“She probably did. Just not alone with the evening news.”
Gio swore under his breath, then asked, “Was it bad?”
Jill shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” she told him. “The reporter didn’t make it sound any worse than it is. And it’s over now, anyway.”
“Still,” he said. “I should have thought of that.”
She didn’t argue the point, but she let it die. “This has been hard on her. But having you here helps, I think.”
“I hope so. How’s Kendra?”
Jill frowned. “Not herself. She’s quieter than usual. And she cried after that detective left.”
“I’m sorry. It has to be rough for her. That could have been her instead of Amy.” Gio regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.
Jill’s face fell. “I know. Anyway, good night.”
Gio watched her go down the walk and into the night.
1844 hours
“Look at that stack,” Tower said.
Kopriva stared at the three tall stacks of manila folders on the table in front of them. Browning stood next to him and said nothing.
“Who’d have thought so many sexual sickos live in River City?” Tower asked.
“I’m never having kids,” Kopriva said, and both men chuckled at him.
“You gotta get laid before you can have kids,” Tower joked and added, “kid.”
Kopriva smiled. He thought about telling them that he was regularly sharing a bed with Officer Katie MacLeod, but he kept his mouth shut.
“They all come from the west side, anyway,” Browning said. “They get out of prison and come over here for a fresh start.”
“Fresh meat is more like it,” Tower groused.
Browning nodded in agreement, then clapped his hands. “Okay, boys, here’s the battle plan, per Lieutenant Crawford himself. We are to begin the arduous task of going through these stacks of sex offenders for another couple of hours. Then we are directed to go home and get some sleep and report back here promptly at 0600 hours. At that time-“
“What do you mean, go home?” Kopriva asked.
Browning and Tower looked at him and said nothing. He felt heat rushing to his face.
“We can’t just go home while this girl is missing,” he said. “We’ve got to keep at it until-“
“Until we make a mistake?” Browning asked.
“Until we find her,” Kopriva muttered.
Tower clapped Kopriva on his left shoulder, causing him to wince sharply. Tower drew back his hand apologetically. “Sorry, kid. I forgot.”
“It’s all right,” Kopriva lied. “I do, too, sometimes.”
Tower nodded at him, then said, “Look, Stef, it’s like this. We need to stay fresh throughout this process, too, or we’ll miss something. We’ve got an officer at the victim address in case there’s a ransom call. Crawford said the phone lines are being recorded. Patrol has a copy of the description the witness gave me. A teletype has gone out. We’ll dig into this pile of scumbag sickos-” he motioned toward the stacks of files-“tonight and keep with it tomorrow. It’ll work out.”
Browning watched the exchange dispassionately. “We have to play the odds, Stef. The odds are that either she’s being held for ransom or that she’s already dead.”
Kopriva was stunned at what he took to be Browning’s indifference. “And what are the odds of each of those being true?”
Browning shrugged. “There’s been no ransom call yet. Her father is a mid-level inspector for a clothing manufacturer. I’d say ninety-ten against the ransom scenario.”
“What if she’s still alive?”
“Then she needs us at the top of our game,” Tower said, and Browning nodded.
Kopriva shook his head. He was tempted to say that their whole line of reasoning sounded like chicken shit to him, but he realized he had no experience to speak from.
“Relax, Stef,” said Browning. “We’re not going home yet.”
“And,” Tower said, “if Crawford bails before we do, then we might just be crashing upstairs in the down room for a few hours.”
Then Kopriva understood. There was the academy and then there was the way it was on the street.
“I don’t think Crawford is going to be able to micro-manage this case after today, anyway,” Browning said, reaching for the nearest file. He pointed at it and asked Kopriva, “You know what you’re looking for?”
“Yeah,” Kopriva answered. “Age and gender of victims, for starters.”
“Let’s start with just that,” Tower said. “Then we’ll run the ones we single out through the computer for custody status and see who’s even still out of jail.”
“We’ll want to check to see who has a probation officer, too,” Browning said. “Easier to search their place that way.”
“Why’d you say that about Lieutenant Crawford?” Kopriva asked, grabbing a file of his own to review.
Browning smiled. “Well, I had the misfortune of following up on that stop that Norris and Gilliam made down in East Central, right?”
“Yeah.”
“The driver was a black male who felt that he was being singled out because of his race.”
“Which he was,” observed Tower.
“True,” said Browning. “His race and his van. He consented to a search of the van. I didn’t find anything other than a couple of bowl’s worth of marijuana in the glove compartment. I gave the man a pass on that. After that, I went and searched his house, again with consent. His bride was not very pleased with having a couple of white men wearing guns opening her closet doors, even if they were accompanied by a middle-aged black man.”
“You searched the house, too?” Kopriva asked.
“Of course,” Browning said.
“Even though you didn’t think it was the guy?”
“I may not have thought it was the guy, but he matched the description and so did his vehicle. I had to follow the lead as far as it went.”
Kopriva looked troubled.
“Confused?” Browning asked. “Well, here’s the point. Between my following up Norris’s stop and the way patrol is likely to stop every van moving tonight, I am certain that the El-Tee will be up to his armpits in angry black citizens by tomorrow morning. Leaving us,” he said with a grin, “to actually solve the case.”
“Ta-da,” Tower intoned and tossed the first file into the discard pile. “Deceased,” he explained.
“How’d your trip to the grandmother’s go, Stef?” Browning asked.
Kopriva shrugged. “She’s as crazy as her daughter said. It was like that old movie where that woman has all those different personalities?”
“Sybil?” Browning asked. “With Sally Fields?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“I thought that was Faye Dunaway,” Tower said, opening another file.
“It was Sally Fields,” Browning said.
“Pretty sure it was Faye Dunaway,” Tower said, paging through the file.
Browning shook his head at him. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Pretty sure.”
Kopriva smiled at the banter between the two men. Gallows humor was the way a lot of officers coped with the darkness of the job. But since coming to work light duty in the detectives division, he’d seen a different kind of humor, more of a disassociative one. Detectives argued and joked about everything but police work. The only time they seemed to talk about the job was when they had to or when they were drinking and couldn’t help it.
“Doesn’t matter,” Browning said. “You can wallow in your ignorance.” He turned to Kopriva. “Go ahead, Stef. Finish. She was crazy, you said.”
Kopriva nodded and described her behavior for the two detectives. He didn’t mention her offer to search the place, feeling a little foolish. When he was done, Browning rubbed his chin in thought. Tower picked up another file and flipped it open.
“You think she’s involved?” Browning asked.
“Nah.”
Browning looked over at Tower. “So we’re oh-for-two.”
“I hit all the houses on the block where Kendra said they grabbed Amy,” Tower said. “Nobody saw anything. Same thing on Amy’s block.”
“Make that oh-for-three, then,” Browning said.
“Not necessarily,” Tower said. “A bunch of people weren’t home when I canvassed. I spread my business card around. Maybe someone will call in.”