Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(70)

“Think she did it?”

“I’d be surprised. By all accounts, she went out of her way to protect her younger siblings. Her mother was a recovering alcoholic. Even lost custody of the kids for a bit. The older girl, Roxy, took on the parenting role in the family. It’s possible she had issues with her mom given all that, but we have no reason to believe she’d shoot her younger sister and brother in cold blood.”

“Mother’s ex, one of the kids’ biological fathers?”

“Girls’ biological fathers aren’t in the picture. The son’s father, and the mother’s most recent ex, got shot later today, possibly by Roxy, so maybe she thinks he did it. But most leads are pointing to the younger sister’s involvement in a gang, plus the mom had recently started asking questions about the year her kids spent in foster care. She thought something had happened to them, maybe even sexual abuse. We’re trying to reach her lawyer now, but Juanita Baez was definitely stirring the pot, including laying the groundwork for a huge lawsuit.”

“As in suing the state for millions of dollars?”

“According to the rumor mill.”

“State bureaucrats don’t usually go around killing off potential lawsuits,” Alex said.

“No, but the people who risked being exposed in such a lawsuit might not be so squeamish about it. We visited the foster care home, Mother Del’s, today. That place gave me the heebie-jeebies. What if it is a front for some kind of child sex ring? Now, there would be plenty of people with motive to keep things quiet.”

“We won’t be seeing you tomorrow,” Alex said.

“No, I’m sorry.” D.D. looked down. Kiko was licking her fingers where she’d been holding the treat. The dog’s touch was very gentle. D.D. stroked her ears again. Earned a tentative tail wag.

“Somehow, I doubt Jack will miss me,” she said ruefully, admiring the latest member of their family.

“But he will always love you. And, most likely, send you dozens of photos before the day is done.”

D.D. smiled. “That would be nice.”

“Do you have any sense of how this is going to play out?” Alex asked. “How long can one teenager remain missing in a city with eyes and ears everywhere?”

D.D. shook her head. “Honestly, with this girl? This case? I have no idea what’s gonna happen next.”





Chapter 26


I RETURNED TO SARAH’S APARTMENT shortly after midnight. I’d breezed by the hospital to learn that Hector Alvalos was still there, asleep, in stable condition. I’d also counted a number of uniformed patrol officers, clearly keeping an eye out. I was tempted to nod to each and every one of them, investigator to investigator. But I didn’t know if my new role as CI actually garnered me any respect from other cops.

Next I returned to the coffee shop where the shooting had taken place, then headed to the empty office space across the street. Doubling back was a time-honored technique used by many a prey to avoid the hunt. But the space was dark and empty. No sign of Roxanna Baez anywhere.

There was only one other place I could think of to check for the missing teen. Not the smartest choice, but then, sometimes you just couldn’t help yourself.

I walked to Roxy Baez’s home.

The sidewalk in front of the house was empty of people, but a memorial had been started on the fence line. One of those spontaneous collections of flowers, candles, stuffed animals, often left in the wake of a tragedy. I spied a soccer ball, some toy cars, several handwritten notes: You are forever in our hearts, et cetera, et cetera. Then, tucked in the corner, nearly lost under a bouquet of carnations, a glass bottle. Tequila. Never opened.

I hunched down, inspected it closer.

Who’d left a bottle of booze at a memorial for a murdered alcoholic? An old drinking buddy? One of Juanita Baez’s AA friends?

What did it mean anyway? One last toast to a fallen comrade? Or drunks got what they deserved?

I looked up and down the street. But this time of night, all the houses were quiet. Nothing stirred.

I wondered if Roxanna Baez had stopped by. If grief had driven her to this scene. If she’d stood here, wondering about her family’s last moments. Was she grateful that she’d been out walking the dogs? Or was she sorry she’d been gone? Because if she’d been in the home, maybe she would’ve been able to stop the shooter? Or at least join her family’s fate?

I didn’t know. The girl had only become part of our group recently, and all of us still had more questions than answers. Such was the nature of survivors. We doled out our stories slowly, over time. Even for ourselves, some experiences were too much to be shared all at once.

With the streets quiet and my only good ideas exhausted, I headed to Sarah’s apartment. I half expected to walk through the door and find Roxy, but no, there was only Sarah, sitting at the tiny table, typing briskly on her laptop.

“Mike Davis?” I asked. Sarah and I rarely bothered with small talk.

“Followed him to Starbucks. When he didn’t come outside again, I thought I’d lost him. But it turns out he works there as a barista. I left him foaming his hundredth latte. No way I can hang out for an entire shift without him wising up.”

I nodded, pulled out the chair across from her. “I walked by Roxy’s house. Neighbors have started a memorial at the fence line. Someone left a bottle of cheap tequila. Who leaves booze for a dead alcoholic?”