Run You Down (Rebekah Roberts #2)(60)

“I’m really sorry I ditched you guys. I’m…”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m glad you’re working. What did Saul say?”

My conversation with Saul in front of The Doom Room feels far away. “Aviva’s mom died when she was in Florida with us,” I say.

“Wow. She’s motherless, too.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“And her phone is still off?”

“Yeah. I think I found her house, though. I went by last night but it was all dark.”

“Holy shit. Are you sure it’s hers?”

“Not a hundred percent,” I say. “But I talked to a girl who said Sam sometimes lived with his sister in New Paltz, and this was the New Paltz address the library found when they ran his name.”

“Have you found Sam?”

“No,” I say. “The girl I talked to used to be his roommate but she said she hasn’t heard from him in a while.”

“Do you think they’re together?”

“Him and Aviva?” That hadn’t occurred to me. “Maybe.”

“Will you be home tonight?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Larry said I had a hundred and fifty for a hotel, but I only spent half that so I’m hoping maybe I can squeeze another day out of him.”

“I’m about to go underground,” she says. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“I will,” I say. “I’m really glad you still love me.”

She laughs. “You should be.”

We hang up and I feel marginally calmer. Calm enough, I decide, to try Aviva again. I go RECENT CALLS on my phone and press “Mom.” The call goes straight to a voice mail message saying this mailbox is full. So much for the calm. Something feels wrong. What if this Sam guy is dangerous? What if he’s done something to her?

I pull on new socks and underwear and then the same bra and jeans and purple sweater I was wearing yesterday. My hair is already dry—a perk, I suppose, of having almost none of it. At just after nine, Nechemaya calls. I tell him who the plate belongs to.

“You need to be careful,” I say. “It sounds like Sam was dating this man’s son. Secretly. Conrad Hall is…”

“I know who Conrad Hall is,” he says.

“You do?”

“We are not na?ve, Rebekah. We know our enemies.”

“I’m going to call the chief now and confront him about getting the plate and doing nothing. Can I use your name?”

“Yes,” he says. “He knows my name. I made no secret when I called.”

“What about for the newspaper?”

He is silent a moment. “All right.”

“Thank you,” I say. “And listen, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but there’s a cop in Roseville I think you should call. He’s a good guy…”

“I am through with the Roseville police. We have a connection with the district attorney. We will be meeting him tomorrow.”

I scribble “call DA” in my notebook and then dial Van Keller’s cell.

“Officer Keller? It’s Rebekah. Can you talk?”

“I just left the station,” he says, breathing hard.

“Did you talk to your chief?”

“Hold on.” I hear a car door slam. “He denied getting the plate from your man. I told him I’d run it to Connie Hall and he ripped me a new one. Bunch of shit about chain of command.”

“Does he know we’ve been talking?”

“No. I didn’t tell him, anyway. And I swore Dawn and Christine to secrecy.”

“I tried to get my guy from the community—the one that gave him the plate—to call you but he says he’s going to the district attorney.”

“I don’t blame him.”

We agree to stay in touch and before I have time to think too hard about the conversation I’m about to have, I dial Roseville PD. Dawn answers and I ask for the chief.

“Him and Van just got in a big fight,” she says, her voice low. “I swear I didn’t tell him you were here though. Cross my heart.”

“I believe you,” I say.

Dawn puts me on hold and about twenty seconds later Chief Gregory picks up.

“Chief.”

“Hi, Chief Gregory, this is Rebekah Roberts from the New York Tribune. We spoke the other day…”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh. Great. Okay, well, I’ve been told by a member of Pessie Goldin’s community that one of her neighbors saw an unfamiliar pickup truck at her home the day she was found dead. He said he passed the license plate to you but never heard back.”

Nothing.

“Can you confirm you received a license plate number?”

“No.”

“Are you saying you didn’t receive it?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Well,” I say, “I’ve been given the plate number and my desk tells me it belongs to a man named Conrad Hall. Can you confirm that?”

“Nope.”

“Is it true that Conrad Hall is your stepbrother?”

There is a pause, and then the call ends. Chief Gregory has hung up on me.