Only Child

“No, Mr. Trebin, we’re not the police. That’s what interested us. When the police were investigating the case, they talked to everyone who might have been involved in this girl’s life. Anyone who might have come into contact with her in any way at all. And it seems like they never talked to you.”

“That’s because I never—”

“That’s because they didn’t have your name,” I cut him off. “But we can fix that, if you’d like.”

“I...I don’t care,” he said, falling way short of defiant. “I told you, I’ve never even seen—”

Clarence caught my eye, nodded. But we kept him talking for another few minutes, just to make sure.

“I don’t like ghosting those country cribs,” the Prof said, back at the house. “People out in the sticks, they don’t mind their own business the way city folks do.”

“How long did it take you?” I asked.

“To get in? It was a cheesebox, Schoolboy. Maybe ten seconds. We didn’t have a floor plan, but I could hear you all talking, so I knew where I had to keep to.”

“Where was it?”

“Basement, bro. Just like we’d figured.”

“And he had a computer?”

“Yeah. I don’t know nothing about the damn things, but he sure had him a big-ass screen for it. Like you said, I didn’t touch it.”

“Find anything else?”

“Pictures, bro. Motherfucker had hundreds of them, minimum. Tacked up all over the place.”

“And they were all—”

“What Cyn said, honeyboy. Like a yearbook from a girls’ school, only in color. Nothing he’s ever gonna go to jail for. One thing, though...”

“What?” Rejji asked.

“No blacks, no Asians, no Latinas—hell, no fucking Indians. Not one. For this boy, all-white was all right.”

“That clinches it,” I said. “He’s not the one.”

“These two are a prize pair of dirtbags,” Wolfe said, handing over a couple of mug shots.

They looked identical, right down to where their bullet heads just inched past the “74” on the vertical measuring bar. Nice specimens. Square-jawed, heavy cheekbones, not a lot of nose or forehead. Prominent trapezius ridges sloped from their thick necks to their wide shoulders. They even had the same expressions on their faces—barely blunted aggression, just a few hundred RPM short of redline.

“What did they go down for?” I asked her.

“They didn’t,” she said. “These are from the arrest. Never went to trial.”

“What were they charged with?”

“This time? Rape. Before that, Assault Two, Assault Three. That’s kind of their specialty.”

“They never went to trial? On any of all that?”

“They pled out to YO on some of them.”

“Some of them?” Youthful Offender status is usually a one-time present from the criminal-justice system.

“That’s right. Probation. And sealing.”

“No expungement?”

“They did get expungement, on the ones that were dismissed.”

“And this one, for rape, it was dismissed?”

“That one, too.”

“But don’t the cops have to destroy the photos and prints when the court—?”

“Please!” she said scornfully.

“Sorry. You have anything else?”

“Oh, there’s a lot. The boys were impressive athletes in high school. Brett was a wrestler; Bryce played lacrosse. Despite marginal transcripts, they each did very well on the SATs. They went to school upstate, on full scholarships.”

“And...?”

“On their records, it says they withdrew. Truth, they were kicked out.”

“You know what for?”

“They’re rapists,” she said, cold and flat. “But even with all those muscles, they’d still rather use drugs.”

“Date-rape drugs?”

“Oh yes. More than once, at that same school. Nothing ever proven. What they could prove was steroids. Using and selling.”

“That was...back in ’97. They get popped any since then?”

“Sure. They’re hired muscle; it goes with the job description. But the victims not pressing charges, that’s one of the job benefits. So getting busted, it’s only a minor inconvenience. Never lasts long.”

“Are they mobbed up?”

“Not that I could see. And they don’t seem to have any ambition to go into business for themselves. They may be twins, but they’re not exactly the Krays.”

“You have an address?” I said, getting to it.

“All the paper we could find in New York directs to the same place, out on the Island. But that’s their parents’ house—they haven’t lived there for years.”

“Damn.”

“They’re in Jersey now, I’m pretty sure.”

“How come?”

“Because I know where they work,” Wolfe said, handing me a piece of paper.

“Is it a mob joint?”

“You mean, does a family own it?” Giovanni replied. “I don’t know; I can find out. But that’s territory, down there. I mean, it’s mapped territory. So a family man may own it, or may have a piece of it. Or not. But no matter what, I promise you this much: to operate a strip joint anywhere within a hundred miles of Trenton, they’re paying tolls.”

“I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

“I can handle it.”

“See, that’s the thing,” I told him. “It can’t be handled in front. If I work this right, there’s no reason for anyone to know I’ve even been there. It only has to be handled if the wheels come off. That happens, I just want to be sure these guys aren’t able to call in any heavy artillery.”

“Give me a couple of days,” he said.

“They’re not with this Vision guy,” I said. “No reason why they wouldn’t talk to me, especially for some cash.”

“Why not ask boss?” Mama said.

“I’m not...”

“Ask their boss. For permission. Boss say, You talk,” she said, pointing her finger at me, “they talk, right?”

“You’re right, Mama. Only the person who’d have to ask their boss, Giovanni, he can’t come into this.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t feature those ’roid boys, bro,” the Prof said. “Motherfuckers would have to mainline Valium to get calm enough to reason with.”

“I’m still saying, why not?” I insisted. “They’re not master criminals. Or even angle-players. Just muscle-for-