Tuesday
Wee Hours
Fighting the urge to sleep, Keri drove by West Venice High. She'd heard rumors that there was a vigil going on. She parked near the front entrance and walked over. It was hard to miss. About forty students and teachers stood on the grassy clearing below the main steps, lighting candles, holding hands, and talking about Ashley. Some chatted quietly among themselves. Others spoke dramatically for the cameras from local stations that had set up shop onsite. A few uniformed officers stood off to the side, leaning against the hood of their black-and-white, taking it all in.
Keri moved among them as unobtrusively as possible. These people might be willing to talk, especially outside the intimidating confines of a police station. Maybe she could learn something of value from casual conversations that formal interviews might miss.
Ashley's third-period geometry teacher, Lex Hartley, a balding fifty-something potato of a man, said Ashley was a good kid, a normal kid, although he had to admit her grades had dropped lately.
"Tell me about Artie North."
Hartley looked surprised.
"Why? Is he involved?"
"I'm just following up on some rumors. Did you ever hear any rumors that he was extorting Ashley for sex?"
"Absolutely not. I've known Artie for five years. He's a good guy, a little lonely maybe. But he takes protecting these kids seriously."
"A month or so ago, did he get beat up?"
"Yeah. He has a second job doing security work down at a Metrolink maintenance yard. A couple of homeless guys attacked him when he was trying to get them off the grounds."
"That's what he told you?"
"Yes."
"How banged up was he?"
"I don't know…a purple eye, a busted lip."
In the ongoing war of conflicting stories between Artie North and Walker Lee, Keri wondered if she'd ever learn the truth.
She pressed on through the crowd, gathering snippets of information from forthcoming students.
A girl named Clarice Brown said that Ashley had been learning how to shoot a gun. She said it was for protection but wasn't clear on whether she was protecting herself or someone else. She quietly whispered that Ashley had been doing a lot of drugs lately. To get the money, she'd been taking her mother's jewelry out of the vault and pawning it.
Miranda Sanchez, the girl who originally saw Ashley enter the van, was there too. She said that a lot of the girls at school were jealous bitches who hated Ashley. They started all kinds of rumors. You never knew what was true about Ashley or what was totally bogus made-up crap spawned by haters. Personally, she liked Ashley.
A junior named Sean Ringer said that Ashley told him a couple of weeks ago that her dad, the senator, was in some kind of trouble. Ashley hadn't elaborated but seemed sincere when she said it, maybe even a little scared.
Out of the corner of her eye, Keri saw sudden movement in her direction. A reporter from KTLA had spotted her and was rushing over with a camera crew in tow. She turned her back, put on the baseball cap she'd kept in her back pocket for just this circumstance, and quickly weaved her way through the crowd, back toward the car. She heard a shouted question about thirty feet behind her.
"Detective Locke, is it true that the FBI has taken over the Ashley Penn investigation?"
She kept moving, saying nothing, walking as fast as she could without breaking into a run.
*
Back in the car on the way to the houseboat, Keri tried to process everything that had been thrown at her in the last few minutes.
Had the FBI taken over the investigation? She wanted to call Hillman but thought better of it at 3:30 in the morning.
She tried to sift rumor from fact. Ashley had bought a gun? Artie North had been beaten up by someone? Ashley was pawning jewelry? Senator Penn was in some kind of trouble?
Instead of getting solid leads, all she had now were more questions, almost none of which had easy answers. She realized too late that she'd only made things worse by going to the school. If she'd just gone straight home, she'd be asleep by now. Instead, she was driving through the middle-of-the-night Venice streets, currently populated by dealers, hookers, and their pimps. She was too exhausted to care about any of them. Besides, her head and rib still throbbed after her altercation with Auggie.
As she approached Windward Circle, only blocks from where Ashley had gone missing, Keri's thoughts turned to Evie. How could she help some random teenage girl when she couldn't even help her own daughter?
Then it hit her-Evie was a teenage girl herself now. That is, if she was alive.
Shut up! Don't even think that. How dare you? She's counting on you to find her, to save her. If you give up, how is she supposed to stay strong? I will find you, Evie. I will! Don't give up, baby. Mommy hasn't. I love you so much.
She shook herself out of it. This was no use. She had to stay focused. When this case was over she'd approach Jackson Cave, find some way to make him tell her about the Collector. She wasn't just some college professor anymore. She had the full resources of the LAPD at her disposal and she intended to use them. She would find this Collector, or die trying.
And that was when she saw her, right there at the corner of Windward and Main. It was Evie!
She'd seen enough age-progression computer renderings to recognize the similarities. The blonde girl on the corner in the tight black miniskirt had the exact same bone structure and skin color as her daughter. Yes, she was heavily made up and forced to wear a slinky top that was offensive on a girl her age. But she was a match.
Keri almost retched at the sight of the large, pasty white man beside her, his hand firmly resting on the small of her back. He was well past forty and easily six feet tall and 250 pounds. And he was clearly her pimp.
Keri slammed her foot on the brakes. The Prius fishtailed to a stop near the curb they stood on. She hopped out and hurried around the car.
"Evie!" she shouted.
The large man stepped forward to block her way.
She tried to shove him aside to get to her girl but he grabbed her hard by the right wrist.
"What do you think you're doing, you crazy bitch?"
Keri didn't even look at him. Her eyes were focused solely on Evie.
"You're going to want to take your hands off me, Jabba," she growled.
He squeezed her wrist even harder.
"Even middle-aged females don't get to touch the merchandise before negotiating," he said.
Keri realized that with him holding her right wrist, her weapon was inaccessible. He was lucky. Otherwise she would have already shot him.
She stopped pulling and he involuntarily loosened his grip. She knew she couldn't break free but she'd gotten him to lower his guard. She moved toward him and stomped on the top of his foot with her heel. He grunted and bent over but didn't let go. She swung around and clocked his now lowered head with her left elbow. He let go and stumbled backward.
She would have reached for her gun but her wrist felt weak and numb. She wasn't sure she could hold it, much less shoot it. Instead, she stepped toward him and kicked, hoping to use his backward momentum to knock him to the ground. She made good contact but he managed to grab her ankle as he fell and brought her down with him.
No longer underestimating her, the pimp immediately rolled over so that his entire weight was on top of her. He pressed his knees into her already tender ribs, causing her to cry out in pain. He reached down and wrapped his arms around her neck. His eyes were bright with fury and spittle dripped from his mouth down into her hair.
Keri sensed she only had a few seconds of consciousness left. She glanced over at Evie, who was standing unmoving and horrified on the curb. Her vision started to blur.
I'm not going out like this!
Keri forced herself to focus on the man on top of her. He was strong but also overconfident.
Use that.
With one swift, deft motion, she raised both hands in unison and jabbed her thumbs in both his wide open eyes. He howled and let go of her immediately. She wasted no time in reaching back and using all her strength to punch him in the Adam's apple. He gagged and coughed. As he opened his mouth to gasp for air, she slammed his chin up with the open base of her palm. She heard him scream and knew his teeth had slammed shut on his tongue.
She pushed him off and rolled over before stumbling to her feet. Before he could regroup, she kicked him in the back and he fell to the ground, splayed out on his stomach. She dropped on top of him, jamming her knee in the small of his back. Pulling out her handcuffs with one hand, she grabbed one of his arms, cuffed his wrist, and then secured it to the other. She stood up again and placed her foot on the back of his neck.
"Don't move, asshole," she told him, "or you'll be using a colostomy bag for life."
His body went slack and she could tell he wasn't going to put up any more of a fight. She allowed herself a long, deep breath before she pulled out her radio and called for backup. Finally, she turned to face Evie, who was still standing petrified under a streetlight.
It was only then, in the harsh light and up close, that she realized it wasn't Evie at all. In fact, other than being young, blonde, and white, they didn't really look that much alike.
Keri could feel a sob rising to her throat and forced it back down. She looked down at her radio and pretended to mess with one of the dials so the girl in front of her couldn't see the devastation in her eyes. When she was sure she could speak without her voice breaking, she looked up again and spoke.
"What's your name, honey?"
"Sky."
"No, your real name."
"I'm not supposed to-"
"Tell me your real name."
The girl sized up the man on the ground, as if expecting him to jump up and grab her by the throat, and then said, "Susan."
"What's your last name, Susan?"
"Granger."
"Susan Granger?"
"Yes."
"How old are you, Susan?"
"Fourteen."
"Fourteen? Did you run away from home?"
The girl's eyes watered up.
"Yes."
"Well, me and some other people are going to help you," Keri said. "Would you like that?"
The girl hesitated and then said, "Yeah."
"You won't have to worry about this guy anymore," Keri said. "He's done hurting you. Has he been making you have sex with men?"
The girl nodded.
"Is he making you take drugs?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, that's all over," Keri said. "We're going to get you somewhere safe, starting right now. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Trust me, you're safe now."
Two black-and-whites pulled up.
"The officers in one of these cars are going to take you somewhere safe for the night. You'll meet with a counselor in the morning. I'm going to give you my card and I want you to use it if you have any questions. I'm searching for a missing girl about your age right now. But once I find her I'm going to check back in with you to make sure you're all right, okay, Susan?"
The girl nodded and took the card.
As the officers led her away, Keri leaned in close to the pimp, still splayed out on the ground, and whispered, "It's taking everything I have right now to keep from shooting you in the back of the head. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
The man twisted his neck, looked at her, and said, "Screw you."
Despite her fatigue, Keri's body vibrated with rage. She stepped away from him without responding for fear of doing exactly what she'd promised him. The uniformed officers came over. As one grabbed the perp to put him in the car, Keri spoke to the other.
"Book him. Make sure he doesn't get his phone call for at least a few hours. I don't want him making bail before we can safely place the girl. I'll be in to write my report after I get a few hours' sleep."
She saw the other officer about to guide the pimp's head down into the back seat of the car and stepped over.
"Let me help with that," she offered, grabbing the man by the hair and slamming the side of his head against the side of the roof. "Oh, sorry, I slipped."
She headed back to her car, the sound of his curses in the distance serving as sweet music.
As she drove home, finally headed to the houseboat, she dialed a number she rarely called.
"Hello," a sleepy female voice said.
"It's Keri Locke. I need to talk to you."
"Now? It's four in the morning."
"Yes."
A pause, and then, "Okay."
