Wherever She Goes(40)

She continues, “Just because you have some special skills, Aubrey, does not make you a detective.”

“You’re right, and I have no desire to become one.” I meet her gaze. “I’m stuck doing this because the police are not. And you aren’t a detective either.”

She flinches at that. I didn’t mean it as an insult, but she clearly takes it as one.

“I only joined the force three years ago, and I have every intention of becoming a detective.”

“That wasn’t a challenge,” I say.

“Then don’t make it sound like one.”

“Then stop talking to me like I’m the scatterbrained suburbanite you thought I was last week.”

I wait for the rejoinder. Instead, she pulls back. Considers. Then she nods. “Fair enough. My mistake. My stereotyping. So I apologize. But you are doing a job you are not qualified to do. A job you are not allowed to do.”

“Yes, actually, I am allowed to do it. As long as I don’t break any laws or misrepresent myself—”

“The owners of that pizza parlor seem to think you were a police officer.”

“I said nothing of the sort. If they inferred that?” I shrug. “Clearly a misunderstanding because I never said it.”

She allows a small smile. Before she can speak, I say, “So you’ve been to that pizza parlor. Did they tell you about Kim?”

“Kim Mason. Also known as Kim Lyons. That’s our dead woman.”

I must look surprised, because she says, “I have been listening to you, Aubrey. I’ve been getting those messages, and I’ve been passing them on to the detectives-in-charge, and we’ve been investigating. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Thank you for the information, but stop. Please stop. Let us do our jobs.”

“I haven’t seen anything in the paper saying she’s been identified.”

“Because she hasn’t been. We’re still tracking down her real identity.”

“Kim Mikhailov,” I say. “Born in Cedar Rapids. Ran away at the age of fifteen. Dancing in a strip club by the time she was sixteen. A strip club owned by a guy she ended up dating. Denis Zima. Who also owns—”

“Zodiac Five. The club you just left.” She shakes her head. “I wondered what you were doing there. Okay, so you suspect Kim Mason is this Kim Mikhailov.”

“Not suspect. Know. Kim was calling a woman named Ellie Milano weekly. Ellie’s Facebook page mentions a younger sister, Kim. It includes photos of Kim as a teen. She is undeniably your dead woman.”

“How the hell did you figure out all that?”

“I’m good with computers.”

“Okay, you would make a good detective. But you’re not one. I want to be one, and I’m using your tips, Aubrey, because they’ll help me get my shield. So thank you. However, I truly need you to stop. For your own safety.”

“Yes.”

She eyes me. “I mean that. Don’t blow me off—”

“You’re not the one who’s been blown off. I never wanted to play detective. Trying to get you to listen cost me a weekend with my daughter. All I want—all I ever wanted—was for you to take me seriously.”

“Well, I am. I appreciate the ID on our dead woman and the link to Denis Zima. With him involved, though, you definitely don’t want to be chasing this lead.”

“Because his dad is a Russian mobster.”

She makes a face. “That sounds very Hollywood. Let’s just say his family has been under investigation for years, which is public record. I have no idea how Denis fits in, but I’ll dig for more.”

“He doesn’t have the boy.”

She looks up sharply.

“Brandon,” I say. “That’s Kim’s son. The boy I saw taken.”

She sighs. Deeply.

“You still don’t believe I saw a child taken?” I say. “You just said you misjudged me.”

“You saw a kid get pulled into a car. I do not doubt that. You didn’t intentionally misreport—”

“I didn’t misreport anything. Kim had a son named Brandon. She was hiding him from Zima, who now realizes he has a son, thanks to me. I have the proof right here.” I pull out my phone. As I flip to the recorder, I say, “I taped one of his men talking about it.”

I hit Play. The man’s voice is muffled. Too muffled to make out.

“No, no, no.” I jack up the volume, but it only increases the sound of my breathing. “Damn it, no. I was in a closet. You can enhance the quality, though.”

“You taped one of Zima’s men from a closet? You were hiding in a closet?”

“I was checking the office computer when he came upstairs.”

She gives another of those deep sighs. “Aubrey . . .”

“Forget the tape for now.” I put my phone down. “You can enhance the recording, and you’ll hear the guy say that Denis is looking for his son. For Kim’s boy. He thinks Brandon is someplace safe—that Kim got him to safety. He’s not safe now, though, because Denis is after him.”

“This guy randomly started talking about all this while you were in the closet?”

“Well, no. He was telling the head of security that Denis thought he spotted me at the club.”