The Second Girl(74)

“You knew his name?” Davidson asks.

“Yeah, we talked a bit after he got shot.”

“Anything I need to know?” Millhoff asks.

“Only that he was a good officer.”

I know I should be pissed at the officer. He’s the reason I lost Miriam. But I still can’t give him up, because I don’t know the full story. It might be a good story, too. So I’ll allow him some honor in death and all the ceremony that’ll soon come with it.

I don’t think I’ll be staying for that pizza, though.





Sixty-five



My car’s a bullet-riddled mess. Both the passenger’s and the driver’s side windows are blown out. I stopped counting how many bullet holes the body and the front windshield sustained. And then there’s the interior. I notified my insurance company and had it towed to the dealership I bought it from. I’m carless, but that’s going to have to change, ’cause I need a car to work this case through.

I hoof it back home. It’s a straight shot to my house from the Third District, maybe a fifteen-, twenty-minute walk.

First thing I do when I get there is plug my phone in to get a charge. After that, I grab some gauze, antibiotic cream, medical tape, and alcohol out of a medical kit I keep in the kitchen. I return to the living room and turn on the television for the four o’clock news. The shooting is the top item. Every f*cking local channel. They got another Amber Alert out for Miriam, something that was already done months ago, but because of the shooting, her photo is all over the place. I’m hoping the cops find her. It’ll make it easier on me. I never wanted to work this shit in the first place.

The bite wound bled through my shirt, but fortunately not all the way through the sleeve of my jacket.

I roll up the sleeve. Her teeth cut dents into my skin like red dashes that make an oval shape. Not bad enough for stitches, but it’ll still sting like hell. It’s not the first time I’ve been bit, but I still worry about what disease might have creeped into my bloodstream.

I wince after I douse the wound with alcohol. Then I dab it with gauze until it’s clean, rub the cream on, and place fresh gauze over the wound and secure it with tape.

I’m seriously craving some blow about now, but I fight it. No amount of coke will keep my body from breaking down real soon.

When my phone has enough juice, I turn it on.

I got messages. Two of them are from Miriam’s father, and one is from Leslie.

I listen to her message first.

“It’s me. I saw the news and Miriam Gregory’s photo, so I’m sure you were involved in that terrible shooting. Just want to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you can. Bye.”

Damn, it feels good to hear her voice. I’m not ready to call her, though. As hard as it is right now, the way I’m feeling, I need to call Ian Gregory.

He answers the phone immediately. He sounds distraught, tired.

“Frank Marr here, Mr. Gregory.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner.”

“I spoke with the police. They filled me in as much as they could. I was hoping you might have something more.”

“What did they tell you?”

“That you and a police officer had my daughter, but there was a…a shooting and she ran away.”

“I’m afraid that’s about it. I want you to know that I didn’t find any sign that she might have been injured.”

“You mean like…blood?”

“Yes. Has anyone else contacted you?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry I let her go,” I tell him, realizing too late that you never apologize. It’s something I learned as a cop. Use any other words, but never apologize like it’s your fault. But then again, I’m not a cop anymore. “I’m going to find her.”

“Mr. Marr, maybe at this point I should leave it to the police. I mean, they seem to be really on top of it now.”

“Yes, they are. I can assure you of that, but I’m going to stay on it all the same. It’s on my time now, not yours.”

“I don’t expect you to do that.”

“I know, but it was made personal. The police will do what they do, and I’m going to do what I have to do.”

No response.

“Mr. Gregory?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“I’m going to find your girl.”

I hear him begin to sob.

“We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Yes, okay,” he says, a bit broken.

I disconnect, lean back on the sofa, and light a smoke.

What the f*ck did I just do, making a promise like that?





Sixty-six



After twenty-four hours missing, especially under these circumstances, the chances of finding Miriam again are slim to none. So I gotta get up and move.

Despite the fear of crashing, I get a little support from the white powdery substance.

I’m going to need a car. And I hate to say it, but I know just where to go.

I put on my new suit, go to my stash, and count out ten grand. I straighten the bills out as best as I can and fold them into thousand-dollar wads. I also grab one of my throwaway guns, a .45-caliber Taurus pistol. It’s not my style. I don’t like the shine on the steel. It’s too f*cking flashy, but maybe I need a little dazzle for what I might have to do. I also take my .38, another gun I have licensed, and then I make sure I got enough powder this time just in case I have to pull another all-nighter.