The Second Girl(49)

“Detective Caine, I’m a retired police detective—”

“I know you are,” he interrupts.

“When I was working, the last thing I’d ever want was some PI stepping on my case, possibly screwing the whole thing up for me. You got your job and I got mine. Be assured that I know what I’m doing, and if I do pick up a good lead that might result in locating Miriam Gregory, you’ll be the second call.”

“I’ve spent months trying to locate her…That family has been through a lot. They don’t need someone giving them false hope. After Amanda Meyer was found, they got excited, thinking there might be a connection.”

“And you don’t think there’s a connection?”

“I’m not saying that, but I’ve been investigating missing children for a lot of years, and she’s been missing for a long time. I think you understand.”

“I understand, because the last thing I want to do is give the family false hope, but I’m also not gonna sit on my ass either, waiting for her body to show up at a morgue.”

“Watch yourself, Mr. Marr. We both know that since you located Amanda Meyer there are some possible new leads. I’ll be following through on those. I just want to make sure we’re not walking on each other here, or that you don’t get yourself in trouble mucking up an ongoing investigation.”

This is starting to take a bad turn, so I try to back up, ’cause the last thing I need is more enemies.

“I copy that, Detective. And by the way, have you been in touch with Detective Davidson? He’s working Amanda’s case.”

“I have.”

I decide to throw him a bone. Edgar’s gonna be in police custody anyway, so he’s already a done deal; I won’t have access to him anymore. I know how the Feds work, and there’s a strong possibility Detective Caine doesn’t know the Feds are probably in Edgar’s house right about now. In fact, if he did know, I think that’s where he’d be instead of talking to me.

“You may already know what’s going on this morning, but in case you don’t, you might want to give Davidson a call on his cell.”

“Okay,” he says, not inquiring further, because that would give up that he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“We both want the same thing,” I tell him.

“Maybe, but the motives are different.”

“No, not so different. You see, unlike you, this case wasn’t assigned to me, and certainly wasn’t one that I wanted to take on. But I did, and it has nothing to do with the money.”

“We’ll be in touch, then.”

“All right, Detective. You stay safe.”

Damn, that’s not how I like to wake up in the morning, so I lie back down to work the day out in my head.





Forty-four



After my over-the-phone interview with Tamara Moore, I drive to Justine Durrell’s home in Burke, Virginia. The phone interview was a waste of time, but for good reason. Tamara seems like a good girl.

I have to hand it to Edgar, ’cause he opened up a few doors in this investigation for me. Who knows? It might have been easier for Detective Caine if he’d known about Edgar when Miriam first disappeared. But then, like I said, the good cops (and I think Caine falls into that category) have rules. I have a feeling that going head-to-head with a wannabe tough boy like Edgar in a regular interview setting would not have worked as well. Don’t get me wrong. I know a few good cops who still go old-school like I did with Edgar, but not necessarily to my kind of extreme. I admit I do get carried away sometimes.

Justine Durrell’s mother is wearing running shoes and a workout outfit. It’s a bit too tight around the thighs and ass, but I get the impression she likes that kind of attention.

She walks me to the living room, but doesn’t offer me a seat.

In a sharp tone, she calls out, “Justine, get down here. That investigator’s here to talk to you.”

The living room is spacious, a bit too open, so I ask, “Would you mind if I interview your daughter in the den, maybe in private? It’s totally up to you. It’s just that some of the information concerning the missing girl is something I’d like to share with your daughter alone.”

“I don’t care where you interview her. I’m going on a run. And see if you can scare some sense into her while you’re at it. I don’t know what to do anymore, and you look like a man who knows how to scare someone.”

“I’ll have a talk with her,” I say, and then notice Justine making her way down a flight of stairs that leads from a second-floor hallway.

She’s tall and slim, maybe a little too slim. She’s wearing baggy gray boys’ sweatpants and a black T-shirt with sleeves that fall just over her bony shoulders.

“I’ll be back in forty-five minutes,” her mom advises, but I’m not sure who it’s directed at.

Justine plops herself on a large sofa.

“You the only one home?”

“My brother’s at a friend’s and my dad’s at work.”

“This’ll be a good spot to talk, then.”

I sit down, grab my notepad and the case jacket from my pack, and set the pack on the floor.

I ready my pen.

“You having problems with your mom?”