“No,” Darlene said. “The money is yours regardless.”
The girls took another quick poll, then shrugged their agreement.
“Okay,” Jewel said. “Show us what you got.”
Ochoa brought out a stack of police photographs. He and Darlene chose to avoid any of the ones Double M had taken with his cell phone. He spread the pictures across the table, arranging them so that each woman had some images to examine. Debbi and Jewel looked them over, but their expressions revealed nothing. MonicaBelle, on the other hand, connected with the girl right away.
“This is Angela,” she said.
Darlene tried to conceal her disappointment. “I’m sorry, I should have told you,” she said. “The girl’s name is Margo.”
“Yeah and my name’s Queen Latifah if the price is right,” MonicaBelle answered.
“What are you saying?” Ochoa leaned across the table to ask.
“I mean she might have said her name is Margo or Fargo or whatever,” the woman said. “But I know this girl well. We used to work for the same service. She was younger than me, so I kind of looked out for her. A real looker, in my opinion-natural, if you know what I mean. Didn’t need no makeup-at least not yet. Girl’s name was Sylvia … Sylvia Winger. But she went by Angela.”
Darlene and Ochoa exchanged tight-lipped glances.
“Well, Angela, or Margo, was coerced by somebody into framing a good friend of mine,” Darlene said. “We promise that we mean her no harm. We just want to talk to her.”
“That’s impossible,” MonicaBelle replied.
“Almost anything is possible. I’m pretty well connected.”
“You could be the pope, for all it matters, but nobody can keep Angela safe now. She’s dead.”
The words, though no longer totally unexpected, fell like hammer strikes.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Darlene said, her voice breaking. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“She moved to Tampa to be with her mom a few months ago. I got a postcard from her.”
“Do you know how she … died?”
Without Margo, Martin would never believe Double M’s recording was real.
“She drowned,” MonicaBelle said simply. “Washed up on a beach after she’d gone missing from a party. Her mother found my number in her things and called to tell me. You can imagine how she was feeling. Angela was a baby.”
“I’m so sad. Would it upset you if Victor tried to learn the details of her death?”
“We don’t mind,” the woman said. “You really seem like a nice person.”
“So are you-all of you.” Darlene didn’t have to force the sincerity in her voice. She extended her hands, and the three escorts covered them with theirs.
Darlene nodded to Ochoa, who pulled a BlackBerry from his jacket pocket as she looked over his shoulder, watching him key the name
“It says here that the toxicology was positive for alcohol. Three times the legal limit. No one seemed to know or care where she was partying.”
“Accidental drowning,” Darlene said to the women. “It makes sense the police here didn’t know about her death. It wasn’t suspicious, so the Tampa cops had no reason to publish her picture on any of the law enforcement databases.”
“I never knew her to be that heavy of a drinker,” MonicaBelle said, “but then again, I didn’t know her all that well.”
“Victor,” Darlene said, her voice strained, “I need to make a call. I’ll be in my booth. I’ll be right back, ladies. This would be a good time to have the waiter bring your food.”
Back at her booth, she retrieved the cell phone Double M had given her, accessed the preentered contact number, and then pressed Send.
Double M answered on the second ring. “You found her?” he asked excitedly.
“She’s dead,” Darlene said softly, close to tears over the hardness of the world for so many like Sylvia Winger. “We may be at a dead end, ourselves. My husband has forbidden me to discuss the Russ Evans case with him or even to mention his name. I believe you when you say the risk involved if we can’t get Russ Evans back to work is substantial, but without the girl’s testimony, there’s nothing I can do to help.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Double M said. “I think I have another idea.”
CHAPTER 34
Cap pulled off the road and onto the gravel shoulder about a mile from the Kings Ridge police station. The heavy sense of loss among them had taken over. George, who had done a remarkable job of maintaining his composure, stumbled out of the car, dropped to his knees, and pounded the ground, sobbing. Then he vomited. Afterwards, he washed out his mouth from a bottle of water that Lou had accepted from William Chester, and cried some more.
“They shot him,” he sobbed. “They fuckin’ shot him, and now Notso’s gone forever.”
Lou crouched down and set a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder. Then he helped him back to the Prizm.
“We don’t know for sure that he’s gone,” Lou said. “Maybe they took him somewhere. He could be a prisoner-a hostage.”
“Who’s they?” George shouted.
“Well, if you believe Chester, it’s somebody who doesn’t work for him.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t believe Chester at all,” George said. “That guy’s a liar. He wouldn’t last five minutes on the street without all that money to protect him. People would see through him in a second.”
Daybreak was approaching. Scudding clouds concealed the bright moonlight. Only the drone of nighttime insects broke the otherwise heavy silence.
Lou thought about his own family. He and Graham were not that close-certainly not the kind of friends George and his cousin Notso were. He wondered how he would react if Graham had violently died. He would certainly demand answers and would likely stop at nothing to get them. Lou and George might have come from different worlds, but for them at least, the language of family was a constant.
Headlights from an approaching car illuminated the roadway behind them. Reflexively, the three of them dropped down beside the Prizm. Lou tensed while Cap reached for a rock to use as weapon. The car rumbled past them without slowing. Lou felt his tension ease. He took out his smartphone and went straight to Google.
“Wish you didn’t turn that gun over to Chief Stone,” Cap said to George, dropping the rock.
“He asked for it and he’s a friggin’ cop. What in the hell was I supposed to do?”
“You did right. Sorry, pal. I’m a little short on sleep.”
“When did Stone want us back here?” Cap asked Lou.
“He said eight. Do you guys want to go home and shower, then come back?”
“That’s only a few hours from now,” Cap said, checking his watch. “I can call someone to open Stick and Move. What do you say we go back to those fields and do some more searching on our own.”
“I’m in,” Lou said, stifling a yawn. “I don’t have to be at the ER until tomorrow.
“What are you looking up?”
“Corn.”
“Learning anything?”
“Maybe. Back at the house you asked Chester about the number of ears on a stalk. It says here one or two- three at the very most. But I can’t find anyplace that says four or five, and look, there’s a five right there.”
“They look like torpedoes,” Cap said.
