When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(92)

He fired up the desktop, already in his geek zone.

“When I hear from Sheriff Smithers with the username and password, I’ll let you know,” D.D. informed him.

Keith nodded absently, gloved fingertips already racing across the keyboard.

That left her and Bonita.

Once in the hallway, D.D. asked, “Do you have a favorite place in this hotel?”

Bonita seemed to consider it. Finally, she pointed to the stairs.

“Show me.”

It took a little bit. Stairs slowed the girl down, and they had to go up two flights. On the top floor, Bonita led D.D. down a wide, crimson-carpeted hallway. She grew more tentative as they progressed. Finally, they reached a door at the end.

Bonita glanced at D.D., then knocked softly. When no sound came from inside . . .

The girl gently opened the door and crept forward.

The room was gorgeous, the top floor of the turret and stunning in its own right with its curved wall of windows and its yawning ceiling. The Counsels had obviously turned it into a honeymoon suite, with a king bed topping a circular rug while beautifully appointed antiques framed the space. Above, the pointed ceiling had been painted dark blue with a burst of stars at night, while the walls around them held the deep blush of sunset.

Bonita slowly shuffled into the space. D.D. thought she would go to the windows or take a seat on the beautiful sofa. Instead, the girl headed to the middle of the carpet, where she awkwardly lowered herself onto the floor. Then, after arranging herself in a straight line, her hands clasped on her stomach, she looked up.

What the hell. D.D. took up a position on the floor beside Bonita, and did the same.

Now, she could see the painted stars weren’t random. With a bit of concentration, D.D. could make out the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, the North Star, some other constellations.

Bonita pointed up. At first this pattern, then another. D.D. angled her head to mirror the girl’s line of sight, but still didn’t get it.

“What do you see?” she asked.

Of course, it was an open-ended question, and Bonita couldn’t answer it. She turned her head till she and D.D. were nearly nose to nose. Her eyes were mournful. The expression of a young girl who’d already lost too much.

D.D. couldn’t help where her thoughts took her. Would Jack like an older sister? It wasn’t her place to ask. It would be grossly overstepping to assume custody of this girl. But when this was done . . . Bonita’s mother was dead. Her life had been one of forced servitude. Was D.D. really supposed to just hand her over to child services? She already couldn’t bear the thought.

“Are you thinking of your mother?” D.D. asked softly.

A nod. Bonita had painted her mother in a desert. The stars at night were generally very clear in such places. Maybe looking at these stars here made her feel closer to her former home.

“Are you thinking of the other girls?” D.D. asked.

Another nod. Then more pointing. Here, here, and here.

D.D. thought about it. “You’ve named each star after a girl? Someone who was here, then went missing.”

A fresh nod. So the turret ceiling was Bonita’s accounting system. Given how little she had, it made sense.

Bonita reached over. She took D.D.’s hand, squeezed it lightly, and D.D. felt her heart break all over again. She was supposed to be professional. But all she wanted to do was wrap this child in her arms and keep her safe.

“I would like to hear about your mother,” D.D. said softly. “After we’ve figured out a better communication system, maybe you can tell me about her.”

Nod.

D.D. smiled. “Thank you for showing me this room. I can see what it means to you. But for now, honey, I think we have to return to the basement.”



* * *



—

D.D.’S PHONE RANG AS THEY were headed downstairs. She recognized the county sheriff’s number and picked up. Immediately she heard sounds of commotion in the background.

“We got a problem,” Sheriff Smithers announced grimly.

“Howard Counsel?”

“Just found him dead in his cell.”

“I’m so sorry, sir.” D.D. could hear the receptionist, Franny, in the background: “But the gentleman was making such a commotion and he wouldn’t go away. I had no choice but to call for Deputy Chad . . .”

“I understand, Franny,” said the sheriff. “I understand.” But D.D. could hear him sigh heavily.

She figured she knew what had happened: A diversion at the front of the sheriff’s office had lured the on-watch deputy from Howard Counsel’s cell.

“Can Franny give you a description of the man who caused the commotion? Any detail at all. Set her down, make her visualize.”

“You think it was a setup?”

“I think it would be too much of a coincidence to be otherwise. Housecleaning, remember? First Martha, then Hélène, now Howard. For all we know, the cook is dead, too.”

Though D.D. doubted that last statement; that woman was too mean to die. If anyone could hold her own with some evil UNSUB, even work as his right-hand person, it would be her.

“How’d he get the damn blanket?” Sheriff Smithers was now asking someone.

“He said he was cold, sir. I didn’t think. I’m sorry, sir. I’m very, very sorry.” A young man’s voice, most likely Deputy Chad. It was the kind of mistake that haunted an officer.