Two Girls Down(15)

Alice Vega wore black, all black. Black pants, black blouse, black boots, black canvas jacket. Her face had no discernible expression, but there was emotion there; Cap just couldn’t make it out.

“Is this still a good time for you?” she said.

“Yeah. It is. Let’s go around to my office.”

She nodded and smiled politely. Cap turned the lock on the doorknob and closed the front door, walked across the parched lawn to the driveway.

“You from around here?” he said over his shoulder.

“No,” she answered, and that was all.

Okay, Cap thought. Not a talker.

They walked up the concrete path alongside the house, Vega still behind him a step. Cap opened the door to his office and held it open.

“Where are you in from?” he said.

She stepped inside. He watched her eyes cover the room like headlights, and he suddenly felt embarrassed about the space. The IKEA furniture seemed old and shabby; the stained wood floor did not seem part of the house’s old-school charm; it just looked cheap.

“California,” she said.

“Wow, long way,” he said. “Would you like coffee?” he asked, pointing to the Krups in the corner.

“No, thanks.”

“Please sit.”

She sat on the edge of the chair, like she was ready to leave suddenly. Cap sat behind his desk and realized how messy it was, covered in folders.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Vega?” he said.



“I’ve been hired by the Brandt family. I understand you used to be a detective with the Denville Police. I need your help.”

Cap’s professional smile disappeared.

“Are you a PI?” he asked.

“I find missing persons.”

Cap nodded.

“I’m not sure how I can help you.”

“I met with Greg Hollows this morning.”

Cap moved the Brandon Haas folder on his desk an inch to the left.

“And how is he?”

“Reluctant. He doesn’t want my help. Says he doesn’t need it.”

“I doubt that.”

“So do I,” said Vega. “It’s easier if I do this with the police. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah,” said Cap. “Easier, cheaper, quicker. I’m still not sure how I fit in here. You know I’m no longer with the police.”

“I do. Most information I can get. I have a guy who can get it for me. I don’t need to know how to find the girls’ father, or get video feeds—I have the full cooperation of Jamie Brandt and her family as of now. But there’s a piece I can’t get to.”

“Witness statements,” said Cap.

“Yes. I could get employees from local businesses, but the people in the parking lot, passersby; there’s no way I could get them all.”

She paused. Cap watched her eyes travel quickly to the corner of the room as she thought.

“I could get them. It would just take time.”

“Which you don’t have,” said Cap.

“Which I don’t have,” said Vega.

Cap smiled and tried to look casual. He sipped his cold coffee casually, to show Vega how much he didn’t care about the Brandt girls or the police department.

“Okay,” he said. “You seem like a resourceful person who’s done her homework. So you know all about me, right?”

“Some.”

“So you know that I ended my relationship with the Denville PD two and a half years ago, and it was not exactly what you’d call an amicable breakup.”



Cap waited for Vega to say something. Her face again a blank sheet.

“I don’t have witness statements, Ms. Vega,” said Cap. “I don’t have access to witness statements. I literally can’t walk into the station or else I violate the terms of my agreement with them, okay? What I’m telling you is you have a broken arm and you need a paramedic, not a guy in an alley with a box of Band-Aids.”

They were quiet. Vega cocked her head a small bit to the side and then reached for an inside pocket. Just for a second Cap felt his legs tense up, the back of his head tingle. Old reflex.

She pulled out a sheet of paper folded into quarters and unfolded it. She leaned forward on the tip of her chair and placed the paper on Cap’s desk so he could read it. It was a printed copy of one of the articles from the Trib. Cap forced a laugh.

“You know, I’ve made a great effort not to look at this stuff. I know you just met me, Ms. Vega, and I know you’d never guess this about me, but I don’t have the greatest self-esteem to begin with, and this just makes me feel bad about myself.”

Vega held her hand over the paper like it was a Ouija board.

“This says that you resigned less than twenty-four hours after this kid, Ron Samuels, died in police custody. Less than twenty-four hours. That makes me think you did it quick to make it go away, to avoid criminal or civil litigation. It says you were on track to become sergeant. In less than twenty-four hours, you decided to crash the career you’d been building your whole life without a fight. There’s only one reason anyone does that.”

“Why’s that?” said Cap.

“To protect someone. Probably a friend, colleague. Probably someone else was in the room when Ron Samuels died. Someone who made the wrong call, didn’t call an ambulance when he should have. Maybe there was negligence, maybe not. Sounds like the kid had a drug problem. But something happened in that room. If you were culpable, maybe you would have tried to negotiate at least to get some part of your pension, something. But you didn’t. Because you were protecting someone else.”