by PJ Fernor
I exited my car and looked at my phone again.
A quick call to Ben.
Or even Preens.
Johnny…
Nope.
I was doing this on my own.
I didn’t want to spook Martha.
This was just casual talk.
If anything more was needed, then I’d have someone else show up with me.
When I stepped on the first step to the porch I thought my foot was going to go through it. The overnight autumn showers left the old wood spongey. Way too delicate to be used as an actual step. Just to be sure of myself I skipped the next two and took one large step up to the porch.
I could feel myself tilted to the left.
I looked around and swallowed hard, having a flashback or two of another house that wasn’t safe to be in…
There was another girl down there! I know what I saw! You have to check again!
I took a breath and reached for the door to knock.
It opened on its own.
“Who are you?” a tall, skinny, witch-like woman said to me.
Her eyes were a bright green color. Her hair curled and thinned. Her clothes old but still fitting. She was skeletal as she held the door, ready to slam it without warning.
A watch on her wrist dangled with the face of the watch facing the wrong way.
“I’m Detective Allie Down,” I said. “Are you Martha?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” she said. “What do you want?”
“Can I ask you who lives next door?”
Martha laughed. It was throaty and phlegmy.
She was a smoker.
I also knew that fact by the smell of the house.
It was maybe one level up from cat urine, but that heavy, glued on nicotine smell was very intense here.
“Nobody’s lived there for ten years,” Martha said.
“You’re all alone?”
“Is that a crime?”
“No. I was just curious. What about squatters?”
“Nobody wants that place,” Martha said. “The floors have holes in them. The ceilings are caving in. I have the key to it. Want a tour? Looking for a place to live?”
She laughed again.
“I came to talk to you,” I said. “You frequently call about the girls under the bridge, don’t you?”
Martha backed up. “Come in, Detective.”
I stepped into the house and the smell of the nicotine was stronger than ever.
Everything in the house was caked with dust and an orange layer of nicotine on top of that.
The floors groaned as Martha walked us to the kitchen.
There was a small table stacked high with mail and medicines.
Martha pushed everything aside and patted the table.
“Let’s talk,” she said.
“Nikki Pearson. She’s dead. Murdered.”
Martha took a breath and put her hands to her hips. “I haven’t seen her in a while. I was wondering…”
“Martha, I’m trying to find anything out about Nikki and those girls down there. I’ve been talking to Officer Preens…”
Martha waved a hand. “He’s for show.”
“Excuse me?”
“He knows the drill. He shows up, looks the part, and then does nothing. I’ve seen those girls walking the streets all night. Looking for food. Crying. Chasing down cars, looking for a ride… and god knows what else…”
“And nobody does anything about it?” I asked.
“You’re the detective, you tell me,” Martha said.
“Look, I think we’re going to end up going in circles here,” I said. “I have some pictures in my phone I want to show you. I want to verify who you really know and where you last saw them. Can you do that?”
“Would you like some coffee or tea?” Martha asked.
“Tea is fine. I want you to know that I’m getting to the bottom of everything happening here. I’m not going to stop until I-”
The doorbell rang.
“Let me get that quickly,” Martha said.
She moved fast.
I casually turned and watched the front door.
Martha opened the door and I watched as a young girl sprang into her arms.
Martha hugged the young girl back.
I heard the murmuring of their voices.
A part of me wanted to believe…
What did I want to believe matter?
This was about the truth.
I took a few quiet steps and then one of the floors called out my presence.
The young girl broke away from Martha and looked at me.
Her eyes went wide.
“No,” she said.
She turned and ran out of the house.
Martha looked back at me.
“She was young,” I said.
“She was looking for a meal,” Martha said. “It’s going to take me a while to get her to trust me again.”
I slowly moved my hands to my phone and my gun.
Not to threaten Martha.
But just to get ready…
“I think it’s time we really sit down here and talk,” I said.
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Martha asked.
I looked to the open door.
“No, you don’t.”
Chapter Forty-Three
I looked down into the cup of tea and saw stuff floating at the top of the tan colored liquid thanks to Martha adding milk to my tea without asking me.
She left the spoon in the cup and I gently stirred the tea so the floaters would dip into the tea.
There was no way I was drinking this.
But I still had to stir and hold the cup like I was.
Martha sat across from me.
She sipped her tea and it made my stomach curdle a little.
Then again, the way she was living…
I hated to judge anyone on how they lived. Especially in this town.
There was a time when Sandemor was a booming small town. That time was many decades ago.
Now it was the kind of town where people with good paying jobs in bigger areas and cities would come to buy cheap property and houses and either fix the houses up or build houses on the land.
“What happened to Nikki?” Martha asked.
“She was murdered,” I said. “Beaten and stabbed. Left up on the mountain near the fire road. A trespassing hiker-slash-thrill-seeker found her. That was pure luck there.”
“Oh, Nikki,” Martha said.
“You knew her?”
“Yeah. She and Chelsea were close. Very close. I considered them sisters. They would stop by when things got really bad.”
“What does that mean… got really bad?”
“When the summer nights were too hot. Or the winters were too cold. Or when they hadn’t eaten in a few days. I did all I could for them. All of them. And I always tried to talk to the police. I reported everything I saw. What I believed.”
“And what do you believe?” I asked.
Martha shook her head. “You’ll figure it out for yourself, Detective.”
“If that girl at your door was underage… I can take you in. I can arrest you.”
“For what?” Martha asked.
“Do you really want to play that game with me?” I asked. “I’m trying to solve a murder. And somehow it pertains to all those young women under that bridge. And I have a sick feeling in my stomach there are underage girls involved in this. They either look older so they never get bothered, or they are hiding.”
“So when you say it, you’re a detective. When I say it, I’m a crazy woman.”
Martha lifted her eyebrows. She paused and then lifted the cup of tea to her lips.
I did the same with my cup of tea but stopped an inch short. “Let me show you some pictures then…”
I brought up Nikki’s picture.
“That’s Nikki,” Martha said. She frowned. “Of course that’s Nikki.”
“And this…”
I swiped.
“Chelsea,” Martha said.
“She’s dead too.”
“What?” Martha asked. “When… what…”
Martha touched her cheek.
“She overdosed,” I said. “Not sure if she meant to do that or not. We had spoken to her about Nikki. Then she took a bus and-”
“Overdosed?” Martha asked. “Not Chelsea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She came from a bad home, Detective. Her parents were messed up on that stuff. She would never do that to herself.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me one night,” Martha said. “We watched a thunderstorm together. On my porch. It was a heavy storm. And for some reason, Chelsea just opened up. Told me everything about her life.”
“Did she tell you how she ended up under that bridge?” I asked.
“Not quite that much,” Martha said. “Sorry.”
“So you’re telling me that Chelsea would not have overdosed?”
“Yes. She didn’t use drugs.”
“No offense, Martha, but you believed her?”
“You met her. Did she look messed up?”
“That’s not a fair question,” I said. “She was sober, yes. But that doesn’t mean-”
“I’m telling you she wouldn’t have done that.”
“Then what are you telling me?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Martha said. “I just know what I know.”
I put my phone down.
I had a few more pictures to show Martha. Pictures Ben and Johnny took that I didn’t know about at first. They sent them to me just to have in case anything were to pop up.
I wanted Martha to name names and give me stories.
“What do you think is happening down there?” I asked. “I want to hear it.”
“I think it’s something bad. Very bad. I think those girls are scared. I think they’re abused, but not in a visible way. I can’t prove it. I just feel it.”
“And none of them seek help?”
“Where?” Martha asked. “There’s only so much someone can do. Living on the street is hard. Getting off that street is harder.”
“Do you think someone is controlling them?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “The police do their best. They break the groups up. They arrest anyone who is doing something wrong. But it just keeps going. I do the best I can to help. Just like with Wendy.”
“Wendy?” I asked.
“That girl who ran off,” Martha said.
“Tell me about her.”
“Broken home,” Martha said. “She runs off and comes here. She doesn’t go under the bridge. Yet. I hope she never does. I keep telling her to get good grades. I’ve called the police about her.”
“And what’s happened?”
“They’ve done their checks on her house. They claim it’s okay. I don’t believe that for a second.”
“You’re really saying some interesting things here, Martha.”
“Nothing I haven’t said before.” She pushed at the table and stood up. “And if you want to arrest me for helping, then do it. I don’t know anything other than what I said to you just now. I don’t snoop. I don’t follow. They know me and they know I can help. I don’t judge. I don’t ask questions. I just try to help. If that’s a crime, then take me away.”
Martha stuck her wrists out.
She wasn’t innocent, that was for sure. But having her down at the station and harassing her that way was going to get me nowhere. Martha was best kept at home where I could talk to her and find a way to reach those girls. Which would have to lead me to what happened to Nikki.
And possibly Chelsea.
Because if I was hearing Martha correctly, she implied that Chelsea was murdered and it was made to look like an overdose.
“I’m going to show you a few more pictures,” I said. “Okay?”
“Sure,” Martha said. “I’ll do the best I can.”
I touched my phone and swiped.
Up popped a picture of Lo and Steph.
I swiped again and Martha pointed.
“I know the one,” she said.
“This one?” I asked.
“Yeah. That’s Delany. But go back one.”
Martha’s crooked finger swiped on my phone.
“That’s a picture of my niece and her friend,” I said. “That’s not-”
“I know her,” Martha said.
“You know who?” I asked.
Martha’s finger kept pointing right at my phone.
Not at Lo.
She was pointing to Steph.
Chapter Forty-Four
“You know who this is?” I asked Martha.
“I said I did,” she said.
She turned and walked into the kitchen.
I looked at the picture again.
Lo and Steph.
In the apartment.
Smiling together.
I shook my head.
“This is a mistake,” I said. “This is my niece’s best friend. That’s my niece in the picture, Martha. And you’re telling me that Steph was one of those girls down under the bridge?”
“Who is Steph?” Martha asked.
“Excuse me?”
I walked into the kitchen.
Martha grabbed a dish out of the sink and started to wash it.
She was nervous.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Martha, you better start talking again or I will have to arrest you,” I said.
“Then just do it already,” she said. “It’s all gone too far.”
She looked at me. Anger was in her eyes.
“What’s gone too far?”
“That girl in the picture with your niece is not Steph,” she said. “I don’t know anyone named Steph.”
“Then you must be mistaken,” I said. “I know this girl. She’s close to my niece. They’re best friends.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Detective,” Martha said. “I know faces. I know names. I know that face. And I know her name. And it’s not Steph.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s Leslie. Little Leslie. That’s what I always called her. She must have…”
Martha looked down into the sink.
She started to hover over the sink, looking like she was going to be sick.
“What?” I asked.
I slowly move my fingers on my phone.
I was ready to call Ben now.
Or Johnny.
Or even Preens.
I needed information and I needed it now.
Martha turned her head and looked at me. “I thought she moved to a new home. I thought maybe someone got her off the street. Legally, that is. But who really knows. I mean, maybe she’s doing better. Maybe she changed her name and started over. Right?”
“When was the last time you saw Steph?” I asked.
“You mean Leslie?” Martha asked. “I don’t know. A long time ago. Years. But I could never forget her face.”
“So this picture isn’t even recent to you,” I said. “Maybe it’s…”
“Now you sound like the rest of them,” Martha said. “Always coming up with an excuse. Instead of just listening and understanding that maybe something horrible is happening around here.”
“I’m just trying to follow this… you’re telling me that Steph’s name is Leslie? And that Leslie used to come to your house like that other girl did? For food? For… hugs?”
Martha nodded.
“And then one day she was gone?”
“Gone,” Martha said. “Sometimes they go and come back. Sometimes I won’t see someone for months. That happened with both Nikki and Chelsea. I get worried but I keep hope that something good has happened to them. But Leslie… she was in a bad way, Detective. No home. No home life. I tried to tell everyone. But the police just didn’t listen. Or they didn’t follow through like they said they would. Then I stopped seeing her. I almost forgot
about her until now.”
I pulled up the picture again. I zoomed in on Steph’s face. “Are you sure?”
A tear leaked from Martha’s right eye. “Look on her left cheek. There’s a very faint scar. Can you see it?”
At first I couldn’t see it. I had to zoom in more.
But there it was.
A small scar.
“It looks like a scratch,” Martha said. “That was from a dog. When she was a kid, she went to pet a little brown dog and it jumped up and scratched her cheek. The nail must have caught her at the perfect angle that it cut deep enough to cause that scar.”
I swallowed hard.
Martha wasn’t lying.
She was in no position to lie anyway.
I stared at the picture, my mind racing a mile a minute.
What was Steph-slash-Leslie doing hanging round Lo? Or what was Lo doing hanging around with Steph-slash-Leslie? Did Steph-slash-Leslie even realize who she was?
Martha walked to the table and dug through the mess.
I heard the rattling of a pill bottle.
I looked back and Martha twisted the cap off the bottle and dumped two pills into the palm of her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I normally don’t get like this. I never take these pills either. Only when it gets to be too much. Today is too much for me. This is all too much. Leslie is alive. I don’t know if she’s okay. And she calls herself Steph…”
“I’m as confused as you are,” I said.
“I’m not confused,” Martha said. She threw the pills into her mouth and washed them down with her tea. “Something bad is happening. It’s either covered up really well or the operation is done in a way that it’s impossible to catch whoever is doing it. These girls are messed with. They’re mentally tortured. They’re too afraid to get help. Just look at Nikki and Chelsea. I don’t know why Nikki died. Maybe she fought back. But Chelsea? She knew the writing was on the wall. There’s only so much you can say…”
“I want to ask you something, Martha. Be honest.”
Martha nodded.
“Do you feel safe here? Is your life in danger?”
She shook her head. “I only feel uncomfortable when I have to deal with the police. Like yourself. No offense. Because nothing happens.”
“I’m not going to let nothing happen here,” I said. “I promise you.”
“Promise all you want.”
“Martha…” I inched closer to her. “I’m going to make sure someone watches your house. In case anything happens or someone comes here. I want to help these girls. These young women. I want to know their stories. I want to know the truth.”
