by Mary Burton
The letterhead read Virginia Adoption Services. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. This agency had the key to her past. Its staff could tell her where she came from.
For so many years, she’d pushed thoughts of her birth family from her mind. Now they were all she could think about. Years of denying vanished in a heartbeat. In its place rose an intense need to know.
Nervous energy bubbled inside Kendall. She glanced at the phone and then back at the picture of the little girl who looked so lost. Afraid she’d back out if she hesitated, she picked up the phone on the nightstand and called information. When the automated operator came on the line Kendall requested the agency’s listing. Seconds clicked by as she waited. And then the operator informed her that the number was no longer in service.
Kendall squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed an oath. She repeated her request for the number. More seconds passed and then the operator returned with the same answer.
Kendall hung up the phone. ‘Damn.’
Impatient, she flicked the edge of the letter with her thumb. Whatever adoption papers Irene and Henry Shaw had had appeared to be long gone. There’d been nothing in her mother’s safety deposit box. The only hope Kendall had of finding out about her birth family was this agency. And it no longer had a phone listing.
She glanced again at the letter. The infant child, now known as Kendall Elizabeth Shaw, is now the legal child of Henry and Irene Shaw. All birth records for the infant child have been sealed.
Sealed.
Kendall remembered Carnie Winchester, whose own adoption records had been sealed. Nicole had said that connecting adoptive and birth families was one of Carnie’s specialties. She could untangle this mess.
Each time questions had arisen in her, she’d run away from them. Now, she felt as if she had no choice but to dive right in.
Jacob and Zack arrived at Outer Limits tavern just after eleven on Sunday night. The pub was located in a strip mall, sandwiched between a hardware store and a wine shop, on the border of Henrico and Goochland Counties. Christmas lights outlined the big picture window and a Miller sign flashed in neon. The parking lot was filled with the tavern patrons’ vehicles.
The detectives got out of the car. Jacob braced against the cold, which cut through his jacket and stung the exposed skin on his face. He ducked his head and pushed through the tavern’s front door. Warm air, the buzz of conversation, and the blare of music greeted them. Zack closed the door and stood behind him.
The tavern was long and narrow. To their right a long oak bar with stools. Behind it, spotlights shone down on shelves filled with hundreds of bottles of booze. Booths filled with patrons lined the left side of the bar and in between were a half dozen full café tables.
‘The place is packed,’ Zack said. He had to speak loud enough to be heard over the music.
Jacob glanced at a sign that read RICHMOND’S #1 BURGER. ‘The owner’s name is Paul Jefferson.’
At that moment a man moved behind the bar. Tall and slim and muscular like a runner, he had a thick stock of red hair bleached by the sun. In his midforties, he wore a blue T-shirt that read Kona and khaki pants. ‘The guy looks like he just walked off the beach,’ Jacob said.
Zack’s eyes narrowed a fraction as recognition dawned. ‘I know this guy. Ten years ago he won several Ironman competitions. Busted a knee or shoulder in a cycling accident. Ended his career.’
Jacob shook his head. ‘Lycra and spandex. Bikes that barely weigh a pound. I’ve never seen the attraction.’
Zack shrugged, unoffended. ‘He’s one hell of an athlete.’
But could he take a pounding in the ring? ‘Let’s see what he knows about Vicky Draper.’
They moved across the room and pushed through the mob of people at the end of the bar. Jacob pulled out his badge and as Paul turned he held it up.
Paul didn’t appear intimidated and turned to hand a couple of draft beers to a waitress waiting by the bar. ‘My liquor license is up to date.’
‘We didn’t come about your liquor license,’ Jacob said.
The guy didn’t bother a glance in his direction. He filled two beers from the tap. Foam washed over the side onto his hand. ‘I’m very busy. We’re packed, as you can see.’
Irritated, Jacob tucked his badge back in his pocket. ‘We’re here to talk about Vicky Draper.’
Paul muttered a curse under his breath. ‘She’s one of the reasons I’m busting my balls tonight. She hasn’t shown up to work in a couple of days. I left messages on her cell when she didn’t show last night for her shift. But she never called back. What’d she do this time?’
Someone in the crowd picked that moment to crank a jukebox with a Bruce Springsteen song. Jacob wasn’t about to shout what he had to say. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk?’
Paul glanced down the row of patrons at the bar. One held up an empty glass in the air. ‘Can we do this another time? Christ, I’m slammed tonight.’
‘We need to do this now,’ Jacob said. There was some satisfaction knowing he was pissing the guy off. Did he think cops showed up this late on a Sunday to chat for no good reason?
Paul frowned. ‘Let me fill a couple of orders and get a waitress to cover.’
Jacob nodded and watched as Paul filled two beers from the tap, made a gin and tonic and a rum and Coke. He pulled a waitress from the floor and moved to the end of the bar, where he lifted the end piece and came out from behind.
Paul motioned for Jacob and Zack to follow him through an office door at the back of the tavern. The office was small and cramped. On the walls was a picture of Tour de France cyclists riding through a field of sunflowers. Under it stood an old desk. The surface of it was covered with loose papers and a computer that looked fairly new. The chair behind the desk looked ergonomic. As if he needed the support.
Paul closed the door, muffling most of the loud music. Still, Jacob could feel the beat in his chest. With the three clustered in the room, there was almost no room to maneuver.
Paul stayed by the door.
Zack slid his hand into his pocket and relaxed his stance as if he had all the time in the world. ‘Is it true you finished second at Kona about ten years ago?’ Kona was one of the world’s most grueling Ironman competitions, consisting of a 2-mile ocean swim, a 112-mile bike ride over rough terrain, and a 26-mile run.
The compliment relaxed Paul a fraction. ‘Third.’
Zack’s grin was boyish but calculated. ‘I’ve done a few longer triathlons, but an Ironman, that’s a big bite. How long did it take you to finish?’
‘Nine hours, twenty-two minutes.’
Zack nodded. ‘Impressive.’
Paul folded his arms over his chest. ‘So has Vicky been arrested for drugs? Because I can tell you if she has, I had nothing to do with it.’
Jacob glanced down at Paul’s desk, which brushed his thigh. ‘Why would Ms Draper mention your name?’
Paul shoved out a breath. ‘Because that’s what Vicky does. She lies. She uses drugs, deals occasionally, and she can be a real pain in the ass.’
Zack tore his gaze from the framed poster. ‘So why not fire her?’
‘Because when she is here, she’s a damn good waitress. Few can handle tables like she does. And the customers love her. Liquor sales always go up twenty percent when she’s behind the bar. She knows how to work the men.’
Zack folded his arms. ‘Weren’t you worried when she didn’t show Friday?’
‘Sure, a little. But I figured it was like the last time. She had drank too much and was sleeping it off. I knew she’d call, promise to make it up, and we’d get back to business as usual. Employees not showing in this business isn’t unheard of. You learn to be flexible.’
‘She never called to check in with you at all?’ Zack asked.
‘Nope.’ Paul shook his head. ‘But that’s her. Once she didn’t show for a week.’ His gaze darted between the two detectives.
‘When is the last time you saw her?’ Jacob asked.<
br />
‘Wednesday night. She has Thursdays off. Mind telling me what this is about? Do I need to bail her out or something?’
Jacob flexed his fingers. ‘Vicky is dead.’
The color drained from Paul’s face. His stance wavered. ‘What?’
Jacob kept the tone of his voice steady. ‘Her body was found this morning.’
‘Shit.’ Paul dragged his hand through his hair. ‘Shit. God, I wish I could say this is totally unexpected, but it’s not. She hangs with a hard crowd.’
‘Can you tell us who she hung out with? Friends, boyfriends, anyone we could talk to?’ Jacob asked.
Paul shook his head again. The guy looked shocked but that didn’t mean squat. Jacob had crossed his share of talented liars. ‘I don’t know.’
‘There must be someone we can talk to about her.’
Paul shrugged. ‘Vicky knew everybody and everybody knew her but she was like a butterfly. She flitted around a lot but rarely landed. She wasn’t close to anyone. Her ex-husband moved out of state at least a year ago and her latest boyfriend is in jail, from what I hear. There could be someone new in her life but I don’t know who it is.’
‘Meaning?’ Zack asked.
Paul sighed. ‘She partied with everyone but, like I said, she never got close to anyone. Hell, I slept with her.’
‘You two were lovers?’
He grimaced at the word. ‘Nothing that serious. It was a little quick, free love kinda thing. That’s it. No strings. Hell, I think she was doing the bartender the night after she was with me.’
‘And that didn’t bother you?’ Jacob asked. The guy was a little too easygoing for his taste.
‘Like I said, it was sex.’ He shook his head. ‘I know as much about her today as I did the day I met her. She played her cards close.’
‘Ever wonder why?’ Jacob asked.
‘As long as she showed up for work, I didn’t care. And I didn’t ask. Vicky wasn’t the kind of woman you had deep conversations with.’
‘But you had to wonder about her a little,’ Jacob said. ‘Where she came from, what she did when she wasn’t here.’
Paul shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. ‘Maybe once or twice. The woman didn’t encourage deep thought. She was strictly about fun.’
‘The coroner said she had an old scar on her hand. Looked like an old defensive wound.’ Jacob had checked with the women’s prison and asked if she’d been in a fight. She hadn’t. ‘She was sliced up pretty badly. Know anything about that?’
Paul shook his head. ‘Yeah, I saw that. I asked her once. She made some glib joke that told me nothing.’
The small office was warm and Jacob considered removing his jacket, but the confined space made it not worth the effort. ‘Do you have her home address?’
‘Yeah.’ Paul turned to his computer and punched a couple of keys. An address popped up and he wrote it down on a slip of paper. Jacob noted the guy was left-handed. Vicky had been hit on the right side of her face, suggesting her attacker was a lefty.
Jacob accepted the paper. ‘Don’t stray too far. We may have more questions.’
Paul nodded. ‘Sure. This all seems like overkill, don’t you think?’
Jacob paused. ‘How so?’
‘She died of an overdose, right? I mean, why does the county need two cops to figure out why a junkie died?’
‘Why would you say that?’ Zack asked.
‘Come on, the life she lived – it was a matter of time before her liver gave out.’
‘She didn’t die of an overdose,’ Jacob said. ‘She was murdered.’
Paul’s face tightened and paled. ‘What?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Hey, will you keep me posted?’ The question seemed to come more out of a morbid curiosity than concern.
Jacob ignored the question, simply saying, ‘We’ll be in touch if we need more.’
The detectives left Paul standing in his office, his face tight with shock. They plunged back into the noise of the tavern and out the front door into the cold. Jacob felt the chill all the more after leaving Paul’s overheated office. The two got into the car and Jacob fired up the engine.
‘Let’s see if we can get into Vicky’s apartment tonight.’
Zack nodded. ‘Let me just call Lindsay and tell her I’ll be late.’
‘Sure.’
Zack dialed the number as Jacob pulled into traffic. After a moment’s pause, Zack said, ‘Hey, babe, I’m gonna be late.’
Jacob didn’t hear the response, but judging by Zack’s expression she accepted the change in plans with grace.
‘Please do me a favor and don’t overdo it. Put your feet up.’ Zack frowned, an indication that he was already worried if his wife would ease up. ‘I love you.’ After a moment’s hesitation, he hung up.
Jacob tightened his hands on the wheel as they came to a stoplight and did his best to convince himself that a solitary life was the only kind for him.
Zack closed his phone. ‘She’s at the women’s center unpacking boxes.’
‘Is she doing all right?’
‘Yeah, great. I just wish she’d ease up.’
‘You need to ease up.’
Zack tapped the phone against his leg as if he was debating whether or not to call her again. ‘You’re right.’
The light turned green and Jacob moved through the intersection. Zack punched the victim’s address into the computer. Seconds later a map appeared. ‘It’s about five miles from here. It’s not an apartment but a motel.’
By the time they arrived at the address, Zack had also contacted the motel’s manager and told her to expect them. The building was all brick, one story, modular squares, and no character. The place looked as if it had been built in the early fifties. A collection of cars was parked in front of the motel doors.
Jacob parked in a spot in the lot and the two walked to the manager’s apartment. Jacob knocked. From inside they could hear the blare of a television.
Seconds passed and the door snapped open. The woman standing in the doorway was in her sixties. A rubber band bound thinning salt-and-pepper hair into a low ponytail. She had shrugged on a parka over what looked like pajama pants and a T-shirt.
‘Mrs Mullin?’ Jacob asked.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You the cops, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, ma’am. We’ve come to see Vicky Draper’s room.’
She nodded, fished keys out of her pocket, and closed the door behind her. ‘Be glad to show you her place. But technically it ain’t her place no more. It’s mine.’
The wind blew across a courtyard illuminated by security lights and the random light from the motel rooms. ‘How’s that?’ Jacob asked.
‘She ain’t paid her rent in two weeks. Yesterday was her drop-dead day to pay or get out. I changed the locks on her place this morning.’
Jacob swallowed an oath. ‘Did you remove any of her belongings?’
‘Was planning to do it first thing tomorrow. You lucked out, coming when you did. Another day and I’d have cleaned the place out.’
‘So you don’t mind if we search the place?’
‘Naw.’
Jacob and Zack ducked their heads against the wind and followed the manager up a flight of stairs to the corner room, Number 4. The keys rattled as she searched for the right one. She tried the key once, cursed when it didn’t work, and then after a second try turned the lock. She pushed open the door and flipped on the lights. ‘Here is Ms Draper’s apartment.’
Jacob and Zack moved past her into the tiny space. An unmade bed on the left side of the room was covered with candy bar wrappers and empty take-out food cartons. The bureau across from the bed was cluttered with makeup, hairbrushes, more candy wrappers, pill bottles, and empty paper coffee cups. Ashtrays overflowed with butts and ashes. Clothes littered a filthy brown shag carpet.
The room smelled of trash, stale cigarettes, and booze.
Mrs Mullin shook her head. ‘The girl is a pi
g. No doubt about it. White trash is what she is. I’m gonna have to have the place sprayed for roaches, and the carpet is so stained in places I just may have to replace it.’
Jacob started to move around the room, careful not to disturb anything. Vicky’s place had all the signs of a junkie’s pad – the candy wrappers, the coffee cups, the pill bottles. ‘Did she have many visitors?’
‘All the time. Men mostly. I didn’t like the looks of most of them, but as long as she paid her rent and kept the noise down I didn’t question too much.’
He moved to the nightstand by the bed. A black rotary phone sat beside stacks of receipts, another full ashtray, and old magazines.
Zack moved to the bureau and studied the contents. He was careful not to touch anything.
‘What about family?’ Jacob asked.
‘None that I knew of. I asked her once where her people came from but she just mumbled out an answer about a couple of losers.
‘So what has Vicky done this time? Bad checks? Drugs?’ She reached into her coat pocket, fished out a cigarette, and lit it up. Smoke curled around her head.
Jacob frowned. ‘Ms Draper is dead.’
Mrs Mullin choked on the smoke in her lungs. It took her a moment to get it out. ‘Hey, when I said her drop-dead deadline, I didn’t mean that literal like.’
Jacob nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘I mean, the girl and I had words often enough. She had a mouth like a trucker.’ She puffed on her cigarette. ‘We had some knock-down, drag-out fights, but it was always over rent.’ Mrs Mullin shifted her feet nervously, as if she gauged each word. ‘Nothing personal.’
People tended to get nervous around cops. Everyone gauged his or her words when cops started asking questions.
Zack leaned over the bureau studying a mound of pills that looked prescription. ‘Prozac. Was she seeing a psychiatrist?’
Mrs Mullin’s laugh sounded like a snort. ‘She could have used one, if you ask me. But she didn’t have the money to pay her rent, let alone a shrink. She had friends who worked in doctors’ offices. I’m sure they hooked her up with the pills.’
