Two Girls Down(65)

Cap looked at the three of them—Hollows, Ralz, and Vega—and realized they were all waiting for him, and also that it might be a nice thing to stop and take a little dip in the moment, but there was no time.

“We’re taking ten minutes, seeing if anything jumps for anyone. We’re looking for a type desperate enough to get past dealing or fencing or possession into kidnapping.”

“Okay,” said Junior, picking up a mugshot. Shaggy red-eyed stoner. “Revs Cleary, last time in was last year for speeding; we found marijuana in the car but just under thirty grams. He was in County for a month and released.”

Cap flipped through the file and handed it to Vega.

“Jason ‘Bent’ Boromir. Busted for possession of oxy, but the cognitively impaired prosecution couldn’t manage to prove that he had intent to sell. Apparently he had a couple thousand pills and ten boxes of commercial food service sandwich bags for his own personal use. Did just one year at Allenwood.”

Cap and Vega stared down at the photo—shaved head, teardrop tattoos. Cap handed her the paperwork.

“Harland DeMarco,” said Junior.

“I know this guy,” said Cap, remembering.

He held the picture in his hand. DeMarco was older than the rest, with white hair and tinted glasses, looked like he should have been at the other end of a craps table.

“I thought Forman got him,” said Cap.

“Forman did get him,” said Junior. “On back taxes. DeMarco lived in a new development, kept his stash in the damn wine cellar. The warrant said we could search the immediate premises, and his lawyer, some ringer from New York, got the jury to agree that the wine cellar didn’t count as immediate. We could have him on a felony. Instead we get back taxes.”



“Fuck me,” said Cap.

“Classic Denville clusterfuck,” said Junior.

Cap passed the file to Vega, said, “I can’t see him getting into kidnapping kids.”

“Why the hell not?” said Junior. “He’s got his hands in everything else from here to Harrisburg, why not kidnapping?”

“Junior,” said Cap. “Likelihood. Odds.”

Junior pawed at the ground with his foot.

“All right,” he said. “Then I say Bent could do it—he smokes a little meth himself; he’s pretty shithouse crazy. Revs, no—if we’re placing odds, no.”

“Why not?” said Cap.

“He’s a stoner, he has family money, and the only reason he deals is because he got kicked out of private school. I don’t like him for this.”

“John McKie,” said Vega, sliding a folder toward Cap.

She held on to the picture.

“Sure, McKie could do it,” said Junior. “Did a little time for assault and possession. And sexual assault, I think.”

“But not of a minor,” Cap said, reading.

“So what? We’re just looking for kidnapping, not abuse, right?”

“Right.”

“Caplan,” said Vega.

They all turned to her. She stared at John McKie’s photo, her eyes covering the page quickly, manically.

“Yeah?” said Cap.

“Look familiar?” she said, flipping the photo around.

He saw and thought, Goddamn yes it did, it really truly did.

—

It made Alyssa Moser smile, the mugshot.

“Yeah, I see it, sure,” she said. “And he’s having a good day, but still, you shouldn’t, you know, get your hopes up.”



“We understand,” said Cap. “We just want to see if this photo sparks anything at all in your uncle’s memory. We’re comfortable with long shots, Miss Moser.”

Alyssa shook out her shoulders and said, “Okay, then, let me go make sure he’s awake.”

She left them, went down a hall, into another hall; then Vega heard her speaking softly. She looked at a glass case full of plates and thin-stemmed glasses.

“You realize—” Cap started.

Vega held up her hand to him, said, “I realize.”

“You’re not even going to let me finish?”

“I’m not,” said Vega. “I realize.”

“Well, okay,” said Cap. “Miss Vega realizes.”

She started to smile, and Alyssa Moser returned.

“You can come in,” she said.

They followed her down the hall, into a room where an old man lay, propped up by pillows, his head thin and spotted.

“Uncle Roy, these are the folks I told you about. They’re trying to find those girls,” said Alyssa, her voice amplified.

Roy Eldridge stretched his neck, his head reaching toward them.

“Hello,” he said with some effort.

“Hi, Mr. Eldridge,” said Cap. “We’d like to show you some pictures, and if anyone looks familiar to you from last Saturday at Ridgewood Mall, or if you remember anything at all from that day, we’re hoping you could let us know. Does that sound all right?”

Eldridge wet his lips with his tongue, and Alyssa held a glass of water underneath him. His mouth found the straw, and he drank.

“Sure,” he said. “Shame…shame about those girls.”

“Yes, sir,” said Cap. “Now first, could you tell me, are these the girls you saw when you were leaving the mall last Saturday?”