Runaway (2 page)

Jan sighed and leaned over, pulling her pants leg up and strapping her backup gun to her ankle. She thought about shooting her way out of the room, so uncomfortable did the conversation feel. She looked at Gwen: her long body was lovely, her intelligent, pretty face marked only by the furrow in her brow.

“You could have said no,” Jan said.

Gwen closed her eyes for a moment. “Excellent suggestion. This was hardly worth the cab ride over. In fact, I could have had the cabbie wait for me on the street.”

Jan felt the familiar pressure start to build in her chest. Her body was sounding alarm bells, warning her of another impending loss.

“Tell me what you want me to do. Please.”

Gwen sat up and put her feet to the floor, staring at them for a moment before looking at Jan. “I don’t think so.”

“Does that mean we’re not going to see each other anymore?”

“If I thought you really cared one way or the other, I’d say I’m sorry.”

“But I do care.” Jan knelt in front of Gwen and tried to take her hands. Gwen pulled them away.

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it. You’re a complete mystery to me.”

“I thought you liked a little mystery,” Jan said, trying out a smile. It didn’t seem to do any good.

“I like mystery in books. Not in lovers. I’m not interested in tweezing out everything I need to know to have a real relationship with you.”

Jan stood and turned away, fighting off a familiar shame. She couldn’t seem to hold on to a woman for more than a month. It felt like holding a moth in her cupped hands.

“Just lock the door handle on the way out,” she said.

She quickly left the apartment, feeling a little sick, like she did every time women broke things off with her because she wasn’t who they wanted her to be. They didn’t know she wasn’t even who she said she was.

*

The Java Bucket was like a hundred other coffee shops that had opened in Chicago over the last decade or so, the main thing recommending it being its closeness to home and the fact that her partner, Peet, could usually find a parking spot when she came to meet Jan there. She took a seat near the window at the rear of the shop, the same table she and Peet sat at nearly every day.

The barista put her Americano on the table.

“How you doing today?” Elise was a quintessential urban coffee shop worker—tattooed, pierced, funky, and cute. Jan enjoyed flirting with her, but today she found it hard to keep her smile in place.

“I’m good.”

“Right.” Elise seemed unconvinced. “Do you need a pastry?”

“No, it’s not that bad.”

Elise stared at Jan for a moment and then moved back to her counter. She returned with a cupcake on a plate.

“Just in case,” she said. “It’s on the house.” Elise squeezed Jan’s shoulder and left her alone.

Jan saw Peet walk in. She would be hard to miss—nearly six feet tall and solidly built from her broad shoulders down through her sturdy, powerful legs. Her bright blond hair was cut in a modified Dutch Boy, which is what Peet looked like—a Dutch boy. Or a big ole lesbian, which is what Jan assumed she was until she met Peet’s husband, Kevin, and their three kids. Jan knew that everyone who met Peet also thought she was a lesbian, and Peet let them think what they wanted. She was solid in every way.

“I’m grabbing mine to go,” Peet said. “We need to get to the office.”

“What’s up?”

“Boss called. He wants to brief us on something before he leaves for the day.”

Jan sipped her coffee and frowned. “Why doesn’t he just tell us over the phone?”

“He likes to look you in the eye, Jan. It’s his management style.”

Jan wondered if Peet was serious about defending their boss, Victor “Little Junior” Begala. Six months ago, LJ had lured Peet away from the Chicago Police Department Homicide Division to join Titan Security and Investigations. Jan thought six months was long enough for her to realize that LJ had his head up his ass.

“I’ll tell you what his management style is,” she said. “Take credit for everything and never get your hands dirty. He’s a lazy, selfish bastard.”

Peet did not respond at first. The silence felt uncomfortable. “All I know is that I have better pay and benefits than I did with the police, I see my kids more, and I’m a little tired of hearing all the complaints from you.”

Jan sank a bit lower in her chair. She thought Peet liked her. She needed Peet to like her.

Peet looked at the time on her cell phone. “I’m headed to the car. You coming with?”

She looked at Jan as if they’d just been talking about the Bears game. If she was angry or annoyed, it didn’t show. Jan followed Peet out to her Volvo and got in, staying quiet as they headed toward the TSI offices in the River West area. Then the damn silence felt too uncomfortable. What if Peet requested a new partner?

“Do you think I’m a complainer?” Jan asked.

Peet smiled. “Half the time, I don’t know what to think of you. You’re a great investigator, but your attitude is kind of fucked up. Frankly, it’s a drag to listen to your bitching, which has gotten worse, by the way.”

Peet turned into the company parking lot behind a turn-of-the-century factory that had been converted into lofts and offices. They got out of the car and Jan stood still for a moment.

“You can smell the chocolate factory tonight,” Jan said.

“I hate that. It gives me a sweet tooth all shift.”

“Yeah, me too.” When they reached the building, Jan stopped just outside the front. “Wait up, Peet. I want to say something.”

“What’s that?”

“Just that if you want a new partner, I’d understand.”

“Oh, Christ. Did I say I wanted a new partner? You’re a great partner. I just don’t like negativity. There are a bunch of coppers like that—all wrapped up in their attitude. It’s all about how people are trying to fuck them over. I think you’ve got a hell of a lot more going on for you than those guys.” Peet turned and went into the building. Jan wanted to kick her ass and hug her at the same time.

LJ’s office was on the second floor. They trotted up the old wooden staircase rather than wait for the creaky elevator. Most of the administrative and executive offices were on one side of the second floor, with the investigation division at the other. LJ had the northeast corner office with a view of the river and a good slice of Chicago skyline. His assistant, Vivian, was packing her things to leave for the day as Jan and Peet approached. She looked exactly like the kind of woman LJ would want outside his office, young, curvy, dressed to kill. That she was ten times smarter than LJ was something he wasn’t clever enough to realize. Vivian must have found some way to make the job worthwhile, though Jan couldn’t imagine what it might be.

Vivian saw them coming. “He’s waiting for you.”

She made Jan as nervous as a fourteen-year-old boy, as if she were about to reach out and smother Jan with her breasts. She was so richly voluptuous and sure of herself that Jan felt ill-equipped to deal with her. It was like having Mae West as your office manager. If Vivian ever let her into her bed, Jan thought she could probably satisfy her. But she’d want to bring in her special toolbox and leave nothing to chance.

They walked into LJ’s office.

“There you are,” he said as if they were an hour late and not fifteen minutes early for their shift. “Sit down, already. We’ve got a lot to go over.”

LJ was a block of a man, broad-shouldered and muscular, but starting to fill out. Middle age and sloth were going to force him into a new wardrobe soon.

He turned to Peet. He always addressed her when the three of them met, had done so ever since Peet joined the company. It was clear he thought Peet’s background with the homicide police gave her more stature than Jan would ever have.

“What’s up, boss?” Peet asked.

“A buddy of mine sent a guy to us. Some North Shore executive whose daughter is missing. I need you to go up there right away to interview the parents.”

He passed a piece of paper across the desk.

“How long has she been missing? How old is she?” Jan asked.

“She’s sixteen and she’s been gone at least twenty-four hours,” he said. “That’s about all I know, other than he sounds like the sort of guy who needs to make things happen fast.”

“Well, it’s his daughter missing,” Peet said. “I think any parent would sound frantic.”

“No, it’s not like that, exactly. It’s more like he’s just pissed that she’s gone.”

“Has the girl run away before?” Jan asked.

LJ looked at her as if she were a little slow. “Didn’t I just say I don’t know anything else? You have to go up there and ask them. And find the girl, pronto. This guy is the CEO of some electronics manufacturer up there. If we impress him here we might pick up his worker comp business.”

Jan looked at the man’s name and address. Alan Harrington on Willow Road in Winnetka, one of the wealthy suburbs north of the city. Jan had worked quite a few missing teen cases in that area, and she wondered about the number of kids from there that she found on the city streets, dirty and drug-addled and still resistant to going back to a comfortable home. She understood running away from something bad, but her conception of a bad living situation was light years away from that of an upper middle class suburban kid.

“We’re still on for following the Wilson husband tonight?” Jan said.

Their plan for the evening had been to catch up on paperwork and then head out to the Lincoln Park address of Ron and Paula Wilson. Paula Wilson wanted proof that her husband was leaving their bed in the middle of the night to go have sex with another woman. She’d confronted him about his absences, but he said he had insomnia and driving was the only thing that made him feel sleepy. As if he were a baby. Jan and Peet spent four nights at the outset watching the house from the street, but he never went out. Peet thought Paula Wilson was paranoid. Jan thought Ron Wilson was just laying low.

LJ was standing now, clearly anxious to be on his way. “Let’s hope he heads out tonight. The wife has been calling me to complain, like it’s our fault the man’s not sneaking out to get a little.”

“Maybe he’s not,” Peet said. “He comes home every night for dinner, walks the dog, plays with the kids. I’m not convinced he’s cheating on her.”

“We’ll give it a few more days and then tell her to let it go. Now get out of here. The traffic on ninety-four is going to be a bear.”

*

Not everyone who lived in Winnetka was rich. Just a huge majority of them. The Harrington house was on the east side of Sheridan Road, just yards from Lake Michigan. It was built to look like an English manor home—quaint and enormous at the same time. Peet pulled into the semi-circular drive and parked behind a landscaping truck. A small army of gardeners was blasting the oak leaves blanketing the lawn, shouldering their leaf blowers as if they were weapons. Jan pulled the bell by the enormous wood door.

A woman in her early forties answered. She was thin in an anorexic-chic way, her angles and bones shown off in a heather gray knit sweater dress. She had a shawl scarf over her shoulders and pearl earrings on. She’d pulled her thick hair into a ponytail so tight it was stretching her skin away from her eyes. Either that or she’d had some very bad plastic surgery.

“Mrs. Harrington?” Peet said. “I’m Peet O’Malley and this is Jan Roberts. We’re both senior investigators at Titan Security. You were expecting us?”

“Yes, of course. Please come in.”

They followed her into a living room to the right of the front entryway. It was enormous, sumptuously decorated, and looked barely lived in. Jan sat in an uncomfortable Windsor chair. Peet took the other end of the plush sofa from Mrs. Harrington.

Mrs. Harrington leaned over and pulled a long brocaded cord that hung from the wall. “My husband stepped out for just a moment but will join us soon,” she said. She seemed to have a slight lisp. “May I offer you something to drink?”

“No, don’t get up,” Jan said. “We’re perfectly fine.”

A uniformed maid entered the room.

“It’s no trouble, I assure you,” Mrs. Harrington said. “What would you like?”

“Coffee,” said Peet.

“Coffee,” said Jan. “With cream.”

“Bring the coffee service, Eva.”

Peet opened her notebook and began. “Mrs. Harrington, we’d like to begin with some preliminaries before your husband arrives, if that’s all right with you.”

“Certainly.”

“Let’s start with a photograph of your daughter that we can take with us.”

Mrs. Harrington picked up her phone and went through a number of screens before handing it to Peet.

“This is the photo I gave the police this morning. It’s Maddy, just a few weeks ago. We’d promised her a new car for the school year, and this is just after her father had given her the keys.”

The girl standing next to the new Honda squinted as she faced the sun. Her blond hair was long and limp, her T-shirt and jeans standard teenage issue, though not as dressy as many girls would have chosen, and they hung loosely on her slender figure. She wore black Converse sneakers. She was dressed like a boy, but was unmistakably a girl, a slouchy, unhappy girl.

“If you could print this for us?” Peet said.

“I can e-mail this to you,” Mrs. Harrington said.

“Even better. Now, when did you discover that Maddy was missing?”

“This morning when our housekeeper asked whether she was here. Her bed didn’t look like it had been slept in, and we realized that neither of us had seen her since the night before last.”

“Are you saying that she may have gone missing as long as forty-eight hours ago?” Jan said.

“It’s hard to know exactly. Today is Tuesday, so it was this morning when Eva said something about not knowing that Maddy was out of town. I asked her what she was talking about, and she said she didn’t think anything about it yesterday because maybe Maddy had fallen asleep in front of the TV. She only watches in the dead of night, when no one else is awake. When Eva saw the untouched bed again this morning, she was curious. That’s when it occurred to me that I couldn’t remember actually seeing Maddy for a little while.”