a crime. We had questioned her. I figured we needed to move on.”
“That’s it?”
“What else could it be?”
Robert looked him in the eye and nodded. “Your timing sucks. I could have had little Lizzy’s phone number in another two minutes.”
“Lizzy,” Sawyer repeated.
“She’s my type.”
Sawyer clamped down on the impulse to punch his partner, his best friend for the past two years. “She is nothing like your type.”
Robert cocked his head. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“I’ll be damned.” Robert laughed, his face transformed by his smile. “You like her.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sawyer walked away from his partner.
Robert ran to catch up with him. “You’re interested in a witness. Mr. Professional, Mr. I-always-use-my-Southern-manners. This has got to be killing you.”
“Liz Mayfield is going to help me get Mirandez. That’s my only interest,” Sawyer said.
Robert slapped him on the back. “You just keep telling yourself that, Sawyer. Let’s go talk to the boss.”
When Sawyer and Robert reached Liz’s boss, the man held up a finger, motioning them to wait while he finished his telephone call. From the one side of the conversation that Sawyer could hear, it sounded as if the guy was making arrangements to refer his clients on to other sources. After several minutes, the man ended the call and put his smartphone in his pocket.
“Detective Montgomery.” The man greeted Sawyer, giving him a lopsided smile. “I have to admit I was hoping there wouldn’t be any reason for us to talk again.”
Sawyer felt sorry for him. He looked as if he’d just lost his best friend. “This is my partner, Detective Robert Hanson.”
“Nice to meet you, Detective Hanson. I’m Jamison Curtiss, the executive director of OCM.”
Sawyer watched Robert shake the man’s hand, knowing Robert was rapidly cataloging almost everything there was to know about Jamison.
“I understand you got the call this morning, warning you of the bomb,” Sawyer said.
“Yes. I’d just gotten to work. It was probably about ten minutes before eight.”
“What happened then?”
“Liz and I left the building.”
“Then what?” Sawyer prompted the man, reaching into his pocket for his notebook.
“Then I got a second call.”
“What?” Sawyer stopped taking notes.
“The second call came in just after they’d found the bomb. Same guy who called the first time. Congratulated me on following directions. Then he told me that unless I closed the doors of OCM, there would be another bomb. I wouldn’t know when or where, but there would be one.”
“Liz Mayfield didn’t say anything about a second call.” Sawyer couldn’t believe that she’d withheld information like that.
“She doesn’t know. I’m not looking forward to telling her.”
“Anybody else hear this call?” Not that Sawyer didn’t believe the guy. The man looked shaken.
“No. It lasted about ten seconds. Then the guy hung up.”
“What are you going to do?” Sawyer asked, keeping one eye on Jamison and casting a quick glance back at Liz. His heart skipped a beat when he didn’t see her right away. Then he spied her. She had her back toward him. It took him all of three seconds to realize he was staring at her butt and another five to tear his glance away.
Robert laughed at him. He was quiet about it—just loud enough to make sure Sawyer heard him. Jamison Curtiss looked confused. Sawyer nodded at the man to continue.
“In the past forty-eight hours,” Jamison said, “one of my employees received an anonymous threat. On top of that, my business has been shot at and almost blown up. Whoever is trying to get my attention has it. Unless you can tell me that you know who’s responsible, I don’t think I have a lot of options.”
“We don’t know—” Robert spoke up “—but we will. Who has a key to OCM?”
“All the counselors. And our receptionist. Everyone has a slightly different schedule.”
“And everybody knows the code to turn off the alarm?” Robert asked.
“Of course.”
“Keys to the office doors all the same?”
“Yes.”
“Same as to the front door?”
“Yes.”
Sawyer and Robert exchanged a look. One key and a code. Child’s play for somebody like Mirandez.
“You already gave us a list of employees with their home addresses. I’d like their personnel files, too,” Robert said.
Jamison wrinkled his nose. “Is that really necessary?” he asked.
“Yes.” Sawyer answered in a manner that made sure Jamison knew it wasn’t an option.
“Fine. I’ll have them to you by this afternoon.”
“Anybody else have a key? A cleaning service, perhaps?”
“We all know how to run a vacuum. We can’t afford to pay someone to clean.”
“Anybody really new on your staff?”
“No, we’ve all been working together for years. Liz and Carmen came at about the same time.”
“Carmen?” Robert asked.
“Lucky for her, her brother wasn’t feeling well this morning. She came to work late.” Jamison pointed to the group of counselors gathered across the street. “Carmen Jimenez is the dark-haired woman standing next to Liz.”
“My God, she’s beautiful,” Robert said, then looked surprised that the comment had slipped out. “Sorry,” he added.
Jamison shrugged. “That’s the reaction most men have. Many of our clients are Spanish-speaking. She’s a big asset.”
Sawyer studied the two women who stood close together, deep in conversation. Carmen stood half a head shorter, her black hair and darker skin a stark contrast to Liz’s blond hair and fair complexion. “Liz and Carmen close?”
“Best friends. We’re all like family.” Frustration crossed Jamison’s face. “I’ve got to talk to them,” he muttered. “They deserve to know what’s going on.”
Sawyer watched him walk across the street, joining Liz, Carmen and one other woman, who looked about ten years older. He assumed it was Cynthia, the counselor who just worked mornings. He couldn’t hear what Jamison told them, but by the looks on their faces, they were shocked, scared and, he thought somewhat ironically, Liz and Carmen looked downright mad.
It took another ten minutes before the group broke up. Jamison walked back to Sawyer and Robert. “Well, they know. I told them that I’ve already started making arrangements for our current clients to be referred to other agencies. We have a responsibility to these young girls.”
Sawyer understood responsibility. After all, he’d made it his responsibility to bring in Mirandez. “I’m going to go talk to Liz,” Sawyer said to Robert.
Robert gave Liz and Carmen another look. “I’ll go with
you,” he said.
When Sawyer reached Liz, he realized that Mary Thorton sat on the bench directly behind her. The young girl looked up when Sawyer and Robert approached. She didn’t smile, frown or show any emotion at all. She just stared at the two of them.
Sawyer couldn’t help staring back. The girl had on a green shirt and a too-tight orange knit jumper over it. With her big stomach, she looked like a pumpkin. Then the dress moved in ripples.
Sawyer remembered the first time he’d felt his baby move. It had rocked his world. He’d first put his hand on his girlfriend’s stomach, then his cheek. It had taken another hour for the baby to roll over again, but the wait had been worth it.
Sawyer stuck his hand out toward Carmen Jimenez. “Ms. Jimenez,” he said. “I’m Detective Montgomery.”
“Good morning,” she said.
“This is my partner, Detective Hanson.”
Robert reached out his own hand. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Jimenez.” Robert smiled at the woman. It was the same smile Sawyer had seen work very well for Robert in the past.
Carmen Jimenez didn’t have the reaction that most women had. She nodded politely and shook Robert’s hand so briefly that Sawyer wasn’t sure that flesh actually touched.
Sawyer turned his attention to Mary, keeping his eyes trained on her face. He didn’t want to make the mistake of looking at her baby again. “Mary.” He spoke quietly. “Where were you at six o’clock this morning?”
“Sleeping.”
“Alone?”
Mary gave him a big smile. “I don’t like to sleep alone.”
“So, I guess whoever you were sleeping with could verify that you were in bed this morning?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Come on, Mary. Surely he or she would know if you’d slipped out of bed.”
“Trust me on this, Cop. It wouldn’t be a she.”
“Didn’t think so,” Sawyer said. “What’s his name?”
“I can’t tell you.”
The girl’s eyes had widened, and Sawyer thought her lower lip trembled just a bit. Liz must have seen it, too, because she sat down next to Mary and wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders.
Sawyer deliberately softened his voice. He needed Mary. Hated to admit it but he did. “Mary, we can help you. But we need to know what’s going on. You need to tell us.”
“I don’t know anything. You’d need to talk to him.”
“Mirandez?”
Mary shook her head and frowned at Sawyer.
“No.”
“Who, Mary? Come on, it’s important.”
She hesitated then seemed to decide. “Well, okay. His name is Pooh.”
“Pooh?”
“Yeah. Pooh Bear. He’s been sleeping with me since I was six.”
He heard a laugh. Sawyer whirled around, and Robert suddenly coughed into his hand. Carmen, her dark eyes round with surprise, had her fingers pressed up against her lips. Sawyer looked at Liz. She stared at her shoes.
Damn. He could taste the bitter metal of the hook. The girl had baited her pole, cast it into the water and reeled him in. It was all he could do not to flop around on the sidewalk.
“Funny,” he said. “Hope you’re still laughing when you’re sitting behind bars, waiting for a trial.”
Liz stood up and jerked her head toward the right. “May I speak to you in private, Detective?”
Sawyer nodded and walked across the street. When he stopped suddenly, Liz almost bumped into him. She was close enough that he could smell her scent. It was a warm, sticky day already, but she smelled fresh and cool, like a walk through the garden on a spring night.
“Don’t threaten her,” Liz warned. “If you’re going to charge her with something, do it. Otherwise, leave her alone. This can’t be good for her or the baby.”
Sawyer took a breath and sucked her into his lungs. As crazy as it seemed, it calmed him. “She’s a little fool.”
“She’s a challenge,” Liz admitted.
Sawyer laughed despite himself. “Paper-training a new puppy is a challenge.”
Liz smiled at him, and he thought the world tilted just a bit.
“I’ll talk to her,” Liz said.
“How? Isn’t she being referred on?”
Liz glanced over her shoulder, as if making sure no one was close by. “I’m going to keep seeing her. She needs me.”
“Your boss is closing shop.”
“I know. Carmen and I already discussed it. We’ll see clients at my apartment.”
Calm disappeared. “Are you nuts?”
She lifted her chin in the air.
He pointed a finger at her. “You received a threat. Which may or may not have anything to do with the shooting. Which may or may not have anything to do with today’s bomb. Which may or may not have anything to do with Mirandez or Mary or the man in the moon. What the hell are you thinking?”
“I have to take the chance.”
She’d spoken so quietly that Sawyer had to lean forward to hear her. “Why?” The woman had a damn death wish.
“I just have to,” she said.
Was it desperation or determination that he heard in her tone? All he knew for sure was that nothing he could say was going to change her mind. “When? When are you starting this?” he asked.
“Mary’s coming to see me tomorrow.”
Great. That gave him twenty-four hours to figure out how to save them both.
Chapter Four
Liz’s small apartment seemed smaller than usual after she set up shop at the kitchen table and Carmen took the desk in the extra bedroom. Girls came and went, and while the surroundings were different, the conversations were much the same as if they had occurred in a basement on the South Side.
It was late afternoon when Carmen made her way to the kitchen. “I thought Detective Montgomery might have a stroke yesterday.” She took a swig from her water bottle. “He looked like he wanted to wring your neck.”
Liz laughed and reached for her coffee cup. She took one sip and dumped the rest down the drain. No coffee was better than cold coffee. “He thinks we’re idiots.”
“He might be right.” She hesitated. “What time was Mary’s appointment?” she asked softly.
Liz looked at the clock. “Three hours ago.”
“Did you call her?”
“Four times.”
Carmen didn’t say anything. Finally, she sighed. “There’s something very wrong here.”
“I know. I just don’t know what it is.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Are you done for the day?”
“I am. I could stay with you.”
“Don’t you dare. Your brother is still sick. Go home. Pick up some chicken-noodle soup for him on the way.”
“You’re sure?”
Liz nodded.
“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Liz watched her friend leave. She waited fifteen minutes before trying Mary’s cell phone again. It rang and rang, not even going to voice mail. She tried her three more times in the evening before finally giving up and going to bed.
She woke up the next day, tried Mary, didn’t get an answer and finally admitted to herself that she needed help. Carmen was right. Something was very wrong.
Liz called Sawyer. He answered on the second ring.
“This is Liz Mayfield. Mary had an appointment yesterday, but she didn’t show or call. I’m worried about her.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him sigh.
“Can’t the police do anything?” she asked. “She’s just a kid.”
“I’ll put the word out to my contacts. If anybody sees her, they’ll call.”
“What about a missing-person report?
Should I do one of those?”
“You can.” Sawyer didn’t think it would hurt but he doubted it would help much. Every day there were lots of teenagers reported missing. Most showed up a few days later safe and sound, sure that they’d taught their parents a thing or two. The true runaways usually called home a couple weeks later, once their money had run out. The smart ones anyway. The dumb ones slipped into a life of prostitution that killed them. Even those who were still technically breathing, working the streets each day, were as good as dead.
Fluentes had made contact late the night before. He had heard that Mirandez had slipped out of town but didn’t have specifics. Sawyer thought it likely that Mary had gone with him. For all he knew, the two of them were hiding out in some fancy hotel somewhere, living off room service, enjoying all the benefits that drug money could buy.
“Do you think we should check the hospitals?” Liz asked.
“Probably a good idea. Hell, maybe she had her baby.”
“I doubt it. Mary’s scared to death of labor. I think she’d call me.”
If she could. But maybe Mirandez had put the screws to that. “Are you this tight with all your clients?” Sawyer asked.
“No. But Mary really doesn’t have anybody else.”
“She has Mirandez,” Sawyer said.
“He must have opted out. Maybe he’s afraid of blood?”
“Only of seeing his own,” Sawyer said. “What about her family? Anybody around here that she’d stay with?”
“Her mother died several years ago. I’ve met her father. He kicked her out when he found out about the pregnancy. I tried to reason with him, but it was no use. Something along the lines of she’s made her bed, now let her lie in it.”
His parents had been furious when he’d come home and confessed that he’d gotten his girlfriend pregnant. His mom had cried. His dad had left the house for four hours. But then he’d come home, quietly conferred with his wife, then the two of them sat Sawyer down so that they could discuss what he intended to do about the situation.
He’d wanted to marry Terrie. He found out it didn’t much matter what he wanted. Terrie’s parents refused to even consider the idea. He’d been the poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. They’d wanted more for their daughter.
