The Vietnamese woman slipped on a pair of glasses, glanced at the photograph. She held it at arm's length, brought it closer. 'Yes,' she said. 'She's been in here a few times.'
Jessica glanced at Byrne. They shared that charge of adrenaline that always trails the first lead.
'Do you remember the last time you saw her?' Jessica asked.
The woman looked at the back of the photograph, as if there might be a date there to help her answer the question. She then showed it to the old man. He answered her in Vietnamese.
'My father says five days ago.'
'Does he recall what time?'
The woman turned again to the old man. He answered, at length, seemingly annoyed at having his movie interrupted.
'It was after eleven PM,' the woman said. She hooked a thumb at the old man. 'My father. He can't hear too well, but he remembers everything. He says he stopped here after eleven to empty the change machines. While he was doing it, she came in.'
'Does he recall if anyone else was here at that time?'
She spoke to her father again. He answered, his response more like a bark. 'He says no. No other customers at that time.'
'Does he recall if she came in with anyone?'
She asked her father the new question. The man shook his head. He was clearly ready to blow.
'No,' the woman said.
Jessica was almost afraid to ask. She glanced at Byrne. He was smiling, looking out the window. She wasn't going to get any help from him. Thanks, partner. 'I'm sorry. Does that mean he doesn't recall, or that she didn't come in with anyone?'
She spoke to the old man again. He answered with a burst of high- decibel, high-octave Vietnamese. Jessica didn't speak Vietnamese, but she was willing to bet there was a few swear words in there. She figured the old man said Kristina came in alone, and that everyone should leave him alone.
Jessica handed the woman a card, along with the standard request to call if she remembered anything. She turned to face the room. There were currently twenty or so people in the Laundromat-washing, loading, fluffing, folding. The surfaces of the folding tables were covered with clothing, magazines, soft drinks, baby carriers. Trying to lift any fingerprints from any of the myriad surfaces would be a complete waste of time.
But they had their victim, alive, at a particular place and a particular time. From here they would begin a canvass of the immediate area, as well as determine the SEPTA route that stopped across the street. The laundry was a good ten blocks from Kristina Jakos's new house, so there was no way she would have walked that distance in the cold, with her laundry. Unless she got a ride from someone, or took a cab, she would have taken the bus. Or would have intended to. Maybe the SEPTA driver would remember her.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Josh Bontrager caught up with them across from the Laundromat.
The three detectives worked both sides of the street, showing Kristina's picture to the street vendors, the shop owners, the local bike boys, the corner rats. The reaction, from both men and women alike, was the same. Pretty girl. Unfortunately, no one remembered seeing her coming out of the Laundromat a few days earlier, or any other day for that matter. By midafternoon they had spoken to everyone available- residents, store merchants, cabbies.
Directly across from the Laundromat was a pair of row houses. They had spoken to the woman who lived in the row house on the left. She had been out of town for two weeks, had seen nothing. They had knocked on the door of the other row house, had gotten no answer. On the way back to the car Jessica noticed the curtains part slightly, then immediately close. They returned.
Byrne knocked on the window. Hard. Eventually, a teenaged girl opened the door. Byrne showed her his ID.
The girl was thin and pale, about seventeen; very nervous, it seemed, about talking to the police. Her sandy hair was lifeless. She wore a pair of well-worn brown corduroy overalls and scuffed beige sandals, pilled white socks. Her fingernails were chewed raw.
'We'd like to ask you a few questions,' Byrne said. 'We promise not to take up too much of your time.'
Nothing. No response whatsoever.
'Miss?'
The girl looked at her feet. Her lips trembled slightly, but she said nothing. The moment drew out into discomfort.
Josh Bontrager caught Byrne's eye, lifted an eyebrow as if to ask if he could take a shot at this. Byrne nodded. Bontrager stepped forward.
'Hi,' Bontrager said to the girl.
The girl lifted her head slightly, but remained aloof and silent.
Bontrager glanced beyond the girl, into the front room of the row house, then back. 'Kannscht du Pennsilfaanisch Deitsch schwet- zer?'
The girl appeared stunned for a moment. She looked Josh Bontrager up and down, then smiled a thin smile and nodded.
'English okay?' Bontrager asked.
The girl put her hair behind her ears, suddenly conscious of her appearance. She leaned on the doorjamb. 'Okay.'
'What's your name?'
'Emily,' she said softly. 'Emily Miller.'
Bontrager held out a picture of Kristina Jakos. 'Have you ever seen this lady, Emily?'
The girl scrutinized the picture for a few moments. 'Yes. I've seen her.'
'Where have you seen her?'
Emily pointed. 'She washes her clothes across the street. Sometimes she gets on the bus right here.'
'When was the last time you saw her?'
Emily shrugged. She chewed on a fingernail.
Bontrager waited until the girl met his gaze once again. 'It's really important, Emily,' he said. 'Really important. And there's no rush here. You take your time.'
A few seconds later: 'I think it was maybe four or five days ago.'
'At night?'
'Yes,' she said. 'It was late.' She pointed toward the ceiling. 'My room is right up there, overlooking the street.'
'Was she with anyone?'
'I don't think so.'
'Did you see anyone else hanging around, see anyone watching her?'
Emily thought for a few more moments. 'I did see somebody. A man.'
'Where was he?'
Emily gestured to the sidewalk just in front of her house. 'He walked past the window a few times. Back and forth.'
'Did he wait right here at the bus stop?' Bontrager asked.
'No,' she said, pointing to her left. 'I think he stood in the alley. I figured he was trying to stay out of the wind. A couple of buses came and went. I don't think he was waiting for the bus.'
'Can you describe him?'
'White man,' she said. 'At least, I think so.'
Bontrager waited. 'You're not sure?'
Emily Miller put her hands out, palms up. 'It was in the dark. I couldn't see too much.'
'Did you notice if there were any vehicles parked close to the bus stop?' Bontrager asked.
'There are always cars in the street. I didn't notice.'
'That's okay,' Bontrager said with his big farm-boy smile. It worked magic on the girl. 'That's all we need for now. You did great.'
Emily Miller colored slightly, remained silent. She wiggled her toes in her sandals.
