Two Girls Down(90)

“Vega.”

It was Hollows in the doorway. He nodded at her, and she nodded at him, and the nods meant that she should follow him. They went to Traynor’s office, where Vega felt like she had missed something. It was Traynor behind his desk and Cap leaning on the wall, the Fed and the Fed’s boss, who was silver haired and looked like a businessman instead of an agent—tie clip, cuff links, clean lines on the pants. He was tired in the face though, thin but swollen skin under the eyes and jawline. He spoke quietly.

“This is Miss Vega?”

“Yes, sir,” said the Fed. “Miss Vega, this is my supervisor, Special Agent Gatlin.”

Gatlin stood and shook her hand, glanced and read the screen on the tablet in his other hand.

“Miss Vega, I understand you shot and wounded a key witness in this investigation, and now she is unresponsive?”

He did that question-mark ending, reserved for lawyers and teenage girls. It was difficult to know if he actually wanted an answer. He closed the cover on his tablet.



“That’s not the ideal outcome,” he said to her, as if they were the only two in the room. “I imagine you’ll have to appear before a grand jury at some point.”

“Is this really your jurisdiction, sir?” said Cap, agitated.

“Caplan—” said Traynor.

The Fed rubbed his eyes.

“No, let’s just hold on,” said Cap, coming off the wall. “You’re coming in here and threatening my partner with indictment after she acted in self-defense and defense of a minor. We don’t need that kind of help. She doesn’t give a shit if she goes before a grand jury. She doesn’t give a shit if she goes to jail.”

Gatlin smiled thoughtfully, like he was doing math in his head, and said, “What a relief that must be.”

“Yes, it is,” said Cap. He patted his hand over the middle of his chest, flattening an invisible tie. “It’s fucking heavenly. So, sir, do you have anything you can bring to this case, or did you just come here to slap us on the wrist? Because if that’s the case, however much the Bureau paid for your plane ticket, it seems like too much.”

Vega knew he was tired, could hear the cords straining in his throat, could see his eyes watering as he got more and more pissed off.

For just a second, the room was quiet and airless, and in that peculiar space Vega thought of him unclasping her bra and wondered if he could do it with one hand.

Traynor coughed as an intro and said, “Sir, we’ve all been working round the clock here, and I think what Mr. Caplan is getting at is we’ve made it a point not to get caught up in digressions. Do you have anything new for us?”

“Just one thing,” Gatlin said, not angry, no longer bemused.

Vega got the impression nothing moved him much in any direction.

He opened his tablet again and tapped the screen. He showed it to Traynor but spoke to the room.

“We’ve been re-examining the Ashley Cahill and Sydney McKenna cases,” he began.

“Re-examining?” said Cap. “Aren’t they still open?”

Gatlin turned to him and poked his tongue around his cheek. Traynor touched one finger to his temple like he was about to tell the future. Vega felt a laugh shudder through her chest and throat; she kept her mouth shut tight.



“Yes, Mr. Caplan, they are open, just a bit chilly. We found one more connection—both Ashley and Sydney took ballet classes at small studios.”

“So did Kylie,” said Vega.

Everyone thought about it.

“Yes,” said Gatlin. “And all three of those studios used the same distributor—Moreland Athletics.”

“So are we talking to them?” said Traynor.

“We are,” said Gatlin. “We have a man there going through employee lists, looking at who has made deliveries or sales to all three locations.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to isolate Kylie Brandt’s first?” said Junior. “In the interest of time?”

“Can’t be too many guys who’ve worked there over four years, in deliveries and sales in those three areas,” said Vega.

“That’s exactly right. By looking at all three scenarios, Captain, we’ll actually narrow our suspect list,” Gatlin said.

“Moreland Athletics didn’t come up in the ballet teacher’s statement, far as I know,” said Traynor, standing. “While we’re waiting for lists, let’s cover it again, everyone who works there. The suspect profile is someone with substantial disposable income, probably male, probably Caucasian. Special Agent Gatlin, you and Special Agent Cartwright can accompany Captain Hollows to the location if you’d like to see it.”

“That’s fine,” said Gatlin, eyes on his tablet.

“Vega, Cap—Alex Chaney’s waiting for you.”

—

Chaney was pacing and gnawing his fingertips when they came in. He wheeled around and shut his eyes in relief when he saw them.

“Hey, you guys…could you guys tell them I didn’t have anything to do with this—you know I didn’t have anything to do with this, we talked about it, we had a—”

“Sit down, Alex,” said Cap.

He was past exhausted and anxious and was now feeling like he had felt when Nell was a newborn and he was working certain cases—awake but not awake, when coffee didn’t work anymore and it was just sugar he wanted, candy and soda.