“So, you’re saying this is the wrong car? In front of my house and with the damage to the right front?”
“I think so, hell of a coincidence but I’m guessing it’s not your pals.”
“Well, it sure as hell got my attention.”
“Never hurts to play it safe,” he replied.
“Oh Officer, did the insurance company send you?”
A small woman carrying a dozen different shopping bags called from about fifty feet away.
“I ran into my daughter’s bicycle, didn’t even see the thing in the driveway. Of course she left it where it wasn’t supposed to be. I have to say, all of you here to investigate the damage, I’m really impressed.”
Chapter 31
Since Sunnie wouldn’t tell me what she was serving I picked up two bottles of wine. One red, one white.
“Oh gee Dev, you didn’t have to do that. It almost makes up for all the headaches you’ve given me over the past few days,” she said when she opened her front door. She wore cutoffs and a T-shirt, “I heart St. Paul” emblazoned down the front. I followed her back into her kitchen waiting for the headache explanation that never came. The house smelled wonderful, garlicky.
“I don’t know what you’re cooking but it smells absolutely delicious.”
“Garlic chicken.”
“Any luck on that password?”
“Well, I thought of a half dozen different programs I could try on the thing. They could take up to a week, maybe longer, it’s hard to say. And, it’s not like I don’t have other things to do.”
“More than a week?”
“Yeah at least, and even then there’s no guarantee. So instead, I just checked the Rolodex you dropped off, under “P” for password. Any idea who DB + DB is?”
“That’s the password?”
“Yep, took about ninety seconds. I suppose I shouldn’t have told you and just hung on to the laptop for a week then sent you my exorbitant bill.”
“DB + DB was a heart-shaped tattoo on her left breast, Da’nita Bell plus Darius Bell. It’s Da’nita’s laptop you’ve been working on.”
“Was a heart-shaped tattoo? Did she have it removed?”
“She passed away and we couldn’t, my client that is, couldn’t access the computer files.”
“Dead with tattooed boobs, how charming. I’m not sure I want to know much more.”
“Okay. So could you get into the files?”
“Well yes, such as they are. There aren’t too many of them on there. It looks like some sort of appointment calendar. A phone directory and a couple of dreadful homemade pornographic videos.”
“You watched them?”
“Only long enough to know they were dreadful. Honestly how can anyone find that sort of thing even remotely appealing?” She took the pan with the garlic chicken out of the oven and then set it on a cooling rack. She looked really sexy in the cutoffs and probably didn’t even know it.
“Did you open any wine or did you just stand there and stare at my butt?”
“I could tell you I was looking for an opener, but your butt took priority.”
“Opener’s right next to the wine glasses, on the counter in front of you. God,” but she laughed so I knew I was safe.
Her son Josh wasn’t around, probably confined to a dark corner in the basement. I didn’t bring up her car. We talked about everything and nothing over a candlelight dinner. After we finished eating she gave me a quick tutorial on how to access Da’nita’s laptop files. She was right, there were only a handful of files. I decided I could spend most of tomorrow going through them, not that I knew what, exactly, I’d be looking for.
Chapter 32
I woke the following morning still tasting the garlic from the night before. I was going through Da’nita’s files while still on my first cup of coffee. I felt pretty sure the numeric code next to each phone number represented a client name. Probably guys who’d paid for an escort in the past. That didn’t mean they knew or had even met Kerri or Nikki. On the other hand I guessed that at least one of them might have information that could help me, whether they knew it or not. Now, if I could just get them to talk to me.
In order to talk to me they had to accept my call. Of the first seven phone calls I placed, three were disconnected, one was busy, two never answered and had no message center and one simply hung up. All of which was probably fine because I was still attempting to figure out exactly what I was going to say if someone did answer.
A polite male answered call number 8.
“This is Wayne Lentz.”
“Mr. Lentz, my name is Devlin Haskell. Your name came up in an ongoing investigation of a woman by the name of Nikki Mathias. I’d like to meet with you, privately, see if you could be of any help.”
“Investigation?” he said sounding concerned.
“Yes, let me stress, you’re not being investigated. We’re just attempting to get some general background information on Miss Mathias.”
“What’d she do?”
“She didn’t actually do anything that we’re concerned with. She’s been missing and we’re trying to locate her.” I was a little surprised I’d gotten this far and expected him to ask me if I was the police.
He didn’t, instead he said, “Yeah, okay, but not here. How about later this evening?”
“That’ll work, you just tell me where and I’ll meet you.”
We agreed on the Depot bar, I knew the place, about as out of the way as you can get. The next dozen calls I made resorted to pattern, no answer or a hang up once I’d stated my purpose. I decided to wait awhile, and not make any more calls until I spoke to Wayne Lentz.
Chapter 33
The Depot bar sits on a busy corner across the street from one of the uglier parking ramps in St. Paul. A little one-story brick hovel, forgettable from the moment it was built back in 1953. On an average day close to ten thousand people probably walk or drive past. Which is what people do all day, every day, none of them ever giving a second thought to entering.
I guessed it was a pretty busy night once I walked in the side door. There were two people sitting at opposite ends of the bar. One was a disheveled older woman with frizzy gray hair who appeared to have been drinking since breakfast. The other resident was a lean bald guy in some sort of green work uniform, the name Gene sewn above his shirt pocket in white letters. Gene continued to stare down at his half empty beer, looking neither left nor right.
A guy occupied a booth against the wall, alone. I guessed his age at maybe forty-five. He was big, but not fat, heavy in a labor sort of way, solid. He had a crew cut, light brown hair going a little gray at the temples, oxford blue shirt with a button-down collar. His tie had been pulled off but a gold tie clasp was still attached to his shirt. I figured him for a tradesman, maybe a cabinet-maker, a plumber or electrician all dressed up to meet a police detective. As I approached I noticed the large hand that was wrapped around his beer mug wore a wedding ring.
“Wayne?”
He nodded, then indicated the other side of the booth.
“I’m Devlin Haskell. Get you another while I’m up?” I asked.
“Leinne’s,” he said.
I returned with two mugs, slid into the booth across from him.
“Wayne, I appreciate you taking the time to see me. Like I said, we’re just trying to get some background information on Nikki Mathias.”
“You’re not gonna arrest me or anything?” he only half joked. His voice just a little shaky, I could tell he was worried.
“No, I can assure you I will not arrest you. Look, neither one of us needs that headache. I’m really am just trying to get some background information is all. Anything you could tell us would help.” I didn’t see any point in telling him I wasn’t a cop. He’d made that assumption on his own, and I figured it could only help once I put him at ease.
We chatted for a few sips about the weather, the Twins, vacation. Wayne wasn’t too eager to give up a lot of information but I had the feeling he was resigned to a certain fate and was answering me truthfully, hoping this could just all stay nice and private in the back booth at the Depot bar.