“What?”
“Jeezus…Guess I gotta say it. Accordin’ ta’ Chuck, this woman remembers somethin’ about a prom dress.”
Even with my attention being less than par, it only took a split second for me to make the connection. I nodded and asked, “So can I say ‘I told you so’ now?”
“Shut up.”
CHAPTER 19
“So are you going to talk to her?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ben nodded. “McLaughlin said we could meet in one of the interview rooms down there.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“I don’t, but she might. I actually wouldn’t mind havin’ ya’ where I can keep an eye on ya’, but you need to remember this woman was raped. She might not be all that keen on a coupl’a men descendin’ on ‘er all of a sudden.”
What my friend said made perfect sense. What didn’t make sense was the fact that I hadn’t considered that fact from the very beginning myself. Normally, I was far more sensitive to the feelings of those around me, and the circumstances arising from a situation like this should have been painfully obvious. At this particular moment, however, I seemed to be oblivious to the concept of empathy.
My brain had pretty much been a jigsaw puzzle for the past two months, but instead of drawing closer to completion each day, entropy had been taking its toll. In some ways it even felt like a cosmic basket of kittens had been stealing pieces here and there when I wasn’t looking.
Now, for a change, the forces of nature seemed to be acting in my favor. The smothering cocoon that had been spun around me by those wanting to keep me safe was giving way, whether they were ready for it to do so or not. Vindication was just around the corner, and the very fact that it was so close imbued me with confidence.
Things were finally starting to come together, and I was determined that I would not be left out. I wasn’t about to miss any chance I had of regaining my stability. I wanted my life back, and something told me that an important piece of it was in the possession of this victim.
“Okay, so what about those one way mirror things?” I suggested.
“I wanna ask ‘er questions, not spy on ‘er,” my friend told me as he gathered up his notebook and shrugged on his jacket. “And the idea of me keepin’ an eye on ya’ kinda falls apart if you can see me but I can’t see you. Know what I mean?”
“So you’re serious about that.”
“Did’ya’ think I wasn’t?” He shook his head. “Look, ya’ can come downstairs with me. Hell, short of kickin’ ya’ out or throwin’ ya’ in holding, I doubt I can stop ya’. But, remember, this woman is a victim as well as a witness and you’re not a cop, so if she doesn’t want ya’ in there, I’m gonna set ya’ outside the door with a uniform or somethin’. Got it?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
We were already on the move, me at an almost jog to keep up with my friend’s normal long-legged pace. He rummaged around in his pockets and withdrew a tin of breath mints, offering them to me after popping one in his own mouth.
“You need one, smokey,” he said. “Trust me.”
I took his advice, and then he snapped the lid shut and stuffed them back into his pocket.
“You gonna call Felicity and tell ‘er you’re down here?” he asked as he jerked open a stairwell door and motioned me through.
I took a quick glance at my watch. It was almost 10:30. The Santa Brigade, as they liked to call themselves, would be right in the middle of entertaining a group of kids at the moment. If everything were following the intended schedule, they would be heading out for the next stop in about an hour.
“She’s got a full schedule, but she should have a bit of a break around eleven-thirty so they can all grab lunch,” I told him. “I’ll probably call her then.”
“Don’t forget to check with ‘er about tonight.”
“Will do. So if we’re able to make it, what should we bring?”
“Just yourselves.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s not a big deal and we’ll have plenty. Hell, we always have too much. Although, ya’know, if ya’ happen ta’ think about it, Allison wanted the recipe for that beef tenderloin you guys served the other night.”
His request reminded me that we had completely forgotten to tell everyone what they had actually eaten for the Yule feast. I thought about continuing to guard the secret, especially since Felicity wasn’t here to see his reaction, but I was just going to have to apologize to her for that. I needed the laugh right now.
“Ummm, that wasn’t beef,” I said as we started down the stairs.
“Really? It didn’t taste like pork,” he said.
“That’s because it wasn’t pork either.”
“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t chicken. I know that much.”
“You are correct.”
“Well if it wasn’t beef, pork, or chicken then what the hell was it?”
“Actually, it was ostrich.”
My friend slowed his pace, almost stopping as he gave me a long look, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “Ostrich. You mean like the big-ass-stickin’-its-head-in-the-sand-bird? You mean, that kinda ostrich?”
“Actually,” I offered, “they don’t really stick their heads in the sand, they just lay them against the ground.”
“Ostrich?” he repeated, ignoring the bit of trivia.
“Yeah,” I nodded as we rounded a landing and picked up the pace once again, “ostrich.”
“Jeez, white man.”
“Didn’t you like it?” I asked.
“I had seconds, didn’t I?”
“And thirds as I recall, so what’s the problem?”
“I ate a fuckin’ ostrich, that’s the problem.”
I hung back as Ben conferred with Detective McLaughlin at the doorway to the interview room and then after a moment waved me over.
“Okay, this woman was raped about two weeks ago, and she’s still pretty skittish. Right now she’s okay with you bein’ here,” he told me in a stern whisper. “But here’s the rules-you’re just an observer. Let us handle it, and if ya’ get some kinda hinky Twilight Zone thing goin’ on, gimme some kinda sign so I can get ya’ outta there.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno, anything. Better yet, just don’t go off into never-never land on me and we won’t hafta worry about it.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “That’s all I can do.”
“Yeah, well try really fuckin’ hard, okay? I don’t need ta’ be worryin’ about ya’ goin’ off the deep end and spookin’ a witness too.”
Charlee pulled the door wide to allow entry, and we were greeted with a thick haze of blue-white smoke that hung in languid ribbons on the already stale air. A thin shiver arced down my spine, and I knew instantly that I was on the correct path.
“Miz Hodges,” Charlee said as she shut the door behind us, “this is Detective Storm and Mister Gant. Detective Storm is the officer I was telling you about. Gentlemen, this is Miranda Hodges.”
The woman seated at the table in the small conference room fit the victim profile perfectly-early twenties, very petite, very blonde, and very pretty.
She was also very nervous.
There was a noticeable tremble in her hand as she brought a cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply. A half empty pack was on the table in front of her along with a disposable lighter, and the ashtray was filled with better than a half-dozen butts. I stole a glance at my watch. They hadn’t been in here for very long.
“Hi,” she said in a meek voice then stubbed out the remaining inch of the burning tobacco, only to immediately light another.
My own craving for nicotine re-awakened, and I wanted desperately to sit down and join her in the chain smoking frenzy but decided that I’d better not. Ben shot me a glance and I nodded perceptibly. I’d been telling him all along that my return to smoking had to be due to the outside influence of a victim. I had simply thought that I was channeling the vice of a dead victim, not a living one. But here was Miranda Hodges, cigarette in hand, and there was no denying the possible correlation. Maybe I was wrong, but I doubted it. The timeline and the intensity of the habit fit.