but Davy. It sounded like she was using a nickname that was most likely a carryover from childhood and predated Timmons’s time in the Marines as well as his time as deputy. Ardith’s use of “Davy” was similar to the deputy’s calling Ardith by her maiden name. In some cases, turnabout really is fair play.
“They’re cops, Ardith,” he said, stating the obvious. “They need to talk to you.”
Timmons was the only one wearing a uniform, but everyone in the bar had recognized Mel and me as cops the moment we had stepped across the threshold.
“I don’t talk to cops,” Ardith replied. She topped off the beer to replace what she had spilled and then slid the glass down the bar to the solo sitting next to the kitchen.
“No kind of cops,” she added, “unless my lawyer is present, which, if you’ll look around the room, you’ll see he ain’t.”
I heard a slight guffaw from somewhere behind me, most likely from one of the pool players. I waited, hoping for the sound of a cue ball striking something else, but the games were currently halted while every eye and ear focused on us, the unwelcome interlopers.
“It’s not about you, Ms. Broward,” Mel said quietly. “It’s about your daughter.”
“Oh,” Ardith said. “So it’s Rachel again, is it? Well, whatever she’s done this time, I’ve got nothin’ to do with it.”
“If we could speak to you in private-” I suggested.
She cut off my words with a hoot of laughter. “Private?” she repeated. “The only thing private around here is the ladies, and that’s only if there’s still toilet paper filling the peephole somebody drilled through the wall from the gents. And what’s supposed to happen to my bar while you and me have this cozy little chat? I can’t exactly call in a pinch hitter and ask ’em to substitute for me, now can I!”
“It’s about your daughter,” Mel said again.
Ardith’s jaw slammed shut. That’s when I realized what was different about her. Someone had gone to the trouble and expense of helping her get her teeth fixed. The front teeth that had been missing in her mug shot were no longer missing.
The lone wolf at the far end of the counter was a leather-clad giant of a man with a headful of frizzy reddish hair pulled back into a ponytail that ended near his waist. He stood up, sauntered down the bar, and stopped in front of Ardith.
“You go take care of whatever you’ve gotta take care of, Ardy,” he said. “I’ll mind the bar and the till.”
He wasn’t the kind of guy I would have trusted to take over my cash register or my bar in my absence, but Ardith nodded her agreement, then turned and walked away. With the three of us trailing behind, she left the bar and turned down the hall marked RESTROOMS. She walked past them and let herself out a back door marked EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY, although no alarm sounded when she opened it and led us outside. By the time she stopped next to a stinking garbage Dumpster, she had a cigarette in her mouth and was lighting it.
“Okay,” she said. “What’s Rachel done now?”
“I take it you’ve been having problems with your daughter?” Mel asked.
“I’ll say.” Ardith blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “I told her the last time she run off not to bother comin’ back if she did it again. People laugh at me for havin’ so many men in my life, but I’ve married every one of them. That’s the God’s truth. I sure as hell don’t do it for the money, and I won’t have a slut who puts out like that livin’ under my roof and bein’ a bad influence on the little ones.”
“Wait a minute,” Mel said. “Did I understand you to say that you think Rachel has been involved in prostitution?”
“I don’t
“Do you know the names of any of the people she might be involved with?” Mel asked.
“Are you kidding? I’m Rachel’s mother. She’s not likely to tell me anything.”
“Are there friends from school who might know the names of some of her associates?”
“Associates?” Ardith scoffed. “You make it sound like a lawyer’s office or something. No, I don’t know her friends. If she’s got ’em, she doesn’t talk about ’em, leastways not to me. You can ask Kenny, my husband. He’s been laid off for months, so he’s around home a whole lot more than I am. He keeps telling me that I’m too hard on Rachel. He got called back to work. Today was supposed to be his first day back on the job. Rachel promised she’d be here to look after the younger kids. I suppose you can guess how well that turned out! She probably got herself a better offer than babysitting for free so she could have a roof over her head and food on the table.”
“Ms. Broward,” Mel said softly, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but we have reason to believe your daughter is dead. That’s the real reason Rachel didn’t come home today.”
Ardith dropped her half-smoked cigarette and ground it into the dirt.
“Dead?” she repeated in disbelief. “You’re saying Rachel is dead?”
Mel and I both nodded.
“Where?” Ardith demanded.
“That’s the thing,” I said. “We don’t know where. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“If you don’t know where Rachel is, how do you know she’s dead?” Ardith asked.
“There’s a video clip,” Mel said.
“What do you mean, a clip, like on
“Yes,” Mel said. “It’s like one of those film clips, but it’s not funny.”
“You mean someone took pictures while they were doing it, while they were killing her?”
Mel nodded.
Stricken, Ardith staggered backward until she banged into the side of the Dumpster. The blow sent a cloud of flies bursting skyward from the top of the garbage heap. The woman’s ruddy face had gone pale.
“Show me,” she said.
“Really, Ms. Broward, I’m not sure. .”
“Show me!” Ardith exclaimed. “I’m not going to believe Rachel’s dead until I see it with my own eyes.”
Mel pulled out one of the photos Todd had made. “This photo was taken from the clip. Does this look like your daughter?”
Ardith barely glanced at the photo. “I want to see the video,” she insisted.
Mel shot me a questioning look. The clip was a terrible thing to show to the victim’s mother.
“Really, Ms. Broward,” I began. “It’s really not a good idea. .”
“Show me!”
With a resigned sigh, Mel reached into her pocket and removed her iPhone. I had every reason to believe that we were somewhere in that supposed five percent of the country where AT amp;T doesn’t reach, but Mel had loaded the clip onto her phone. No connection was needed. Mel messed around with the screen for a moment or two. Then, once the clip began playing, she held it up for Ardith to see.
Had it been in bright sunlight, the tiny images might have been a little hazy, but it was close enough to dusk now that they were clear. As Ardith watched in apparent shock and horror, one of her hands went helplessly to her own throat as if in the vain hope of loosening the scarf’s deadly hold on her daughter’s neck. When the clip was over, Ardith squeezed her eyes shut. Her body slid down alongside the Dumpster as though her legs had lost the ability to hold her upright. She came to a stop only when she was seated flat on the ground with her legs splayed out in front of her.
“Oh, no,” she said. “No, no, no. I had no idea that’s what was happening. I mean, I saw the bruises-”
“What bruises?” Mel asked sharply
“On Rachel’s neck,” Ardith said. “The second time she ran away. When she came back home, she kept wearing this one black turtleneck sweater over and over. Then, one night, I came into the kitchen when she was doing the dishes and wearing a regular top. That’s when I saw the bruising on her neck. I asked her about it. She said it happened at school during gym when some of the kids were playing around.”
“Kids may call it playing,” I explained. “It’s sometimes called the choking game. Kids do it because they’re operating under the mistaken impression that if they do it long enough that they pass out, they’ll get high.”
“Does Kenny know?” Ardith asked.
Mel shook her head. “We came to tell you first.”
