Two Girls Down(70)

“Sutton.”

“Sutton, yeah, don’t know him. Is that it, goddammit?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Vega said. Then she tapped the screen once and lifted her phone to her ear, making a call. “I guess he has a nickname though—some people call him Rascal?”

Brandt turned back to face her, dropped his phone to the floor, looked like he’d been rabbit-punched.



“Oh, you know him?” she said, genuinely curious to know. “I’m calling him right now. You want to talk to him?”

Brandt jumped for her, but she stood and hiked her jacket up to show him the gun.

“You owe him some money, right? Like ten K or something? All for what, poker and blackjack and horses.”

“Give me the phone, you bitch. Give me the fucking phone.”

Vega moved to the other side of the table, pushed her jacket back, rested her hand on the grip of the Springfield.

“It’s ringing,” she said, excited.

Brandt had begun wheezing, gripping handfuls of dirty wheat-colored hair.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Is this Rascal?” said Vega, suddenly calm and unamused. “You’re looking for a guy named Kevin Brandt, right? That cocksucker is standing right in front of me.”

“Please!”

“Hold on a second.” Vega lifted the phone away from her ear and tapped the screen with her thumb. “He’s on mute. Do you know where the girls are?”

“No, I swear,” said Brandt. “I haven’t seen them in eight years.”

“Do you know someone named Evan Marsh?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head to show her how serious he was about it.

“No one has contacted you within the last week about their whereabouts and you’ve observed nothing out of the ordinary that you can recall.”

“No, I swear. I promise.”

“Don’t promise,” said Vega, disgusted. “What are you, a fucking cub scout?”

Brandt gripped the end of the table and rubbed his nose, eyes, trying not to cry.

Vega touched her phone screen and began to speak.

“Sorry about that. Wrong guy. If I find him, I’ll call you.”

She hung up, put away her phone and gun. Brandt began to take choppy breaths through his mouth, still gripping the table’s edge.

“Okay, so listen,” said Vega. “You don’t need a lawyer. Tell the detectives everything they want to know and stay close for a few days. You step on a crack, I call Rascal.”



Brandt continued to gasp.

“Say you understand me,” said Vega, now annoyed.

“I understand you.”

“Great,” she said. “Have a seat.”

She turned to face the mirror, knowing it was Hollows and Caplan back there. She hoped she was looking at Caplan when she nodded, not at Hollows or into the space between them, but it was hard to tell. From this side, all she could see was her own face, unrecognizable in the room’s yellow light.

—

Kevin Brandt looked like a different guy when he came out of the room with Vega. Suddenly his clothes seemed ill-fitting, his skin pallid.

“You need anything else from Brandt?” said Vega, as if he weren’t next to her.

“We’ll get his contact information. We can arrange for you to stay at a motel the next few nights, Mr. Brandt. That all right?” said Junior.

Brandt nodded, said nothing.

“Detective Ralz can take care of that for you.”

Ralz led Brandt away quietly, and Cap couldn’t help smiling.

“Rascal?”

“That’s the man’s name,” Vega said, not smiling exactly, but her eyes suggesting that she might start soon.

Then she looked at her phone, and everything in her face hardened up.

“What?” said Cap.

“It’s Gail White,” said Vega. “She called me three, four times.”

Vega pressed the phone to her ear while she kept her eyes on Cap. He thought about how you never knew you were going to get good news before you heard it, but bad news you could always sense coming; you didn’t even have to guess.

—

Cap and Vega drove to Jamie Brandt’s parents’ house, where there were four news vans parked but none of their lights on and no correspondents or producers outside. Vega glanced at the numbers on the vans, everyone local, no cable. That meant word hadn’t got out yet, or there was just bigger news at the moment, which was possible.



Cap parked across the street, and they walked across quickly. Vega heard a van door slide open as she and Cap hit the driveway, past the line the reporters could cross.

“Miss Vega, any break in the case?” a man called to her.

Vega thought of bones and glass, and the front door opened, Maggie behind it.

“She’s been up there an hour,” she said.

“That them?” Gail called from the other room.

“Yeah, that’s them,” said Maggie, annoyed. “Who else you expecting?”

Vega and Cap came into the kitchen, where Gail stood wearing a down coat, the back door open.

“You’re the one she asked for, missy,” she said to Vega sourly. “Arlen put a ladder out, but she don’t want anyone up there.”