Two Girls Down(94)

She paused, shook her head, stared at the bag of candy in her hand.

“Go on,” said Cap.

“I still have to stop her from sucking on ketchup packets when we get hot dogs. She puts them in her pocket. It’s like a drug problem.”

She set the bag down on Junior’s desk.

“Do you think…they actually lured her with candy, like the stuff they used to tell us when we were kids?”

Cap swallowed and the candy went down rough—a collection of unchewed peanuts.

“This sounds a little more organized than that,” he said. “Which is good for us actually. Random’s usually harder to figure out.”

Jamie nodded. She picked out one M&M, bright unreal blue, and ate it. She closed her eyes and held it in her mouth for a good long time.

—

In the big blue conference room, Vega connected her laptop to a projector, and the image, split into four, appeared on the beige screen: the parking lot of the strip mall on Church Street; the western entrance where the ballet studio was visible, in between a shoe store and a juice bar; the eastern entrance; and the rear parking lot for trucks making deliveries.



The Fed and Traynor stood and stared, watching footage in black-and-white, people coming and going.

“How’d your guy get this so quickly?” said the Fed.

“He has a talent,” said Vega.

“Maybe he should come work for us,” said the Fed, glancing back at his boss, who sat and drew delicate slashes with his fingertip on his tablet.

“He’s an independent contractor,” said Vega. “How far you want to go back—six months?”

“Six months?” said Cap. “Come on.”

“Let’s start with one,” said Traynor. “Emerson?”

Em sat near the head of the table chugging an energy drink, surrounded by three officers still in their blues from their previous shifts.

“Yes, sir, we’ll each take a screen. Looking for a white male who shows up more than once, probably near or around the ballet studio.”

“Anything that stands out, anyone who looks familiar,” said Cap.

“The ballet instructor remember anything?” said Traynor, nodding to the Fed.

“We talked to her for about an hour,” said the Fed. “There’s a guy who works for Moreland—came in to measure mirrors a while back. She said she didn’t like the way he looked at her and some of the older girls.”

“Was Kylie one of the older girls?” said Cap.

“No. Oldest was twelve. But that may not make a material difference to a pedophile,” said the Fed. “Our man at Moreland is going through his records, trying to find the guy he sent to measure their mirrors—he’ll send it as soon as he has it.”

“Does he need someone to help him along?” said Junior, annoyed.

“I’m sure he’s capable, Captain,” said Traynor.

“There’s only nominal information in the McKenna and Cahill files about the ballet classes, so we should get the parents in here.”

“The McKennas are on their way now. Anything from neighboring businesses?” asked Traynor.

The Fed shook his head.



“Everyone’s got a story. You ask people enough questions, they start to think the UPS guy looks suspicious.”

“Vega?” said Traynor.

“Pastor was with Marsh at Alex Chaney’s the day Kylie was there. He didn’t realize it was Kylie—in his memory she only stood out because she was a little girl in a roomful of dopers. He thought she was Chaney’s kid sister or something,” she said, glancing at the video feed. “He remembers she told Marsh she wanted to be a movie star. And he asked her how old she was and where she went to school.”

“So he gives her his number?” said Cap. “That doesn’t seem plausible.”

Vega shrugged.

“Who cares,” she said softly, as if it were just the two of them in the room. “He knew enough about her to find her. Name, school. Denville.”

“We’ve got people canvassing the strip mall on Church,” said Traynor, charting maps in his head. “Detectives and lieutenants calling the parents of the kids in the ballet class. Let’s get prepared for the mirror man.”

“We can do the interview,” said Vega.

“No,” said Traynor definitively.

Vega stared at him, surprised, and Cap stiffened up, ready to fight. Really, Chief? she thought. Now we’re taking our dicks out?

Traynor swabbed at the air with his hands like they were windshield wipers, erasing it.

“It’ll take some time to get him IDed and in the house. Let’s put it to use. Sydney McKenna’s parents should be here soon. Cap, Vega—why don’t one of you talk to them?” he said.

“What about Ashley Cahill’s parents?” said Cap.

“They’re divorced. Father lives in Philly, but the mother still lives in Lebanon, right outside, so we’ll talk to her first and then if we need to, go to the father. I want all of this face-to-face.”

Vega got it. People thought more when you were in the room with them. They had better memories, consciences. And you could see their eyes.

Traynor continued: “Apparently Mom can’t leave the house, says she’s ill. Didn’t sound so stable when I spoke with her.”