Lies We Bury(29)

Everything I found on us was in order: Chet abducted and held a woman, Nora, for two years before he decided to take my mother, Rosemary. Nora then gave birth to Jenessa. No doubt disappointed at the limited inventory, with Nora being out of commission post-natal, Chet saw fit to introduce a third woman, Bethel, to his harem. By Rosemary’s account, Bethel was a slight woman, and the stress of imprisonment particularly affected her; her hair fell out in clumps. After Rosemary gave birth to me and Nora to Jenessa, Bethel eventually died on the same mattress giving birth to Lily.

No mention of Jameson at Chet’s trial. According to archived newspaper articles online, there was plenty of speculation about what kind of rearing Chet had, but no parents came forward at the initial hearing or at the full trial, and Chet hadn’t been born in the area. It was only after Chet was in prison that the family history I discovered online as a teenager came to light: Jameson abandoned his wife and young son. She remarried, and Chet’s stepfather beat them both nightly.

While part of me is satisfied that I did glean and retain the correct information at fourteen years old, another is disappointed there isn’t more to analyze. Shia’s publisher’s enthusiasm for this book makes all the more sense.

The forensics team strides inside the building, passing the medical examiner on his way out. I recognize the man with salt-and-pepper hair from Four Alarm. Turning to Oz, I find him consulting his notes. “Has there been any progress on the brewery murder?”

He inhales through his nose, as though it pains him to say. “Yeah, the chief of police is looking at two people.”

“Who?” It’s only been two days. I haven’t come close to identifying someone, and I may have more clues than Chief Bradley.

“A nineteen-year-old homeless girl named Gianina Silva and the bartender who found the body at Four Alarm, Topher Cho.”

An image of a tall man with thick black hair and a friendly voice rises to mind from when I stepped into the brewery and took photos. Stay safe out there, he had said. Was that Cho?

“Wait, what does Gia—Gianina—look like?”

“I don’t know.” Oz shrugs. “Haven’t seen a photo of her—I just know she’s young and known for drug dealing downtown.”

The petite blonde with brittle hair and dark roots looks me up and down again in my memory. Ask around for Gia. “Why her?”

Oz blows air from his cheeks. “Did you hear that gunshot at Four Alarm yesterday? It was right after you left. The kid who pulled the trigger was waving it around like an idiot when it went off. Apparently it was Silva’s, and she doesn’t have a license for it. It also matches what the M.E. believes was used on Eloise Harris.”

“The first victim. The stripper.”

“You got it.”

“But a teenage girl? She doesn’t strike me as a killer.” I think back to our chance meeting in front of the bakery and the way in which she eyed the cigarette burn on my inner elbow. Maybe she’s an opportunist in that she thought I was high—but a murderer?

Then I recall my conversation with the Stakehouse bartender. Did Eloise Harris owe Gia money?

“Nope. And that’s what’s frustrating,” Oz says, flipping his notepad closed. “I did some digging on Silva, and she had straight As before she dropped out of high school. She seems to be like any other kid you see on the street. They’re all runaways or drug addicts, or both, and the city doesn’t do enough to help them, so they piss off the rest of us by hanging out in downtown, and we all demonize them.” He takes a breath, catching my surprise. “Sorry. I . . . my brother was homeless for a while.”

I give a slow nod, remembering the teenager at Four Alarm wearing the Mickey Mouse retro hoodie. Most of the group around him appeared dirty and tired but harmless. “What about Topher Cho?”

Oz resumes a more curious expression. “Cho . . . now he’s someone who might make more sense. He’s got a misdemeanor from a fight with an old girlfriend—apparently things got physical between them, and she filed a complaint. He’s a bartender-slash-actor and been trying to get an agent from some hotshot agency since he moved to Portland. A murder where he works could, in theory, provide more publicity. Get him more attention as the guy who found the body first. It’s a stretch, but it fits better than a nineteen-year-old with no priors.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand it, either. But we’re just the news team, right, Claire? They’ve gotta keep the wheels of government moving.”

“What are you saying? Have they both been arrested? That seems preemptive.”

Oz smirks. “Officially, Silva and Cho are still only persons of interest, but I’ll bet the cops are getting serious pressure from the upper brass to publicly name suspects. I haven’t seen them this worked up since I’ve been at the Post, or the Gazette before this.” He nods toward the groups of officers and concerned employees.

Candy, the dancer I saw earlier, left about five minutes after I arrived, and the bartender I spoke with is gone, too.

“A lot of angst seems to be going around, not the least of which is Chet Granger’s parole next week. Tell me you know about that guy, at least.” His gaze narrows to examine me, likely evaluating my worthiness of being on the “news team.”

I shift my weight onto my heels. “Yeah, he imprisoned women and children underground.”