by J. D. Allen
Jim found himself smiling again. Maybe he’d gotten a contact high after all. It didn’t change anything. He wasn’t giving in. Or giving up. All go. “I need everything off the board and two files from my desk.”
“That all? You’d think you could offer me a challenge every now and then, J-Man.” On his path to the door, Ely plucked a black backpack from under the stairs. Jim hadn’t even noticed it sitting there, ready.
“Two folders from the desk. Should be right on top. The Lakes file and one marked Fucking Bitch.”
“Back in thirteen minutes.”
Jim looked at his watch. Ely slid into the night.
26
Seventeen minutes later Ely returned carefully cradling that pack.
Jim looked at his watch. “Four minutes off.” The pack meowed.
“Grabbed up Annie. She was being coy.” He pulled the fussing feline out. “Didn’t want the pigs to let her out or hurt her when they pulled their Stormtrooper act.” He cooed at her. Patted her head. She calmed some. “They’re down the end of your street. I’m assuming you’ll need a new front door when they leave. I unlocked it, but they were gearing up like they’re gonna face zombies, man. Doubt they’ll check it first.”
Again, Jim fought the urge to let the past and his anger overwhelm him. Annie leaped from Ely’s arms to his. She clung to his shoulder, digging in with her claws. He inhaled her kitty scent. Petted down her soft back fur. “I really like that damned door. Just painted it blue.”
“Blue’s a soothing color, man. Maybe they’ll try it first.” Ely shrugged.
“And miss the rush of the battering ram?”
Annie had calmed enough to realize where she was and that no monsters were getting her. She hopped down. Her fluffy tail twitched as she made her way toward a bowl of water Ely set out. “Easy, baby cakes. I won’t leave you hanging.” She circled Ely’s feet, purring. He pulled out another bowl. This one had a lid. He snapped it off.
“You buy her better food than I do.”
“I like her better than you.”
That wasn’t really true, but at times it may have seemed that way to Annie. The little minx sometimes was here as much as at home. Ely would come get her when Jim got stuck on surveillance longer than expected. Which was almost always. But those trips were made in a carrier not a backpack. She loved sleeping up on the shelves in the library overlooking the huge open room below. The giant metal birds didn’t intimidate her at all. As a fact, she found that the eagle’s wide body made a nice high perch.
The console with the progress bar made a dinging sound. Loud and shrill like a tacky wind-up kitchen timer.
“Your code has been broken, sir.” Ely bowed before Jim and then sauntered to the keyboard. Jim read over his shoulder as he typed a series of commands. The file structure opened up. “Thought you could fool ol’ Ely, did ya?” He scanned. “More videos. Lots more. And a couple more text files.” He looked back to Jim. “You want to look at any of these? Just so you know what I’m talking about?”
Not really, but what if …“Same as before?”
“Yeah. Dates. Not titled.”
“What’s the latest?”
“Little more than a week ago. Maybe the day before I ghosted the hard drive.”
Shit. He riffled through the stuff Ely had rescued from his board. Tossed a picture of Chris in front of Ely. “See if that one’s her.” He couldn’t look.
Ely clicked the file. A video player opened. The sounds and the picture came right up. No music. No credits. The girl was screaming. Jim couldn’t stop himself. He glanced at it with held breath. She was young, blonde. Not Chris. The man was large. Hairy and bald. Mr. Lake. Two other men were in the room. He couldn’t see their faces. One looked thin, in those ridiculous skinny jeans the young kids were wearing. The Thin Man?
“Fast-forward it. See if you can get that guy’s face. Any of them for that matter.”
“If I have to.” Jim half squinted as the video rolled past. Even in fast pace, it was clear how bad this was for this poor girl.
Jim felt his stomach roll. He had to swallow down disgust and anger. This time it wasn’t over his own life and emotions. It was her fate that was making him sick.
“Nothing,” Ely said. “The camera angle doesn’t change.”
“Close it.” He went to the Scotch bottle and poured himself a shot. Then one for Ely. He needed several good breaths even after a slug of the strong liquor. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that he never had to witness anything like that again. Knowing was bad enough. “What else is there?”
“Calendar file.” Ely clicked it. Jim made his way back over the terminal. Set the glass down. Ely had pulled a rolling stool over and sat. “Dates marked as meetings. Five sets of four, each close together. January third, sixth, tenth, and fifteenth. March nineteenth, twenty-first, twenty-sixth, thirtieth. And so on.” He typed a few more things. “Printing.”
Jim liked to see things on paper. Made it easier to visualize, to connect the dots, and Ely knew it. He went to the printer and pulled the sheet off. Started spreading out the items from the board.
Four separate dates in five separate months. January, March, June, August, and just last week, November. “How many of the videos? Do the file dates match?”
“Twenty videos.” There was a moment while Ely checked. “Yeppers. Each one falls between the dates in the file.”
He looked back through his meager notes. Again wishing he’d taken this more seriously at the time. He was missing something. Something big. “They’re luring four girls a month. Taking them from the strip clubs, alleys, and escort services—doesn’t really matter, does it? Who would notice that in the sea of lost girls in Vegas?” He rubbed his forehead. “Chris, that’s who. She must have seen a pattern in her client lists. She got nosy.” It was logical. “Can you find me a number for Karen Barnes? Here in Vegas. Works for Social Services?”
“Sure.” Ely slid his chair down the wall of geek with a squeak that made Jim shudder. New terminal. Keys rattled. Screens popped up. Within a minute he read a number to Jim. He dialed.
“Karen Barnes.” She sounded older on the phone than she had in person.
“Hi, Ms. Barnes. Jim Bean. We met yesterday, with Erica Floyd.”
“Yes. You broke into my building.”
“Yes. I did.”
“I was going to be calling you soon. We’re just finishing up with these files.”
“Good.”
“We found a couple unusual things here, Mr. Bean. I think I need to let the police in on this.”
“You’re one hundred percent correct. After we get off the phone I want you to do just that.”
“Oh.” She’d expected him to argue. He was not. This was over his head, but he was in too deep to run now. Oscar and Erica needed all this information. But so did Miller. He would just have to decipher it before anyone else to prevent Zant from getting to Alexis. Unlikely. But there were twenty girls on those tapes. Even Alexis would have his head for walking away from this shit.
“What’d you find?”
“A hidden stash.”
“Stash?”
“Yes. A box that was made to look like two large case files. Hidden folders. It was labeled with Erica Floyd’s name. Of course her name isn’t in our system.” She spoke to someone off the phone. “Sorry. Still had a last few things to account for. I have to say, I wish Chris had said something to me about this. Maybe the police as well.”
“Oh?”
“She had the files pulled for fifteen young women. All hidden in that box. No activity on them as of late. Some well over a year old. Most were active, getting benefits, and then suddenly nothing.”
“What does that tell you?” He got a pencil from the terminal Ely was currently working on.
“Well. If you were so desperate that you were worki
ng with Social Services or forced to work with us, getting benefits and food stamps, you don’t just stop showing up one day. It’s a lengthy process. You have to check in and be clean before you get your checks. These girls all went inactive, suddenly. No closed cases. They simply quit asking for the checks.”
“And no one noticed.”
“Chris must have, or someone she was working with did. She has dated notes with information from a ‘source.’ No name, just ‘source.’” He heard her shuffle some paper. “Then there seems to be ten missing files. That was trickier to figure. But I got mad, Mr. Bean. Broke a few rules. Brought in some help I trust.”
Ten missing files. The rest could have been at Chris’s apartment. Maybe that was what the man in the yellow shoes found there.
Chris was not in a video. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. If they kept her, she would be brutalized but alive. If they just considered her a threat, she’d be lizard bait in the desert.
“Could you recognize that FBI agent? If I had a picture?”
“I most certainly could. That has miffed me more than you can imagine. I don’t appreciate being lied to. It happens in this business enough from the clientele. It’s worse having someone come in here and pretend to be the authorities. Pretend to be helping Chris.”
“I understand. One more favor, Ms. Barnes. I know you guys worked late to do this. You’ve been so helpful, I hate to ask it.”
“It’s for Chris, right?” She sounded tired but resolute.
“Yes. It is. I’m going to bring you some pictures. See if you can ID the FBI agent. Also, can I get you to fax me the names of the girls … and the last date they got their benefits?”
“I’m not sure if that is legal.”
“First names only is fine. I’m trying to piece together a timeline. The same one Chris was trying to piece together.”
“I … I guess that would be all right.”
“Great. Right after that, I want you to call Detective Noah Miller. No one else on the department. You tell him everything you told me.”
“Okay.”
27
“Neither one of them is answering text or calls.”
Ely took another bite of the pizza. Chewed for a second. “I’ll look up Double O.”
He rolled his little doctor’s stool to the next keyboard and monitor down the bank of humming equipment and typed in a few things. A map appeared. Several blinking dots appeared. A few green, a couple red. One enlarged as he scrolled over it. Double O.
The blip was at the southern edge of the city. “How the hell do you have that?”
“It pays to have someone know where you are occasionally, J-Man. I call it Ely’s Lost and Found Service.” He tapped his index fingers again. “Tracking technology. Hard-to-get stuff. We’ve used it on a couple of O’s roundups. Some of the skips he chases are pretty bad boys. Like our buddy Lake.” He looked up at Jim. “You need to be in on this too.”
“You want me to wear a tracker? No, thanks.”
“Nah. Not that much drama needed. It’s your phone signal. Kind of illegal shit, but it works as long as you have it turned on anyway. You might as well let ol’ Ely babysit your mean ass. It ain’t perfect, but O’s alerted me more than once to keep an eye on his flashing dot. Gives me check-ins on a regular basis and a text to let me know he’s homeward bound. If he were to miss a check-in, I’d call in the cavalry and send it to his last known.”
Not a bad idea, really. “How much will that set me back?”
“For now. For this one”—he looked at the screen with the files and videos still displayed—“let’s call it a favor.”
“Count me in.”
He clicked some more. A new green blip came on the screen to indicate J-Man.
“How about Erica? Can we do the same if I give you her phone number?”
“Supposed to have her permission, you know?”
“I’m giving you her permission.”
“Works for me. What’s her 4-1-1?”
Within a few seconds Jim watched a second green dot light up down south a short distance from Oscar’s.
“Where is that exactly?”
Ely zoomed in. Changed his view to satellite. The Vegas terrain filled in the screen. Dirt. Sand. Roads. “Looks like a ranch. Maybe a horse stable. O is right there. She’s back in the edge of that subdivision.” He pointed to the blip that was representative of Erica. “Maybe he left her in the car while he checks something out.”
“Maybe.” Jim patted Annie on her head as he gathered his stuff and headed out. “Call me if they move.”
“Roger that.” Ely gave him a weak, loose salute as Jim closed the door.
28
The air felt thick, tense. Considering there had been at least one person in the background of the phone conversation with Karen Barnes, Jim expected cars, noise … something as he approached the Social Services building. The front was still dark from the broken light bulb. The area felt deserted.
He opened the door and slowly entered the reception area. No activity. The room smelled of old dirty carpet and only a single dim light glowed against the sliding glass reception windows. He pushed through the door to the back. On the contrary, the cubicle area was lit. Bright. Yet empty.
With a smooth, soundless motion Jim popped open his blade. He eased toward the far door, the one that led to where Karen Barnes had indicated all the paper records were stored. A watery cough came from ahead. He could see no one around the room. But that was a sound he’d heard before. A racketing precursor to death. He followed the sound.
It led him to a cubicle near the door to the records room. Karen Barnes lay on the floor. She was on her side with one leg rotated awkwardly under her body. A large-caliber round had knocked her backward. Her head was bleeding from the desk’s attempt to break her fall.
“F—” She gasped. “I—”
“Dammit!”
“Lan … guage,” she whispered, tried to smile.
Jim knelt as he pulled out his phone. He dialed Miller. He didn’t give the man a chance to speak. “Social Services. Ambulance. Bullet wound.” He hung up.
She was holding the wound just below her chest.
“The FBI guy?”
She nodded. Still struggling to get air in her lungs as they filled with her blood.
With a bloody finger she pointed to a scrap of paper under the desk. Jim got it. It was the list of girls and the dates. He put that in his pocket and pulled out the picture of Lake. He’d planned to do a photo lineup to make sure of her testimony, but she was fading, her breath getting shallow and slow.
She took the photo in her bloodstained fingers. As her hand jerked and shook, Karen Barnes nodded. Made a serious effort to look him in the eye. Willing him to know she was sure. Jim took her hand, gave her a small smile. He held tight to her cold palm as she fought for her last few breaths. Held her as she passed from this world trying to save other young girls.
He was frozen, motionless, gripping her hand tighter than he needed. Could he have been here sooner? He liked the lady. She’d worked hard for other people her whole life. Even dying for Chris Floyd.
Would she have helped had she known the stakes were so high? He remembered the steel in her voice when she said she’d gotten mad. He wanted to believe a woman who served others as her life’s work was not lost in vain.
Her death stare was directly on him. Appraising. Could he finish where she’d failed? He didn’t like the odds.
Where were the others? He quickly looked around. No one else there, dead or alive. She must have sent everyone home as soon as she’d hung up their call. Lake must have been waiting for just that. Her alone.
Jim glanced around the building one more quick time. No boxes of files. Lake clearly took all the evidence with him. Jim was lucky Karen managed to toss that list of names under the desk.
His phone vibrated.
Text from Ely. Girlfriend on the move. To the ranch, toward O.
It was time to leave anyway. Miller would be here soon, and Jim was a fugitive. Noah Miller may have tipped him off to that fact, but he wouldn’t let Jim just walk away from another body.
Jim headed south. He was a good driver, knew all the back roads, and that old Taurus was faster than it looked. Reckoned he’d be on the ranch in ten minutes.
Lake had gone back to Karen’s office for a reason. He must have suspected she might find the same pattern Chris had. He took the files and notes Chris had gathered, but he couldn’t continue to kill off every Social Services clerk in Vegas, could he? No turning back for him. Death sentence now.
The image of Karen lying dead was burned into Jim’s retinas. Churned in his gut. Senseless.
This new scenario drastically lowered the probability that Chris was alive. Why keep her alive and kill the old woman in the office? Chris was dead. Dumped somewhere. Sweaty palms gripped the wheel tighter. He pushed the throttle a little farther to the floor. Blew through a stoplight.
He didn’t slow until he hit the clean little subdivision below Blue Diamond Road. The neighborhood was upper middle-class. Yards were landscaped with stone, sand, yuccas, and cacti. Houses neatly painted stucco in sage, muted brown, and creamy beige. Lots of ironwork fencing and porch rails. Lots of lights. A very cheery, pleasant place to be by all outward appearances. Jim knew outward appearances were deceiving.
He scanned the houses as he passed. He wasn’t looking for something specific, but maybe something would jump out at him. He was bad with a gun, but his eyes saw everything.
He slowed as the neighborhood and the paved road came to an end. Beyond the dark smooth pavement was a gravel path that wound back behind the subdivision. There were scrub bushes and a few short palms scattered along the way next to a fence and a metal gate.
