Girl Missing (3 page)

Again, Kat looked at Adam.

He had paled slightly, but he hadn’t moved. Neither did his gaze waver from the corpse. For a solid ten seconds he stared at Jane Doe, as though trying to reconstruct her frozen features into something alive, something familiar.

At last he let out a deep breath. Only then did Kat realize the man had been holding it. He looked across at her. In an utterly calm voice, he said, “I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.”

Then he turned and walked out of the room.

K
AT SHUT THE DRAWER AND FOLLOWED
Adam into the hall. “Wait. Mr. Quantrell.”

“I can’t help you. I don’t know who she is.”

“But you
thought
you knew. Didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what I thought.” He was striding toward the elevator, his long legs carrying him at a brisk pace.

“Why did she have your phone number?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it a business number? One the public might know?”

“No, it’s my home phone.”

“Then how did she get it?”

“I told you, I don’t know.” He reached the elevator and stabbed the
UP
button. “She’s a total stranger.”

“But you were afraid you knew her. That’s why you came down here.”

“I was doing my civic duty.” He shot her a look that said,
No more questions
.

Kat asked anyway. “Who did you think she was, Mr. Quantrell?”

He didn’t answer. He just regarded her with that impenetrable gaze.

“I want you to sign a statement,” she said. “And I need to know how to reach you. In case the police have more questions.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a card. “My home address,” he said, handing it to her.

She glanced at it:
11 FAIR WIND LANE, SURRY HEIGHTS
. Sykes had been correct about that phone prefix.

“You’ll have to talk to the police,” she said.

“Why?”

“Routine questions.”

“Is it a homicide or isn’t it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The doors slid open. “When you make up your mind, call me.”

She slipped into the elevator after him, and the doors shut behind her. “Look,” she said. “I have a dead body with no name. Now, I could
just call her Jane Doe and leave it at that. But somewhere, there’s someone who’s missing a sister or a daughter or a wife. I’d like to help them out, I really would.”

“Fingerprints.”

“I’ve done that.”

“Dental X-rays.”

“I’ve done that, too.”

“You sound capable. You don’t need my help.” The doors slid open and he stepped out. “It’s not as if I don’t care,” he said, leading her on a brisk chase down the hall, toward the reception area. “But I don’t see why I should get dragged into this, just because my number happens to be written in some—some restaurant matchbook. She could’ve gotten it anywhere. Stolen it—”

“I never told you it was from a restaurant.”

He halted and turned to her. “Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. I
know
I didn’t.”

He fell silent. Their gazes locked, both of them refusing to yield ground.
Even a guy as smooth as you are can slip up
, she thought with a dart of satisfaction.

“And I’m sure you’re wrong,” he said evenly. He turned and went into the reception area.

Sykes and Ratchet were standing by the front desk.

Sykes turned to Kat and said, “We got your message …” His gaze shifted to the man with her, and he reacted with surprise. “Mr. Quantrell. What brings you down to …” Suddenly he glanced back at Kat.

“It was his phone number, Lou,” said Kat. “But Mr. Quantrell says he doesn’t know the woman.”

“Talk to her, Sergeant,” said Adam. “Maybe you can convince Dr. Novak I’m not some ax murderer.”

Sykes laughed. “Novak giving you a hard time?”

“Since I can see you two already know each other,” said Kat in irritation, “I’ll just take Mr. Quantrell at his word.”

“I’m so relieved,” said Adam. “Now, if you’ll excuse me …” He gave Kat a brief nod. “Dr. Novak, it has been … interesting.” He turned to leave.

“Excuse me, Mr. Q.?” called Sykes. “A word, please.”

As the two men moved to a far corner of the room, Kat caught Adam’s glance. It said,
This has nothing to do with you
.

“We’ll see you downstairs, Lou,” Ratchet said. Then he gave Kat a nudge. “C’mon. You got any more of that god-awful coffee?”

She could take a hint. As she and Ratchet walked to the elevators, she looked over her shoulder. The two men were still in the corner, talking in low voices. Adam was facing her, and over the head of the shorter Sykes, he caught sight of her backward glance and returned it with a look of cool acknowledgment. The tension in his face was now gone; he was back in full control.

In the elevator she said, “Okay, Vince. Who is he?”

Ratchet shrugged. “Owns some pharmaceutical company. Cyrus, something or other.”

“Cygnus? He owns the
Cygnus
corporation?”

“Yeah, that’s it. He’s always in those society pages. You know, this or that black-tie affair. Surprised you haven’t heard of him.”

“I don’t read the society pages.”

“You should. Your ex was mentioned in them the other day. He was at some campaign benefit for the mayor. Had a nice-looking blonde on his arm.”

“That’s why I don’t read the society pages.”

“Oh.”

They got out of the elevator and headed to Kat’s office. The coffee machine was doing overtime today. The glass pot had already been emptied twice, and what was left in it now looked positively vile. She poured out a cup and handed it to Ratchet.

“How does Lou know Mr. Society?” she asked.

Ratchet frowned at the evil brew in his mug. “Some private thing. Quantrell asked Lou for a little police assistance. Something to do with his daughter.”

“Quantrell has a daughter?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“He didn’t strike me as the daddy type. Not a guy who’d let sticky little hands anywhere near his cashmere coat.”

Ratchet took a sip from the mug and winced. “Your coffee’s improved.”

“What sort of help did Lou give him?”

“Oh, the girl dropped out of sight or something. You’d have to ask Lou. It happened a while back, before we got paired up.”

“Was he working South Lexington?”

“Been on that beat for years. That’s where his partner went down. Drive-by. Then I lost mine in Watertown, and Lou got stuck with me. The
rest, as they say, is history.” He took another sip of coffee.

“Adam Quantrell doesn’t live anywhere near South Lexington.”

Ratchet laughed. “That’s for sure.”

“So why did he tap a South Lexington cop for help?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Lou?” Ratchet’s cell phone rang. Automatically he glanced down at the number on the display and sighed. “Ratchet here,” he said. “Yeah, what have you got for us now?”

Kat turned her attention to the stack of papers on her desk. They were the request forms to be sent with the body-fluid samples to the state lab. If she wanted to make the three o’clock pickup, she’d have to fill them out now. She sat down and began checking the appropriate boxes: gas chromatography/UC; immunoanalysis. Every test that might identify the drug that had killed Jane Doe.

She looked up at the sound of footsteps. Sykes walked in. “Sorry to brush you off,” he said. “It was sort of a personal matter for Mr. Quantrell.”

“So I heard.” She resumed filling out the forms.

He noticed the papers. “Is that for Jane Doe?”

“Courier comes by at three. I know you want quick answers.” She gathered up the slips, wrapped them around the test tubes, and stuffed it all in a lab envelope. “So here it is, off to the races.” She dropped the bundle into the basket marked
PICKUP
.

“Thought you were going to run some tests here.”

“I’ll do them when I do them. First, I’ve got deadlines on a few autopsy reports. Court dates coming up. And my ex has already sent me nasty messages over voice mail.”

Sykes laughed. “You and Ed still at each other’s throats?”

“Lou, love is fleeting. Contempt is forever.”

“I take it you’re not going to vote for him.”

“Actually, I think Ed’s got the right temperament for a DA. Don’t you agree he’s got that striking resemblance to a Doberman pinscher?” She went to the filing cabinet and began rummaging for papers. “Besides, Ed and the mayor deserve each other.”

“Hell,” grunted Ratchet, snapping shut the phone. “Now we’ll miss lunch.”

“What is it?” asked Sykes.

“We just got a call. They found another one. Female, no signs of trauma.”

Kat looked up from the file drawer. Ratchet was already scribbling in his notebook. “Another OD?” she asked.

“Probably. And my stomach’s already growling.” He kept writing in that matter-of-fact way of his.
Too many corpses, too many deaths, and this is what it does to us
, Kat thought.
A dead body means nothing more to us than a canceled lunch
.

“Where’s the vic?” she asked.

“South Lexington.”

“What part of South Lexington?”

Ratchet shut his notebook and looked up. “Same place we found the other one,” he said. “The Projects.”

Adam Quantrell walked briskly across the street, his shoulders hunched against the wind, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his raincoat. It was April already, but it felt like January. The wind was cutting, the trees skeletal; people on the street wore their winter pallor like masks.

He unlocked his Volvo, slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door.

He sat there for a moment, safely hidden behind tinted glass, relieved to be in a place where no one could read his face, divine his thoughts. It was cold inside; his breath misted the air. But the real chill came from within.

It wasn’t her. At least I should be thankful for that
.

He started the engine and guided the Volvo into city traffic. His first inclination was to head for Surry Heights and home. He should call his secretary and tell her he wouldn’t be in the office today. What he needed was a chance to regain his composure, something he’d lost when he’d first heard that doctor’s voice on his answering machine.

What was her name again? Novak. Yes, that was it. Vaguely he wondered what Dr. Novak’s first name was, thought it had to be something blunt and to-the-point, like the woman. She was a straight shooter; he appreciated that. What he hadn’t appreciated were her sharp eyes, her keen antennae. She’d seen far more than he’d intended to reveal.

He merged onto the freeway. Still half an
hour to Surry Heights. He wanted out of the city, out of all this gray and gloomy concrete.

Then he passed a highway sign that said:
SOUTH LEXINGTON, EXIT ½ MILE
.

What came next was a snap decision, a crazy impulse that rose purely out of guilt. He turned onto the ramp and followed the curve until it eased into South Lexington Avenue. Suddenly he was driving through a war zone. The area around the ME’s office had been shabby, but at least the buildings were occupied, the windows intact.

Here, on South Lexington, it was hard to imagine anything but rats residing behind all this red brick and shattered glass. He drove past empty warehouses and dead businesses, reminders of the city’s better days. Two miles south, beyond the abandoned Johan Weir tannery, he came to the Projects. He could see them from blocks away, those seven gray towers propped up against an equally gray sky.

They were relics from an earlier age, born of good intentions, but doomed by location and design. Built miles from any jobs, constructed of monolithic concrete, they looked more like prison towers than public housing. Even so, they remained occupied. He saw cars parked
on the road, clumps of people gathered on corners, a man huddled on his front stoop, a kid shooting baskets in an alley hoop. They all glanced up as Adam drove past, every pair of eyes taking note of this territorial incursion.

Adam drove another block, pulled over to the side, and parked in front of Building Five.

For an hour he sat in his car, watching the sidewalks, the alleys, the playground across the street. Mothers shuttled babies in strollers across broken glass. Young kids played hopscotch on the pavement.
Even here
, he thought,
life goes on
. He knew people were watching him; they always did.

Someone tapped on his window. He glanced out through the lightly tinted glass and saw a young woman. She had a wild mane of uncombed black hair, dark eyes, a white face heavily caked with makeup. Upon closer scrutiny, he realized it was just a young girl under all that rouge and powder.

Once again, she tapped on the window. He rolled it down a few inches.

“Hey, honey,” she said sweetly. “You lookin’ for me?”

“I’m looking for Maeve,” he said.

“Don’t know any Maeve. What about me?”

He smiled. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m open to anything. Indulge your fantasies.”

“I’m really not interested. Thank you.” He rolled up the window.

At once her smile transformed to a scowl. She muttered an obscenity, audible even through the closed glass, then she turned and walked away.