Poor Little Bitch Girl (50 page)

A
t first light, Carolyn awoke from a half-sleep with a start. She was freezing, every bone in her body ached, her mouth was parched, and her foot was throbbing. Yet she felt elated because she’d managed to survive the night, and now she was almost certain she could find someone on the street to help her, or at least call the police on her behalf.

Gingerly she stood up, barely able to feel her feet. The rain had finally stopped, but it was still bitterly cold.

Was it safe to venture out of her hiding-place?

She still wasn’t sure.

* * *

Senator Gregory Stoneman left his house early on Thursday. He’d spent a restless night fretting about why Ramirez wanted to see him. Ramirez had said it was urgent and that it was something concerning his brother, so as Gregory approached the community center he was prepared for the worst.

If it was blackmail he’d pay up. He had no damn choice.

Carolyn was also on his mind.

Where was she? What had Benito done with her? He was supposed to have taken her for a few hours, shake her up until she lost the baby and then let her loose. It was now two days and there was no sign of her.

What if they’d harmed her? Could he be held responsible?

Jesus Christ!
WHAT HAD HE DONE
?

* * *

Florita swore her daughter to keep her silence when Rosa had confessed how she’d helped Benito kidnap the Senator’s woman. Florita crossed herself, sank to her knees, then in Spanish she began begging the Lord for her daughter’s redemption.

“You will never see that
desgraciado cabrón
again,” she wailed, when she was finished praying. “The moment you leave the hospital I send you to your cousin in Guatemala.”

“No, Mama, no,” Rosa protested. “What about my baby?”

“For your protection,” Florita admonished, wringing her hands. “I look after baby. You stay away. This a very bad thing you have done, Rosa.
Estúpido.
But God will watch over you,
mi amorcita
. He will be your savior.”

Rosa nodded. Mama was right. God had punished her for doing a bad thing. Now God would protect her.

* * *

Slowly Carolyn peered down the street, and in the light of day she saw what the neighborhood she’d been trapped in was really like. There were several vacant lots littered with garbage, rusting half-finished buildings, protected by broken construction fencing, packs of stray dogs, and a couple of neighborhood shops – one selling hardware, and the other a small market. Neither of them were open.

Across the street she spotted the man who’d exposed himself to her the night before. He was pushing his shopping cart filled to the brim with useless junk, and singing to himself. When he saw her, he waved as if they were old friends. His mangy dog trotted behind him, a sad little creature.

She thought about approaching him again, but then realized he wasn’t capable of helping her.

At least it was daylight and she was still alive, so was her baby. She patted her stomach, and set off down the street. There had to be a police station or a post office, somewhere official where she could get help.

Never again would she ignore a homeless person on the street, for if you didn’t have the money to make a phone call or buy a loaf of bread, you were utterly lost.

O
n the way to the precinct I opted to sit up front with the driver, leaving Bobby in the back with the Hendersons.

It was already eight a.m. in Washington, which meant it was five a.m. on the West Coast. I didn’t dare disturb Felix, but I had no qualms about waking my intern, Megan. Pulling out my cell from my purse, I did just that.

What a surprise, the girl was awake!

Thinking she was an early riser, I said, “Megan – getting up early is a very positive way to start the day. You’ll get so much extra work accomplished.”

“Actually,” Megan replied with a most unbusinesslike giggle, “I’m just getting home.”

Oh, great! Was she drunk? I couldn’t tell.

“I need a report on the Maestro case,” I said briskly. “I understand there’s been an arrest. Who is it?”

“Who’s what?” Megan asked, her words followed by a couple of random hiccups.

Ah yes, unfortunately my brainy little intern was totally wasted.

“Does the firm know who’s been arrested?” I said, all business.

“Dunno,” she replied, vague as usual.

“Find out and call me back,” I said tersely. “I’m on my cell.”

“Will do,” Megan said, followed by a series of muffled giggles.

Megan was not alone.

Half of me wished I was in L.A. finding out for myself what was going on. The other half knew I was exactly where I should be, trying to discover the truth about Carolyn’s disappearance.

D
etective Lennox was a tall man, lean and weathered, with knowing eyes, and a deep voice.

Bobby thought he looked like a man who knew what he was doing, and Denver’s initial reaction toward him was positive. To both of them he seemed like he was in charge.

“Mr and Mrs Henderson,” Detective Lennox said, ushering the distressed couple toward his office. “Please follow me.”

Bobby and Denver were right behind them.

Detective Lennox stopped for a moment and held up an authoritative hand. “And you are?”

“Friends,” Denver said quickly. “I’m a lawyer, Carolyn’s closest friend.”

“We have no need for a lawyer,” Detective Lennox said.

“She’s not here in an official capacity,” Bobby interrupted, asserting himself. “We’re both here to help find Carolyn.” Denver threw him an appreciative glance. “This is Denver Jones and I’m Bobby Santangelo,” he continued. “We’re ready to assist in any way we can.”

The detective nodded. The name Santangelo sounded familiar. When word had filtered down from the Chief to treat this case as high priority, he’d heard the name Santangelo mentioned somewhere along the way.

“Well,” Detective Lennox said unsurely, “if it’s okay with the Hendersons?”

“It is,” George said.

They all crowded into the detective’s cramped office. There were not enough chairs to go around, so Bobby took up a position by the door.

George Henderson spoke up. “Can you please bring us up to date,” he said in a strained voice.

“Yes, I can,” Detective Lennox said, linking his fingers together, making an arc. “Since yesterday there has been some progress.”

“Progress?” Clare Henderson said, her face lighting up. “Have you found my little girl? Is she all right?”

Detective Lennox cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mrs Henderson, we haven’t found her, but we do have an excellent lead. We’ve managed to trace several calls made from her cell phone – they’re all coming from the same area.”

“What area would that be?” Bobby asked.

“Not a very salubrious part of town, I’m afraid. We suspect that the calls are not being made by Carolyn. Right now we have people checking on the recipients of the calls.”

“Have you spoken to Senator Stoneman? And Carolyn’s co-workers?” Denver asked, thinking that for a cop he sure used a lot of fancy words.

“We have,” Detective Lennox replied, mildly annoyed that this beautiful young woman who claimed to be a lawyer, was speaking to him as if he was an amateur. Of course he’d interviewed everyone the missing girl had worked with! And her neighbors.

“How about her ex-boyfriend?” Denver asked.

“Nobody’s mentioned an ex-boyfriend.”

“His name is Matt London. I’m sure he’s listed.”

“Thank you, Miss Jones,” Detective Lennox said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “Always a bonus to get help on the job.”

Bobby glanced over at Denver. He had a strong feeling she was going to lose it. Attempting to diffuse the situation, he asked the detective to pinpoint the area the cell calls were coming from.

Detective Lennox said he could not divulge that information, but that he would keep them up to date on everything, and the best thing they could do was go back to their hotel and wait.

Bobby suspected that sitting and waiting was not about to fly with Denver, so as soon as they were outside the precinct, he walked to the corner and called Lucky again.

One thing about his mom, she was a real sport, and even though he was waking her, she promised to call him back once she had the information he needed. “Make it soon,” he urged.

“It’s me you’re talking to, Bobby,” she responded dryly.

Back at the hotel, the Hendersons went straight to their room. Bobby turned to Denver and suggested breakfast.

“I’m not hungry,” she said listlessly.

“You’ve got to eat.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you should stay strong.”

“For what?” she said with a helpless shrug. “So I can identify her body when they find it?”

“Don’t think like that,” he said, placing his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not the kind of girl who gives up.”

“How do you know?”

Bobby gave her a long, slow look. “I just do.”