a working-class woman who suddenly found herself the statistic of another demographic, that of victim of violent crime. Old eyes in a middle-aged face. She was employed as a night waitress at the Melrose Diner. In her hands was a scratched plastic tumbler with an inch of whiskey. Next to her, on a TV tray, was a half-full bottle of Seagram's. Jessica wondered how far into the process the woman was.
Faith didn't respond to Jessica's offer of condolence. Perhaps the woman thought that, if she didn't respond, if she didn't acknowledge Jessica's offer of sympathy, it might not be true.
'When was the last time you saw Stephanie?' Jessica asked.
'Monday morning,' Faith said. 'Before she left for work.'
'Was there anything unusual about her that morning? Anything different about her mood or her routine?'
'No. Nothing.'
'Did she say that she had plans for after work?'
'No.'
'When she didn't come home Monday night, what did you think?'
Faith just shrugged, dabbed at her eyes. She sipped her whiskey.
'Did you call the police?'
'Not right away.'
'Why not?' Jessica asked.
Faith put her glass down, knitted her hands in her lap. 'Sometimes Stephanie would stay with friends. She was a grown woman, independent. I work nights, you see. She works days. Sometimes we really didn't see each other for days on end.'
'Did she have any brothers or sisters?'
'No.'
'What about her father?'
Faith waved a hand, snapping back to the moment, by way of her past. They'd hit a nerve. 'He hasn't been part of her life for years.'
'Does he live in Philadelphia?'
'No.'
'We learned from her coworkers that Stephanie had been dating someone until recently. What can you tell us about him?'
Faith studied her hands again for a few moments before answering. 'You have to understand that Stephanie and I were never close that way. I knew she was seeing someone, but she never brought him around. She was a secretive girl in a lot of ways. Even when she was small.'
'Is there anything else you can think of that might help?'
Faith Chandler looked at Jessica. In Faith's eyes was that burnished look Jessica had seen many times, a shell-shocked look of anger and pain and grief. 'She was kind of a wild girl when she was a teenager,' Faith said. 'Right through college.'
'Wild how?'
Faith shrugged again. 'Willful. Ran with a pretty fast crowd. Lately she had settled down, gotten this good job.' Pride battled sorrow in her voice. She sipped her whiskey.
Byrne caught Jessica's eye. He then quite deliberately directed his gaze at the entertainment center, and Jessica followed the line of sight. The unit, which stood in one corner of the living room, was one of those entertainment-center-cum-armoires. It looked like expensive wood- rosewood, perhaps. The doors were slightly ajar, and it was obvious from across the room that inside was a flat-screen TV; above it, a rack of expensive-looking audio and video equipment. Jessica glanced around the living room while Byrne continued to ask questions. What had struck Jessica as tidy and tasteful when she'd arrived was now clearly tidy and expensive: A Thomasville dining room set and living room suite, Stiffel lamps.
'May I use your bathroom?' Jessica asked. She had grown up in an almost identical row house, and knew that the bathroom was on the second floor. That was the point of her question.
Faith looked at her, her face a blank screen, as if she hadn't understood. She then nodded and pointed at the staircase.
Jessica walked up the narrow wooden stairs to the second floor. To her right was a small bedroom; straight ahead, the bathroom. Jessica glanced down the steps. Faith Chandler, entranced by her grief, was still sitting on the couch. Jessica slipped into the bedroom. The framed posters on the wall indicated that it was Stephanie's room. Jessica opened the closet. Inside were half a dozen pricey suits, as many pairs of good-quality shoes. She checked the labels. Ralph Lauren, Dana Buchman, Fendi. All full labels. It appeared that Stephanie wasn't an outlet shopper, where many times the tags were cut in half. On the top shelf were few pieces of Tumi luggage. It appeared that Stephanie Chandler had good taste and a budget to support it. But where was the money coming from?
Jessica gave a quick glance around the room. On one wall was a poster from Dimensions, the Will Parrish supernatural thriller. That, and the Ian Whitestone book in her desk at the office, proved that she was a fan of either Ian Whitestone or Will Parrish, or both.
On the dresser was a pair of framed photos. One was of a teenaged Stephanie with her arm around a pretty brunette, who was about the same age. Friends forever kind of pose. The other picture was a younger Faith Chandler sitting on a bench in Fairmount Park, holding an infant.
Jessica went quickly through Stephanie's drawers. In one she found an accordion file of paid bills. She found Stephanie's four most recent Visa bills. She laid them out on the dresser, took out her digital camera, and took a photo of each. She did a quick scan of the list of posted charges, looking for high-end stores. Nothing. Nor were there charges to saksfifthavenue.com, nordstrom.com, or even any of the online discounters that sold high-end goods: bluefly.com, overstock.com, smart bargains.com. It was a good bet she wasn't buying these designer clothes herself. Jessica put her camera away, then slipped the Visa bills back into the file. If anything she discovered on the bills turned into a lead, she would be hard-pressed to say how she got the information. She'd worry about that later.
In another slot in the file, she found the documents Stephanie had signed when she signed up for her cell phone service. There were no monthly bills detailing minutes used and numbers called. Jessica copied down the cell phone number. She then took out her own cell phone, dialed Stephanie's number. It rang three times, then switched over to voice mail:
Hi… this is Steph… please leave your message at the beep and I'll get back to you.
Jessica clicked off. The call had established two things. Stephanie Chandler's cell phone was still active, and it wasn't located in her bedroom. Jessica called the number again, got the same result.
I'll get back to you.
Jessica thought about how, when Stephanie made that cheerful greeting, she'd had no idea what was coming her way.
Jessica put everything back where she had found it, padded back down the hallway, stepped into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, ran the water in the sink for a few moments. She descended the stairs.
'… all her friends,' Faith said.
'Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Stephanie?' Byrne asked. 'Someone who may have had a grudge against her?'
Faith just shook her head. 'She didn't have enemies. She was a good person.'
Jessica met Byrne's eyes again. Faith was hiding something, but now was not the moment to press her. Jessica nodded slightly. They would take a run at her later.
'Again, we're terribly sorry for your loss,' Byrne said.
Faith Chandler fixed them in a blank stare. 'Why… why would someone do something like this?'
There were no answers. None that would suffice, or even begin to salve this woman's grief. 'I'm afraid we can't answer that,' Jessica said. 'But I can promise you that we'll do everything we can to find who did this to your daughter.'
Like her offer of condolences, this seemed to ring hollow in Jessica's mind. She hoped it sounded sincere to the grief-stricken woman sitting in the chair by the window.
They stood on the corner. They looked in two directions, but were of one mind. 'I've got to get back and brief the boss,' Jessica finally said. Byrne nodded. 'I'm officially off for the next forty-eight, you know.' Jessica heard the sadness in that statement. 'I know.' 'Ike is going to tell you to keep me out of the loop.' 'I know.'
