Dead End

“Let me come up, Grady. We need to talk about Melissa.”

“I did not kill her. And I don’t know who did. What else do you need to know?”

“Do you really want me to go into that right here, right now, where anyone could come along and-”

He buzzed her through the locked front door, and she crossed the lobby to the stairwell that rose directly in front of her. She climbed the steps and found Grady waiting for her in the doorway of his apartment. From his appearance, she guessed that the mail had been piling up in the box because he hadn’t left the apartment in several days. It had certainly been that long since he’d shaved.

He stepped aside and motioned for her to come in, then closed the door behind her.

“So tell me what it is you’re looking for, then you can go and I can get back to the business of getting myself good and drunk.” He walked into the living room, and she followed.

“Looks like you’ve made some progress there.” She noted the empty bottles of wine that formed a circle on top of the coffee table. “Odd choice, though. Most men drink themselves into a stupor on beer or hard liquor. Merlot doesn’t seem to fit.”

“What is it you want?” He flopped onto the sofa but did not offer her a seat.

She pushed some newspapers onto the floor and sat anyway.

“Why were you so secretive about your relationship with Melissa Lowery?”

He appeared to be trying to formulate a response.

“Come on, Grady, just say it.”

He still searched for words.

“All right, let’s try this approach. Why did Melissa change her name and move to Montana?”

“Free country.” He picked up the nearest bottle and checked its contents. Finding it empty, he moved on to the next one and refilled his glass.

“Cut the bullshit,” she said softly. “We both know she was afraid of something. Or someone. Was it you?”

“Me?” The question took him off guard. “God, no.”

“What was your relationship with her?”

“She was… my best girl.” His eyes filled with tears. “She was… my wife.”

“Your…?”

He nodded slowly. “We were married in Reno eight months ago.”

“Why all the secrecy? Why was she hiding, Grady?”

He exhaled slowly, a long breath fraught with pain.

“Someone scared her.”

“Who?”

“Now, don’t you think if I knew that, I’d have dealt with it?” He lifted his head and met her eyes, and she understood exactly how he would have dealt.

“She gave you no information, she never told you why-”

“Yeah. That much I know. She was on a job, she saw someone who shouldn’t have been there, and included his name in her report.”

“Who wasn’t she supposed to have seen?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t even know who it was. All I know is that after she wrote the report, someone contacted her by phone and told her she was to forget that she had been there, forget who else she’d seen there, and to destroy any copies of her notes. He left a bag with a lot of cash-a whole lot of cash-on her doorstep and suggested she resign from the Bureau and take the first train out of Dodge.”

“Or…?”

“Or he’d kill her.”

“Why didn’t she go to someone at the Bureau?”

“Who would do what, Annie? Protect her from someone she couldn’t even identify? Someone who obviously works for the Bureau?” He got up and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Believe me, we went through all of this. Whoever was threatening her works for the Bureau. He’s supposed to be one of the good guys. He could have been anyone. How do you even begin to figure out who you can trust?”

“Well, what about the job she’d been on, start with that. Look at the people who were there, figure out-” She stopped short, staring at him. “Grady…”

“Annie, please don’t even ask.”

“Tell me it wasn’t the job where Dylan was killed.”

He was agitated and drunk. He swayed when he stood, then sat slowly back down.

“And that’s why Melissa’s report was missing, because someone took it deliberately and made sure she wouldn’t replicate it?”

“Yes.”

Annie digested the information.

“I’m sorry, Annie. I’m really sorry.”

She waved away his apology, past that now. “Why,” she asked, “didn’t he just kill her?”

“I don’t know.” He took a long swallow of wine, this one straight from the bottle. “I’ve asked myself that same question a dozen times. Why didn’t he just kill her.”

He wiped tears from his face with the hem of his shirt.

“I guess the question really is, why did he kill her now?”

“I have a call in to the sheriff in Montana. As soon as I’ve heard about cause of death, I’ll let you know.”

He cleared his throat. “Appreciate it.”

“In the meantime, why not put the wine away? Take a shower, get something to eat. Get some sleep.”

“Merlot was the only thing she ever drank.” He held up the bottle and studied the label as if it held some weighty truth.

“Grady, I am so sorry about Melissa. I don’t know what to say.” She swallowed hard. “I’m more sorry than I can say, if my looking for her, for her report, was the catalyst-”

“Don’t, Annie. There’s no point…” He shrugged helplessly.

“Still…”

“Just… don’t, okay?” He looked away.

“I’ll call as soon as I hear anything.” It was the only thing she could think to say.

“Okay.”

She wanted to go to him and put her arms around him, but she knew that nothing would comfort him. Instead, she walked to the door to let herself out. She opened the door to leave, then turned and asked, “Did anyone know that you and Melissa were married?”

“Only my brothers.”

“You didn’t tell your sister?”

“Nah.” He smiled weakly. “You know Mia, she talks to everyone. But my brothers, well… you know how they are. They’re both so closemouthed, you never know what’s going on with either of them.”

18

Evan took a sip of coffee and grimaced to find it had gone cold during the course of his telephone conversation with john number twenty-seven on the list of seventy-four he’d gotten from the D.A.’s files when he arrived at the courthouse at 5:30 that morning. To say the guard at the front door had been surprised to see anyone at that hour-least of all on a Saturday-would have been an understatement.

“Early day, Detective?” The man had yawned as he unlocked the front door.

“Yeah.” Evan shifted the cardboard carrier holding the three large cups of coffee he’d picked up at the local convenience store. As he passed through the metal detector, he handed one Styrofoam cup to the guard. “Thought you could use a wake-up this morning, too.”

“Thank you, Detective Crosby. Nice of you to think of me.”

“Nice of you to let me in.” Evan smiled and walked the dimly lit hall to the stairwell, and took the steps down to the basement, where the county detectives and some of the assistant district attorneys were housed.

The hallway was darker here, and it had taken him several tries before he managed to open the main office door. He locked it behind him and walked through the common area, lit only by an “Exit” sign on either side, and went directly to his small office at the end of the hall. He’d placed the coffee on one side of the desk and turned on his computer. He searched the files until he found what he was looking for, opened one of the coffees, and sipped at it while he scanned the screen, occasionally making notes on a yellow legal pad he’d pulled from the bottom drawer. By the time his list was complete, the sun had come up and enough of the morning had passed that he could begin making his calls without risk of having anyone complain that it was too early.

By noon, he’d called almost one third of the names on his list and had spoken with twelve. The others had either not answered or were no longer at the number he had on record. Out of the twelve, only five were willing to speak with him about their prior arrests. He’d left telephone messages for several others but was not optimistic that many-if any-of his calls would be returned.

Of the five he’d spoken with, none of them admitted to knowing anything about any young Hispanic girls working in an area house in which they might be held against their will.

“I wouldn’t go for none of that, man, none of that young stuff,” one of the johns had told him. “That’s disgusting, man…”