The Second Girl(32)

I look at the other photograph. She’s standing on a brick patio, screened-in porch behind her, and wearing that same smile.

She’s a pretty girl, and the smiles seem genuine, like smiles kids are supposed to have. But I’m not a good judge of things like that. For all I know, there’s something hidden there.

I set the photos on the table beside my notebook and then finish off my soda. I hold in a burp and it becomes a hiccup instead.

“Excuse me,” I say.

I look at the notes I’ve taken thus far, most of them basic investigatory stuff—names and contact information of friends, known hangouts, and hobbies. Surprisingly, they seem to know a lot about their daughter. They even had a prepared list of contact information for her friends. Most of the parents I dealt with when I was a cop had given up on their kids shortly after the kids learned how to walk.

When I was a uniformed officer, we were always called to take missing persons reports. It was nearly an everyday occurrence. Most of us used to dread the calls, especially if the case involved a child. A detective was called to the scene after a brief interview with the parents. First thing we did was a walk-through of the house and surrounding area. Most of the time, after spending a couple hours on the scene, the kid was located, usually somewhere else they weren’t supposed to be. There were also those dreaded times, after exhausting all efforts, when we had to make the call for the watch commander to respond. After that, the Missing Persons Unit was notified and a command center was set up. Those usually turned into cases like this. Damn, I felt bad for those detectives who caught cases like that, ’cause you knew it wasn’t going to turn out well. Most of them end up like this one, where the parents never know. Sometimes a body is found. As awful as that must be, at least those parents were given closure.

There’s nothing I can tell the Gregorys that they haven’t heard before. One thing I know they haven’t heard yet is how bad it really looks—the chances that they’ll ever see their daughter again. That’s one of the reasons I decided, when I made the decision I was gonna go for my PI license, that I would not work missing persons. By the time a PI gets hired for something like this, it’s usually too late. The case is cold as hell, even damn near freezing. I can’t tell these folks all that. Shit, what kinda person would that make me? Hell, I feel even worse having to take their money.

“My fee is forty dollars an hour, plus gas and incidentals. I have to be honest with you. Something like this is probably gonna take a lot of hours, and incidentals can include anything from paying for information to travel expenses.”

They look at each other, but don’t have to talk. That bond over time where the slightest expression or something in the eyes can replace words.

“Whatever it takes,” Ian says.

“All right, but I’m going to be straight with you. I’ll work it through next week. If I don’t come up with anything by then, more than likely I never will. I want you to be ready for that.”

She looks at him like before, but he doesn’t turn to her this time. He doesn’t want to read her face. He simply nods.

“Just a couple more things, then.”

I hand each of them my business card.

“All my contact information is on there. Leslie Costello simply did a favor by introducing us. She’s an attorney and has nothing to do with what I do. I only work for her on occasion. So there’s no need for you to contact her, all right?”

“We understand, and tell her it’s appreciated,” he says.

“I’ll need to visit your home and go through her room, her belongings, if that’s okay.”

“The detectives in Fairfax County already did that, but yes, that would be fine.”

“Did the detectives take anything?”

“No, they didn’t.”

“A girl’s appearance can be changed—”

“Are you suggesting she ran away?” Mrs. Gregory interrupts.

“I’m not suggesting anything, Mrs. Gregory. Please let me finish. Does she have any birthmarks, scars, moles, anything that can help me identify her other than these pictures?

“She has a birthmark on her right outer thigh. It is light brown and small, but it looks like Australia.”

“And you’re sure she wasn’t dating anyone?”

“Yes, we are,” Ian says firmly. “She wasn’t allowed to date until seventeen.”

“Did she go to the movies with friends, the mall, anything like that?”

“Of course. We weren’t that strict,” he tells me. “And the friends she went with are on the list we gave you.”

“Now, please, just bear with me, because I have to ask these questions. I’m sure you’ve already been asked them. But I don’t see any boys’ names on this list. She didn’t have any friends that were boys? Doesn’t mean she had to be dating them, but she is a teenager, after all.”

“To be honest, Detective Marr, there could have been. Maybe she didn’t tell us, but not because she was hiding something. Probably just because it wasn’t a big deal. I really don’t know.”

That appears to affect him ’cause he seems like the type of man who needs to know, maybe even control, everything.

“She’s a good girl,” Mrs. Gregory says, as if she’s trying to convince me.