by Beverly Long
Sawyer had been standing at his son’s freshly dug grave when Terrie’s father had confessed that not allowing his daughter to marry Sawyer had been a mistake. Sawyer hadn’t even responded. Sawyer knew the man thought he could have pulled Terrie back from the drugs that crushed both her body and mind.
Sawyer knew better. He hadn’t been able to help Terrie. A marriage license wouldn’t have helped him wrestle her away from the cruel grip of addiction. He’d believed Terrie when she’d promised to quit the drugs. In doing so, he’d failed her. That haunted him. He’d failed his helpless son. That had rocked his soul, causing it to crack and bleed.
“She have any friends?” Sawyer asked.
“She talked about a couple girlfriends. But I never met them.”
“Okay. Then I guess we wait. See if something comes up.”
“There is one place we might check,” Liz said. “Mary mentioned a children’s bookstore that she liked. Said she spent a lot of time there, looking through books.”
“Got a name?”
“I’ve got an address. I wrote it down. I had planned on finding it and picking out a baby gift.” She opened her purse, pulled out the slip of paper and read it to him.
He whistled softly. “Are you sure that’s right?”
“Yes. Mary raved about this store. She said Marvis, the owner, was really cool. It’s not an area I’m familiar with.”
“I’d hope not,” Sawyer mocked. “I don’t think there’re a lot of bookstores in that neighborhood. There are, however, a lot of really great crack houses. I’ll go check it out and let you know.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He didn’t answer.
“Look, Sawyer. You need Mary. I’m the best link you have to her. But if you cut me out—if you even think about leaving me behind—that’s the last information I’ll share with you.”
Sawyer counted to ten. “To interfere with a police investigation is a crime. To willfully withhold evidence is a crime.”
“You’d have to prove it first.”
Sawyer almost laughed. He’d used his best I’m-a-hard-ass-cop voice. The one that made pimps and pushers shake. But she didn’t even sound concerned. “What about your clients?”
“I’ll call Carmen. We both had a light day today, so she should be able to cover my clients. She can meet them at a coffee shop near OCM.”
“Fine. Be ready in twenty minutes.”
Sawyer hung up the phone. He ran his fingers across the stack of manila folders that had been delivered late last night, hot out of the filing cabinets of OCM. Personnel files. Liz Mayfield’s file.
He sifted through the pile. When he found hers, he flipped it open. Copies of tax forms. Single with zero exemptions. Direct-deposit form. Emergency-contact form. Harold and Patrice Mayfield, her parents. They had a suburban area code.
He set those papers aside. Next was her résumé. With plenty of detail.
He scanned the two-page document. The label Ph.D. jumped out at him. Liz had a doctorate degree in psychology from Yale University. Up until a few years ago, she’d worked for Mathers and Froit. The name meant nothing to him. He read on. She’d been a partner, responsible for billing out over a half million a year. That was clear enough. She’d been in the big time.
But she’d left that all behind for OCM. Why? With a sigh, Sawyer closed the file. He stood up and snatched his keys off the desk. He almost wished he’d never looked. Even as a kid, he’d been intrigued by puzzles.
He opened his car door just as Robert pulled his own vehicle into the lot. He waited while his friend parked.
“I’ve got a lead on Mary Thorton,” he said when Robert approached.
“Need me to go with?”
“No. It’s probably nothing. The personnel files are on my desk. Spend your time on them. Maybe the connection to OCM isn’t Mary. Maybe it’s something else.”
* * *
WHEN SAWYER AND LIZ pulled up to the address, Sawyer started to laugh. A dry chuckle.
Liz looked at the slip of paper and then checked the numbers hanging crooked on the side of the old brick building. There was no mistake. Mary’s bookstore was the Pleasure Palace. Brown shipping paper covered the front windows. “What do you think?” she asked.
“I think it’s not a Barnes & Noble,” he said, smiling at her.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said, opening her car door.
Sawyer caught up with her fast. “Stay behind me,” he instructed. “It’s too early for the drug dealers or the prostitutes to be doing business, but there’s no telling what else lurks around here.”
Liz slowed her pace and let him take the lead. He pushed the door open with his foot. “Also, no telling where people’s hands have been that turned that handle,” he said almost under his breath.
There were magazines everywhere. Women, their bodies slick with oil, in every pose imaginable. Men with women, women with women, women with dogs. Where the magazines ended, the ropes, chains and harnesses took up.
“I don’t believe this.” Sawyer let out a soft whistle and pointed.
There, surrounded by DVDs, handcuffs, and plastic and rubber appliances in all shapes and sizes, was a table piled high with kids’ books. They were used but in good shape.
Sawyer picked one off the pile. It was the familiar Dr. Seuss book. “I hate green eggs and ham,” he said, “Sawyer, I am.”
“You think this is funny, don’t you?” Liz hissed.
“It’s hilarious. It’s worth the price of admission.”
“There was no admission.”
“Trust me on this. There’s always a price. We just don’t know what it is yet.”
“Hello.” A voice sang out from the corner.
“But we’re just about to find out,” Sawyer whispered.
A woman, almost as tall as Sawyer and pleasantly plump, wearing a flowing purple pantsuit floated toward them. She had big hair and bright red lipstick. “Welcome to the Pleasure Palace. I’m Marvis. May I help you find something? A nice DVD perhaps? Or we have some brand-new battery-operated—”
“We’re trying to find a book for our friend,” Sawyer interrupted. He nodded at the table.
“A children’s book?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Everything is half-off the cover price. All of these belonged to my grandchildren. They are in good shape. The books, that is.” Marvis laughed at her own joke, her double chin bouncing. “Not that my sweet babies aren’t fit as a fiddle, too. They can run circles around me.”
It would be a fair amount of exercise just getting around Grandma Marvis. Liz caught Sawyer’s eye and knew he was thinking the same thing.
“There are over two hundred books here. Every one of my eight grandkids could read before they were five.”
“Our friend comes here all the time. She’s about five-three, fair skin, freckles, blondish-red hair and pregnant.” Sawyer pretended to browse through the pile, all the while keeping an eye on the door.
“Let me think.” The woman tapped her polished pink fingernail against her lips.
Sawyer walked over to the counter. He picked the top DVD off the rack. He looked at the price and pulled a fifty out of his pocket.
“Oh, now I remember. Mary, right?” The woman’s doubled chin tucked under when she smiled.
“That’s the one.”
“Wonderful girl. Loves her books. Always takes one of the classics.” She waved her hand toward the end of the table. “Last time she was here, she got Little Women. Said she hoped that if she had a daughter she’d be as pretty as Winona Ryder.”
“When was she in last?” Sawyer asked.
“It had to have been at least a week ago. I was telling Herbert, he’s my man friend, just
yesterday that I bet she had her baby. What did she have? She was carrying it so low, I couldn’t help but think it was a boy.”
“No baby yet. In fact,” Sawyer said as he pulled a book off the children’s table and threw another twenty at the woman, “if she happens to stop by, would you tell her to call Liz?”
“I’ll do that. You all have a nice day. Are you sure I can’t interest you in something? We’ve got a whole new line of condoms. Cartoon characters.”
“No thanks.” Sawyer literally pulled Liz out of the store and back to the car. He unlocked her side, threw the merchandise in the backseat and got in on the driver’s side. He started to drive away without another word.
“I wonder if they come in an assorted box,” Liz said.
Sawyer almost ran the car into a light pole.
Not that he needed to worry about causing an unexpected pregnancy. A quick trip to his physician ten years ago had taken care of that. But there were other good reasons to wear protection. With a woman like Liz Mayfield in his bed, he’d probably be hard-pressed to remember that. He’d want her, all of her, without anything to separate the two of them. He’d want—
“Hey, are you all right?” she asked. “You look a little pale.”
Sawyer whipped his eyes back to the road. In another minute, she’d start to analyze him. If she found out what he was thinking, she’d probably jump out of the car. “I’m fine,” he said.
“So, now where?” she asked.
“I’m taking you home.”
“We can’t just give up.”
“I’m not giving up. But until a clue turns up, we wait. Maybe Mary will get smart and call you.”
“You’re determined to think the worst of her, aren’t you?”
“She’s up close and personal with a drug dealer. It’s hard to think of her as Mother Teresa.”
“Why don’t you try thinking of her as a mixed-up, scared, lonely kid?”
“I can’t do that.” He risked a quick glance at her.
Liz folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear her.
“You need to try harder,” she said.
He tried. Every damn day he tried. Tried to rid the streets of scum. Tried to arrest just one more of the human garbage that preyed on young bodies and souls. She had no idea how hard he tried. Just like she had no idea that he wanted her more than he’d wanted a woman in years. Maybe ever. And that, quite frankly, scared the hell out of him.
Yeah, he needed to try harder. He needed to keep his distance, needed to remember that getting Mirandez was the goal. Not getting into Liz Mayfield’s pants or letting her get into his head.
* * *
LIZ WASHED HER DISHES, cleaned her bathroom, sorted some old photographs and even managed to force down a peanut-butter sandwich. She went through all the motions of a regular life. But what she really did was wait for Mary’s call.
When the phone finally rang at seven o’clock, she jumped off her couch, ran to the kitchen and managed to stub her toe on the way.
She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice when Jamison greeted her. “Liz, I talked to Carmen late this afternoon,” he said. “I understand that Mary was a no-call, no-show yesterday.”
Jamison would understand her worry. She knew she could confide in him. But she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words. To somehow give credence to the fact that Mary might be in trouble. That Mary might be, at this very moment, crying out for help, but there would be no one around to hear. If she said it, it could be true.
“You know how these kids are. I’m sure I’ll hear from her soon.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said. “I don’t know how much help this is, but I did get a lead on Mary that you can pass on to Detective Montgomery.”
“What?”
“I reviewed some case files today, and I saw a note that one of my girls had heard about OCM from Mary Thorton. They met at a club.”
“What’s the name of it?”
“Jumpin’ Jack Flash. I guess they have a dance contest every Tuesday night. The women don’t pay a cover, and all the drinks are two bucks. It’s somewhere on the South Side, on Deyston Street.”
Liz knew just where it was. She and Sawyer had passed it this morning on their way to the bookstore. And today was Tuesday.
“He might want to check it out. From what I understood from my client, it’s a real hangout for the young crowd. I had thought about trying to put a few brochures there.”
His business, her life.
“Thanks for the tip, Jamison.”
“You’ll tell Detective Montgomery?”
“I will. Thanks, Jamison.” Liz hung up and dialed Sawyer. After four rings, his voice mail came on. “Hi, Sawyer,” she said. “I’ve got a tip on Mary. It’s a dance club on Deyston. Call me, okay?”
She waited an hour. She’d tried his line again. When voice mail picked up again, she pressed zero. A woman answered. Detective Montgomery was not in. Was it an emergency? Did she want to page him?
She almost said yes but realized he could be in the middle of trouble. The man had a dangerous job. He didn’t need to be interrupted.
She’d just go there by herself, look around and ask a few questions. She’d only stay a short while. Then she could report back to Sawyer. It would probably be better if he wasn’t there anyway. He’d do his tough-guy cop routine and scare away any of the girls who might know Mary.
Liz had learned a lot about teenage girls in the past three years. When they got scared, they clammed up. She didn’t want the girls circling the proverbial wagons and making it impossible to find Mary.
Liz ran back to her closet and started sorting through her clothes. Business suits or jeans. Old life, new life. She didn’t have much in the middle. But tonight, she needed a young, nonestablishment look. It took her twenty minutes to find something that might work. She pulled the short, tight black skirt on, hoping like heck that she wouldn’t have to sneeze. The zipper would surely break. Then she put on a black bra and topped if off with a sheer white shirt that had come with one of her swimsuits. She left her legs bare and stuck her feet into high-heeled, open-toed black sandals.
She teased and sprayed her hair, put on three times the amount of makeup she normally wore and walked her body through a mist of perfume. For the finishing touch, she applied two temporary tattoos, one on her breast, just peeking over the edge of her bra, and the other on the inside of her thigh, low enough that it would show when she crossed her legs. She’d remembered them at the last minute. They’d come in a box of cereal. One was a snake and the other a flag. Not exactly what she’d have chosen but better than nothing. Every girl she met had some kind of tattoo or body piercing.
When she got finished and looked in the mirror, she wasn’t too dissatisfied with the effort. She didn’t look eighteen, but she thought she could pass for her mid-twenties. At least they might not guess she was thirty-two—so far into adulthood, from their perspective, that she couldn’t possibly even remember what it was like to be young.
She grabbed a small black purse, stuck her cell phone in it as well as two hundred bucks. She remembered Sawyer’s advice from earlier in the day. Everything had a price. She needed to be prepared to pay for information.
She waved down a cab and ignored the guy’s look when she told him the address. Thirty minutes later, when he pulled up to the curb, she sat still for a minute, for the first time wondering if she had made a big mistake.
Music poured out of the small, old building. Ten or fifteen teens gathered around the door, lounging against the cement walls. Everybody had a cigarette and a can of beer. More boys than girls. And the few girls who were there were clearly taken. One straddled a boy who sat on a wooden chair. He had his hand up her shirt. Another girl, plastered
from lips to toes to her boy, his hands possessively curled around her butt, almost blocked the doorway.
“You getting out, lady?” The cab driver raised one eyebrow at her. “I don’t like sitting still in this neighborhood.”
Liz swallowed. This morning, the neighborhood had looked gray. Gray buildings, gray sidewalk. The sky had even seemed a little gray, as if it were a reflection of the street below. But tonight, the street seemed black and purple and red. Violent and passionate, the colors of sex and sin. Firecrackers popped, music blasted, the air almost sizzled.
“Yes, I’m getting out.” Liz threw a twenty at the driver and stepped from the car.
Chapter Five
“Oh, baby, I do like blondes.” The voice came from her far left. Liz couldn’t see him until he stepped away from the corner of the building. He looked older than the other teens, probably in his early twenties. He cocked a finger at her. “Come here. Let’s see if they really do have more fun.”
A couple of the other teens pushed each other around, laughing, but nobody else said anything. Liz ignored them all and walked into the club.
If it had been loud outside, it was mind-blowing inside. It made her head hurt. She managed to make her way through the crowd and got up to the bar. She stood next to a group of girls, most of them looking about Mary’s age. Where the hell were the police? These kids couldn’t be old enough to drink. Liz wanted them all busted but just not until she got the information that she wanted.
“I was talking to you outside, baby.”
Liz felt heat crawl up her neck. She turned around. It was Creepy Guy from outside. She knew immediately that ignoring him wasn’t going to work.
“I heard you.” She smiled at him. “But I got to find my friend before I can have my own fun.”
He stared at her breasts. Liz resisted the urge to slap him and tell him to get cleaned up and get a job. “I’ll help you, baby. Who you looking for? I know everybody here.”
She debated for all of three seconds. “Annie Smith. She likes to dance here.”
“Don’t know her.” The man grabbed her arm and pulled her close. He smelled like cigarettes and cheap rum. “Let’s you and me dance.”
