Friends Like These(6)

They introduce themselves: Stephanie Allen, Jonathan Cheung, Maeve Travis.

“Have you figured out who you found yet?” Stephanie asks, her gold-flecked eyes narrowing sharply. It sounds just shy of an accusation. All we do know for sure at the moment is that Derrick Chism and Keith Lazard— two white males, both thirty years old, both approximately five foot ten— are missing, though one of them is presumably the deceased.

“It’s Derrick’s car. He’d have been in the driver’s seat, right?” Jonathan says glancing at his friends. He’s wearing one of those knit beanies that the hipsters love. It highlights his elegant cheekbones and full mouth. Still, it looks a little ridiculous on him.

“Except Derrick told me Keith drove up here,” Stephanie says.

“If you brought us down there we could identify them,” Jonathan offers.

“Can’t do that unfortunately. The area isn’t secure. We could have a suspect at large.” This is true, but even if it wasn’t there’s no way I’d be bringing them to the scene. Their mere presence could corrupt the investigation and render them useless as witnesses. That’s assuming they aren’t suspects themselves, which I haven’t remotely ruled out.

“So, you don’t think this was an accident?” Stephanie asks.

“The positioning of the car is off,” I say.

“What does that mean?” Jonathan again.

“Like perhaps not the product of an accident,” I say. “I could try to have pictures taken, see if you can identify your friend that way, but you should know that there has been significant facial damage. It might make an identification impossible regardless.”

I’m not looking to upset them, but I do need their focus off the ID. It matters, of course, but not as much at the moment as me getting a sense of what the hell happened here.

“That’s awful,” Maeve says, looking queasy as she stares down and twists the rings on her delicate, perfectly manicured hands. She’s more put-together than the other two— her tailored outfit, the nails. Trying harder maybe because she’s not quite as attractive. She’s the kind of woman you’re convinced you know, but just can’t remember from where. “I don’t think I want to see the pictures.”

They are all quiet for a moment then, looking pained. I do feel bad for them. They are clearly upset.

“Listen, at least let’s run fingerprints, and see if we can spare you. They don’t need to have a criminal record to be in the system. Some licensing, background checks for certain employers . . .”

I let the silence stretch out, see if someone jumps in to offer an arrest record.

“Couldn’t you just compare the fingerprints on some of their things here?” Jonathan asks.

“That’s actually much harder than you’d think. DNA works much better, but according to the officers”— I nod in Cartright and Tarzian’s direction— “their toothbrushes and such are all together in the one bathroom. There’s no way to know whose is whose. Unless you can tell them apart?”

They all shake their heads.

“If all else fails we’ll go to their home residences to collect reference DNA. But let’s just take this one step at a time. Your other friend may turn up any second. I know this is difficult, but I’d ask for your patience. In the meantime, if you could give this officer your full names, addresses, dates of birth. And whatever you know for your two friends. That would be helpful.”

I motion to Cartright, who hesitates— like I couldn’t be asking him to do something so menial. Cartright is a Seldon stooge. When I glare at him, he finally steps forward with a pad and pen.

“Run a full two-seven on everyone,” I say.

I mean a complete background check, and for each one of them, not just the two men in the car. I hope Cartright gets the distinction. Right now we need all the information we can get.

“So where do you think the one who— ” Jonathan’s voice cuts out. “Whoever didn’t get killed, where are they?”

“Search teams are combing the woods,” I offer. “We’ll find them.”

“But how many police officers do you even have around here?” Stephanie pushes to her feet and begins to pace. “Every one of them needs to be out there looking for— it’s either Keith or Derrick. They could be running out of time.” She stops pacing and crosses her arms, scowling at me. “If something happens to them because you moved too slow, you will be held accountable.”

I swallow back my irritation. “Don’t worry. We have plenty of men. There’s a specialized search-and-rescue team from State headed— ”

“This was my idea,” Jonathan says. He looks shrunken suddenly. Like he’s dissolving into the couch. “Coming up here, I mean. This is my house. We were here for my bachelor party.”

A bachelor party? Well, now, that does put a different spin on things.

“What happened didn’t have anything to do with your bachelor party.” Stephanie’s tone is sharp, her jaw clenched. “It’s irrelevant.”

“I just want to be sure she has all the facts.” He levels his eyes at Stephanie. Maybe not quite the pushover he seems.

“Oh God,” Maeve says, turning ashen. “I just, I don’t understand. This is so— they were just here.”