No Such Thing as a Free Ride (26 page)

Carla cocked her head, her beehive sticking out like an antenna. “Boy, you really are in a funk. Are you sure it’s just about the job? I mean, no offense, but you’re always in over your head and it’s never stopped you before. C’mon, Honey, you know you can tell me anything.”

I did know that. But this was something I was having a hard time admitting to myself, let alone anyone else. The truth is I’d left Nick’s with an ache in my heart that only grew stronger with time. He’d made it totally clear that no matter what we’d shared we’d never be more than friends. Only I wasn’t ready for someone to tell me to let him go… no matter how well intentioned the advice.

I smiled a big ol’ brave smile. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

“Honey,” Carla said, and I could tell she was looking right through me. “I understand a little about falling for the wrong person.”

“Carla, I never said anything thing about—”

“You didn’t have to. It’s Nick, isn’t it?”

I nodded miserably and waited for the lecture to begin.

Carla picked up her napkin and leaned across the table, dabbing the habanera sauce off my cheek. And then she surprised the crap out of me.

“When I first met your Uncle Frankie, he was just coming off of a three week bender. All my friends said I was crazy to get involved with a guy like that. He wasn’t exactly a saint, you know. And it wasn’t like he was looking for a girlfriend, either. In fact, he did everything he could to discourage me.”

I sat up, not sure where she was going with this. “So what made you hang in there? I’m really glad you did, by the way. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Frankie.”

“Feel free to remind him of that early and often, hon.”

I laughed and took another swig of beer.

“Bran, the point is your uncle’s and my relationship was anything but smooth sailing and there were times when I almost gave up. Only, I knew in my heart that he was the guy for me.”

“Are you saying I should fight for Nick?”

“Look, Honey, the last thing I want is to see you get hurt, and if you get involved with Santiago, it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion. But that’s what people said about Frankie. And I thank God every day I didn’t listen to them.”

“Carla, I’d hang in there forever if I thought I had a snowball’s chance in hell with Nick. But the truth is he doesn’t want me. Oh, jeez, I’m friggin’ pathetic.”

“No, you’re not, Hon. You’re one of the bravest, brightest people I know and if that man doesn’t want you it’s his loss. Now, look, I might not understand exactly what been going on between you two, but I do know you, kid. You don’t love lightly and you don’t trust easily. So if your heart is telling you he’s the one, I say go for it. Just don’t tell your uncle I said that,” she added quickly. “He’d absolutely kill me.”

*****

I woke up to the sound of my cell ringing. It was my mom.

“Dolores Giancola called. She said she ran into you in line at the
Ac-e-me
the other day and you were eating a Milky Way bar. She said you hadn’t even paid for it yet.
Really,
Brandy Renee, the way you eat is a disgrace.”

“Oh, should I have used a fork?”

My wisecrack was met with a sound that can only be described as “harrumph,” followed by, “Don’t be funny. You know what I mean.”

Note to self: Don’t joke with mom. The woman has absolutely no sense of humor
.

My “to do” list was full, so, after my mother ran through her litany of complaints (Florida is too humid, my father snores loud enough to wake the dead, and, my personal favorite, the “early bird specials” aren’t all that special) I hung up, dressed quickly, fed Rocky and Adrian and took the dog for a quick jog around the block. I only had to stop three times to catch my breath. Wow. My plan to get in shape was definitely beginning to pay off!

Driving back over the bridge, I got to Child Welfare just as it opened. An hour and a half later I was still waiting for the agency director to see me, because, as the receptionist suggested, oh, about 300 times, I probably should have called first.

I was about to give up when the director’s door opened and a grim faced man in his late 50’s beckoned me forward. Waving me into his office, he offered me a seat.

“Isaac Johnson,” he said, extending his hand in greeting. “Sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help you?”

“I understand how busy you are, Mr. Johnson, and I appreciate you agreeing to see me. I’ll try to be as brief as possible.” I took out the photo of the girl from the morgue and handed it to him. “I was told, in so many words, that this girl may have been a client of your agency.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Alexander—”

“Listen, I know what you’re going to say. Just, please, hear me out.” And once again I launched into my story. “I’m not asking you to divulge any state secrets. But I’m at my wit’s end here. I just need to know if you recognize this kid. I know it was a long time ago, but someone must remember her.”

“While I sympathize with you, there’s really nothing I can tell you.”

I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep or the realization that bureaucratic bullshit was robbing this girl and all the others of finding their possible killer, but suddenly it was too much for me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I swiped them away with my sleeve. If Eric could see me now I’d be back on the puff piece trail in a heartbeat. Well, I didn’t care. I’d
had it.

“Yeah. Okay, thanks, for nothin,’ Mr. Johnson.” I stood. “Y’know, I get it,” I said, my voice breaking. “You’re just doing your job. But in the mean time, there’s a girl out there who maybe we
can
save, only by the time I stop getting the runaround she’ll be just another statistic. Like
this
kid.”

Isaac Johnson stared hard at me, probably trying to figure out whether to call the cops or the psych ward. I raised my hands in the international “I surrender” sign. “I’m going. No need to walk me out.”

Johnson reached behind me and closed the door. “Sit down. Please.”

I sat down and waited.

“First of all, we have rules for a reason. Secondly, I’ve been in this business for over 30 years, and I can assure you it’s not for the great pay.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He shook his hand, waving off my apology. “Her street name was Blondie. She was one of our hardcore cases, fully immersed in street life. There are so many, you lose track sometimes, but this one—I’d often wondered what happened to her.”

He gave a small shrug. “Her case worker was a woman named Eleanor Grady.

“Is she here now? May I speak with her?”

“She doesn’t work here anymore.”

“Do you have a number where I can reach her?”

“Look, I’ve told you more than I should already. I’m not at liberty to give out personal information on former employees.”

I stood again. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Johnson.”

He opened the door and walked me out, stopping short at one of the cubicles. He hesitated for a beat and then addressed the man seated at the desk. “Harris, this is Brandy Alexander. She’s trying to get in touch with Eleanor Grady. Any idea what happened to her?”

“I haven’t seen Eleanor since she quit last year. I think she moved to Philly. You know who might still be in touch with her is Kathleen. She’s not in yet, but if you have a card, I’ll pass it along to her.”

“I’d really appreciate it,” I told him, digging around in my bag for my wallet.

I only had one left and I’d wrapped some used gum in it so I told him I’d call back later to speak to Kathleen.

On the way out I stopped in front of a large framed photo that was hanging on the wall in the entry. In the picture, Isaac Johnson was accepting some kind of award. Office workers were lined up behind him, smiling in the background.

My eyes settled on a middle aged woman standing to the left of Johnson. “I know her,” I said. “She works at New Beginnings, a homeless youth agency in Philadelphia.”

Isaac cast me an odd look. “I’m confused. If you already know how to get in touch with her, why would you need Kathleen to arrange it for you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s Eleanor Grady.”

*****

“Bobby! I’ve got to talk to you.”

“I’ll call you back. I’m in the middle of a crime scene.”

“But it’s important.”

“More important than a double homicide?”

“Those people are already dead. It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”

Bobby didn’t answer. He just hung up.
Unhhh!

I’d left Child Welfare with more questions than I’d started out with and drove back over the bridge again into Philly. On my way to the station I stopped at Staples and picked up a poster sized tablet and markers. Spreading the paper out on my office floor, I knelt down in front of it and began writing.

Eleanor Grady, AKA Ellen, is the case worker in Lindenwald for a girl who mysteriously disappears. The girl eventually turns up dead. She had been pregnant and, apparently, died from a heroin overdose. Not long after, Eleanor moves to Philly and begins work at another agency. A few months after she begins working there, another girl disappears under suspiciously similar circumstances. That girl is subsequently found and her death has the same M.O.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Another girl, this time, suffering a miscarriage, is found. The miscarriage is caused by what is assumed to be a self inflicted heroin overdose. Star disappears at around the same time. Then Star’s case worker, Olivia Bowen is murdered. Bowen worked at the same agency as Eleanor Grady.

Could it just be a weird set of coincidences that placed Grady in the wrong place at the wrong time or could she have orchestrated the deaths of these girls for profit? Did Bowen have information about Grady that Grady wanted suppressed? Is that why Bowen was killed?

But then what about the eyewitness who saw Bunny talking to Bowen just hours before she was killed? And what about Star? According to Crystal, Star was unable to have children. So if she wasn’t pregnant, what possible use could she have been to Grady?

I started a new page marked “Star,” and under that I wrote “Suspects” in big bold letters. I guess I was hoping that if I wrote big enough, the truth would miraculously appear on the page the way the Virgin Mary does sometimes on a tortilla or in a bleach stain on a pair of blue jeans.

“What are you doing on the floor?” I looked up to see Eric standing above me, dripping mayonnaise from a turkey sandwich onto my notes.

“Yo, Eric. Watch it.”

“What’s a Little Red?” he asked, bending down to get a closer look.

“Pimp. Charming guy. You’d like him.” I sat back on my heels and stretched the kinks out of my neck.

“Alexander, need I remind you that I’m the guy who signs your pay checks? You could show me a little more respect.”

“Eric, you do not sign my paycheck. But as long as you’re here, I could use someone to bounce some ideas off of.”

“Bounce away,” he said through a mouthful of turkey.

“Okay, remember that girl I told you about? The one who’d gone missing?”

“Yeah. How close are you to finding her?”

“I’m not sure.” I said, pointing to the chart paper. “It’s become a lot more complicated since the last time we talked.” I filled him in as best I could within the five minutes Eric’s attention span was good for.

“So, in other words,” he said when I was finished, “you’ve got one real crime—Olivia Bowen’s murder. The girls who died could all turn out to be eerie coincidences, and Star—” he shrugged. “She may have taken off on her own.”

“Yeah.” I conceded. “But I don’t think so. There are a lot of people out there who would be happy to see that kid dead. For starters, there’s her pimp. She was threatening to leave him. And then there’s this client of hers. He was the last known person to be seen with her. Maybe she was blackmailing him. Threatening to tell his wife. Except that his alibi appears to check out.

“Then there’s this psycho bitch named Bunny. She hated Star. She not too fond of me either, but that’s a whole nuther story. The thing is, I keep trying to put my efforts into finding Star, but all this other stuff keeps cropping up, and I can’t help but think it’s all interrelated somehow.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, polishing off his sandwich. “In the mean time, how’d you like a permanent gig as Godfrey the Traffic Dog? You got a stack of fan mail last week after you filled in for Kevin.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Okay, it was mostly from this one really old guy out in Langhorne who thought your portrayal had nuance. I’m not really sure what nuance is, but apparently Kevin doesn’t have any.”

“Um, let me sleep on this, okay, Eric?”

“Sure. Get back to me.”

*****

I spent the better part of the afternoon checking out Eleanor Grady on the Internet, but that was a dead end. No Facebook page, nothing on Classmates.com, no blogs about her political views, the latest novel she’d read or the status of her dog’s hysterectomy. The woman simply did not exist in Cyberspace.

Next, I called Cynthia Mott, only her receptionist said she was on vacation. It was just as well, seeing as I really didn’t know how receptive she’d be to my theory that her employee was a modern-day Jack the Ripper stalking pregnant prostitutes for profit.

The more I thought about it though, the more sense it made. Eleanor Grady had access to the girls’ files, so she’d be able to target the pregnant ones. Only it was doubtful that she worked alone. Did she have a partner within the child welfare system, and if so, how widespread was the corruption? The thought gave me a stomachache.

I put in another call to Bobby, but he didn’t pick up, so I took that as a sign from God that there really wasn’t any need to trouble DiCarlo with my speculations. It’s not that he wouldn’t take me seriously. I just wanted to be sure I knew what I was talking about before I asked him to put one more thing on his already overloaded plate.

I got out my James Garner
Things to Do
list and ran my eyes over it.
Talk to owner of garage Garner uses to see if anyone made a copy of his car key. Well, if I’m going to ask the guy if he employs car stealing, joy riding kidnappers, I should probably do it face to face. Okay, what’s next? Check out motel Garner supposedly took Star to on the afternoon of the day she disappeared.