He stopped and pulled in a slow breath.
It was a color snapshot of Kitty Jagger. She was laying on her side on a towel in the sand. Her skin was tan and she was wearing a two-piece bathing suit, pink checks with a band of ruffles across the bra top. Large brown eyes, full lips. Her hair hung in long yellow ribbons over the pink ruffles. She was smiling up at whoever had snapped the picture, her head propped up by one hand, her other hand draped over the deep curve of her bare brown waist.
Louis eased himself down onto the edge of the bed, staring at the picture.
Fifteen. .
This was the first real picture he had seen of her. The blurry copy from the old newspaper article, that had shown a pretty girl in a sweater smiling obediently for a class photo.
But this. . this was not a girl.
Louis squeezed his eyes shut. His head was starting to hurt from the smell. He opened his eyes.
It would have been a seductive pose. If she had known. But Kitty Jagger didn’t know. He was sure; he could see it there in the guileless smile. She had absolutely no concept of her power.
He rose slowly from the bed. He started to put the photo back with the others in the jewelry box. He hesitated, then slipped it in his back pocket.
The bedroom door would not close. He had to give it a hard shove. When he went back out in the living room, Willard Jagger was still sitting in the turquoise lounger. The television was on to a soap opera, the sound turned low.
Willard looked up at him blankly. Louis was afraid he wasn’t going to remember him.
“You still here?” Willard said.
Louis nodded. “Mr. Jagger, do you remember Kitty’s friends?”
Willard just looked at him blankly.
“Kitty had a girlfriend with red hair?” Louis prompted.
Willard blinked several times, like something had suddenly registered. “Joyce,” he said.
“You remember Joyce’s last name?”
Willard just stared at him. “Joyce,” he said softly. The light went out in his eyes.
Louis look a last look around the small living room. “I’m leaving now, Mr. Jagger,” he said. “Thank you for talking to me. And for letting me in her room.”
“Did you close the door?”
“Yes.”
Willard nodded, his eyes locked on the television.
Louis quickly let himself out the front door.
His head was pounding as he got in the Mustang and headed back downtown. He couldn’t get that sickly sweet smell or the picture of Kitty out of his head. Or the idea that had just started to build. Did Kitty have another side to her that others didn’t see? Could she have elicited her killer somehow? A boyfriend, an unknown admirer? Shit. . or Cade?
He turned onto First Street. Damn, Susan would take his head off if he even brought this up. Blaming the victim because she was attractive was neanderthal brain thinking. It was also cop brain thinking. No one liked to admit it, but the vestige of sexual bias was still there.
No dating, Willard had said. And Ahnert’s reports had not mentioned any boyfriends. That still didn’t mean boys. . men. . didn’t see what he himself saw in the photo.
The beeper went off. He ignored it.
How was he going to get Susan to let him stay with this? Especially when he had no leads.
At McGregor and Linhart, he stopped at a light. Linhart Avenue. That’s where Kitty got on the bus after work.
The light changed and Louis swung across the left lane, cutting off a truck. The guy leaned out to give him the finger. Louis turned onto Linhart.
He drove slowly past a stripmall, a medical complex and the Driftwood Motel. He braked hard.
Damn. .
There it was. Hamburger Heaven. It was still there.
It had been remodeled, he guessed. The drive-in spots had been blacktopped over, the speakers taken out, the fifties-style architecture tarted up with tropical pastels. But it still had an old neon sign that advertised “Best Fries In Florida.”
He parked and went in, taking a stool at the counter. When a young waitress approached with a menu, he realized he had not eaten all day.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Only if you were about twenty years older,” Louis said.
She frowned.
“Sorry. Bring me a cheeseburger, fries and a Coke, please.”
The place was nearly deserted even though it was lunch time. Louis saw the white cap and black face of the cook. The smell of frying meat filled the cool air.
Louis thumbed through the countertop jukebox while he waited. It was a mix of oldies and new stuff. “Big Girls Don’t Cry” by the Four Seasons. “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna.
The waitress brought his food. The fries were a golden mound next to a plump-bunned burger.
“Looks great,” Louis said.
“If you like grease,” the waitress said.
“A quick question,” Louis said.
She looked suspicious.
“Is there anyone here who was working here twenty years ago?”
“Ray was, I think. I mean, he’s really old.”
“Is Ray the owner?”
“No, the owner’s dead. Ray is his son.” She paused. “You looking for a job? Ray’s looking for a cook. I’ll go get him.”
She was gone before Louis could say anything. He tried a fry. It was delicious. He dug into the burger. It was cooked just right.
A man emerged from the back. He was about forty-five, red-faced, his big belly wrapped in an apron.
“You the guy asking about the cook’s job?” he said, coming up to Louis, wiping his hands on the apron.
“No, the waitress misunderstood,” Louis said. “I’m an investigator. I’m looking for some information.”
“Investigator? What you investigating?”
“Kitty Jagger’s death.”
Ray was silent for moment. “I guess this has something to do with that Cade guy?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I read in the paper he got arrested again. He kill another girl?” He shook his head. “Man, they should’ve never let that bastard out.”
Louis let it go. “Were you here when Kitty worked here?”
Ray nodded. “My dad owned the place then. I was working for him, learning the business. I was only nineteen.”
“So you knew Kitty?”
Ray smiled slightly. “Oh yeah. Kitty was a great kid.”
“Were you here the last night she worked?”
Ray’s smile faded. “Yeah, but I left early. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had given her a ride home.”
“You gave her rides home?”
“When she’d let me. Mostly she walked down to the bus stop.”
Louis paused, wondering where to go with this. “What kind of girl was Kitty?” he asked.
“What you mean?”
“Did she have a lot of friends?”
Ray shrugged. “I guess. I mean, she wasn’t one of the real popular kids, you know, the inner circle. You know how bad things can be in high schools with the cliques. There was only her and Joyce. They were like joined at the hip.”
“Joyce? Did she have red hair?”
Ray nodded. “She worked here with Kitty.”
“You remember her last name?”
“Crutchfield. I don’t know if she’s still around, but I remember she dropped out in her senior year and married some guy named Novack. I think he was from Immokalee.”
“What about boyfriends?” Louis asked. “Did you ever see Kitty with anyone?”
Ray hesitated. “Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, there wasn’t one guy she was interested in. Though the guys that came in here, they sure were interested in her.” He paused, seeing the look on Louis’s face. “She was beautiful,” he said. “I mean, not just pretty like some girls. Kitty was beautiful. She could’ve been a model or something.”
“These guys,” Louis said. “Any of them try to pick her up?”
Ray looked uncomfortable. “Yeah. But she never went.”