Silenced Page 10

  "She had?" I said, more than a little shocked by this tidbit, though not floored. I had suspected that the Memphis Regs didn’t take the girl’s disappearance as well seriously as they should have. Regulators. And Trey wondered why I despised them so. Their work was careless, sloppy and in most cases, totally ineffective.

  "Where she'd go the last time you guys brought her home?"

  "To her boyfriend's house where she'd stay for days while his parents were away," Captain Hanson said, his voice grave "The mayor would call us, all in an uproar. We'd go there, tell Amanda to go home, and, if need be, cuff and drag her back to the mayor's mansion."

  "She isn't with the boyfriend this time," I said as I watched Captain Hanson's eyes.

  "Unfortunately, no, Miss Lewis," he said, his eyes clicked with mine. "I have no idea where she is. I've had men all over this once they checked with the boyfriend's house and discovered she wasn't there."

  "Ransom?" I asked, already knowing the answer. No, Amanda’s disappearance had been going on for too long to be ransom. Usually kidnappers wanted their money fast. Four weeks was too long to wait.

  He shook his head no.

  "Tell me more about the boyfriend," I said, my mind wandering back to what I recalled from the file, which wasn’t much. I’d been given a sketch of him…birthday, age, race, nothing more.

  Picking Captain Hanson's brain wasn't the purpose of my visit. But, sometimes you had to eat humble pie to get what you wanted. The cigarette in my satchel belonged to someone and I needed to know whom. But not before I stroked a little ego.

  "Ah, Nathan Martindale," he said, now a smile on his face. It exposed teeth, but it was hardly kind. "I don't know much about him… know his parents were a creepy lot…"

  Something in the captain's tone gave me pause. It was a slight hesitation as if he didn't quite know what he was going to tell me. Almost a stutter, like the lie was on the tip of his tongue and he didn't want to say it.

  "You never thought to check him out, since, uh, your regs were at his home a lot?" I said, watching the captain's face. A thin layer of sweat had emerged onto his brow, but he still seemed collected and cool. The perspiration could’ve been a trick of the overhead lights.

  "Well, his parents weren't worth the money paid to the hospitals for their births," he said slowly, and oh, so carefully. "They were constantly in and out of the cradle…"

  "I see," I said and I really did see. The Memphis regs didn't take Amanda's disappearance seriously and despite what he said, he still didn't. Not really. His eyes kept scanning the table, except when he spoke to me, and then his eyes burrowed into mine.

  Captain Hanson was lying to me.

  But why?

  "Anyway, tell me what you need, Ms. Lewis," he said, calmly switching back to me with a small grin of relief. "The mayor said you'd be contacting me, but I had no idea it would be in person. Not that I’m not glad to having met you in the living, breathing, lovely flesh."

  Somehow his words didn't quite ring true to me, this last part. The earlier stuff seemed like half-truths, but this last sentence was directly bogus—except for his flattery. He knew I'd come and he knew what to tell me when I did arrived.

  Or it could be that I was naturally suspicious of everyone?

  "There is one thing. I wanted to ask if I could have the full support of the Memphis regulators," I said, using my poor-woman-in-distress act. “While here in the quad working my case. This should be a partnership between us.”

  "Sure," he said, a tiny bit of twang slipping into his speech. Up until now, he’d succeeded in keeping it out. "What can we do for you?"

  "I need this scanned," I said, taking out the discarded cigarette.

  It was my only clue, but I couldn't think of a better way to get to the regulators' scanners except to ask. Although Captain Hanson wasn't showing all his face cards, I had only one and I had to play it.

  "Not a problem, Miss Lewis. Any of my staff will assist you in whatever you need while here in Memphis. With any luck, we will bring Amanda home."

  With that he stood and we shook hands again. He waltzed back to his desk and made an announcement over the complex's audio system that I was assisting with an important case and every regulator was to give me aid if I needed it.

  "Now, to get down to the lab, go back past Herman and around to the far right hallway. Follow the signs down into the basement where the violation scene techs are located," he said, his eyes looking right through me. He seemed anxious for me to go.

  I took the stairs back down to the first floor, passed the desk clerk and around to the far right hallway, which was painted a pale yellow. As I walked, I recalled my days as a private in the army. The men in my division often referred to me as "nut buster" because of my inability to follow directions barked at me by a higher ranking official. Even back then, I had a tendancy to question. Once the drill sergeant and others realized that I could take any punishment they dished out, they started to punish the troops in my platoon, thus the busting of other privates' nuts.

  I rose haphazardly up the ranks and the further I got, the more bullshit I had to wade through. Some of it came from women, other times it came from men, but all of it wasn't worth the tag line printed on tee shirts.

  After a nice, casual workout a la bedroom with the commanding officer after breakfast, which later became a sexual harassment charge, I resigned from the district’s army with an honorable discharge. I had to wrangle the honorable part by showing digital pictures of the commanding officer sexually harassing me.

  Amazing the things one thinks about when around a bunch of people in uniforms.

  I reached the lab section of headquarters nestled down in the basement, a long, rectangular room that ran the width of the building. Here, scientists tried to help regulators solve violation efforts and piece together evidence to convict the guilty and to exonerate the victims of wrong place wrong time.

  I approached a bubbly blonde whose name tag read Buffy. Great and I couldn’t keep the bad blonde jokes out of my brain. No other scientists appeared to be in yet. She wore a white lab coat and her shiny ringlets up in a bun. A few curls escaped to surround her face like baby’sbreath and she smiled as soon as I approached.

  But the smile could’ve been for the regulator beside her. I couldn’t really tell.

  Standing a little ways behind her was a standard issued regulator. He stood erect, his eyes directed ahead at Buffy's computer screen. He wore a turquoise shirt and black slacks and hiking boots. His skinny arms folded across his chest and his legs stood apart. His starched, straight, uniform made my back hurt it was so damn perfect.

  "Buffy, can you scan this and tell me whose prints are on it?" he asked, his voice full of the commanding tone that reminded me of nails on chalkboards.

  "Yes, Derrick, but--"

  “Regulator Jameson, " he said, his tanned face a blank visage of stone, “Surely you can remember that.”

  "…give me a few hours. I've got other cases to do first," she said with a smile, ignoring his interruption and his harsh tone. She shot the same sincere smile as if he had proposed.

  Regulator Jameson reeked of that fresh-from-the-academy-hard-as-nails attitude that I absolutely detested in regulators, especially rookies. It’s what most often got them killed in the line of duty, but it could also help them fly up through the ranks…all the way to captain. Hanson had some residual of this on his personality; over time it had probably been honed to be less intrusive.

  This wasn't a good sign for me. I wanted to get the scan and get out of there.

  "I want it in an hour," he demanded, his voice amazingly militant. His tanned face stood out against his uniform.

  Where would you get a tan like that in the middle of March? Tanning bed? Fake tan in a can? Miami?

  Buffy stared back at him and then moved her bright green eyes to me. "Not until you tell me who this is," she snapped back at him. It wasn't malicious, but friendly, like a polite tap, not a hard whipping.

/>   Startled, Jameson blinked and glanced over at me. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Cybil Lewis," I said as I extended my hand, brushing past Jameson and forcing him to step back out of the limelight. Now that I was in Memphis, I felt free to toss the mayor's name around. It could open doors, sure, but I knew that it could also close some as well. I was guessing that here at regulator headquarters, it would open them.

  "I'm here on behalf of Mayor Christensen."

  "Oh yeah. You're the one Captain Hanson said to assist with whatever you need," he said, his eyes gleaming with entertainment or malice. He turned to Buffy and said in a snide voice, "She is here on behalf of Mayor Christensen."

  I could see the urge to smile. The corners of his mouth moved in the direction of a grin, but not completely.

  Warning bells sounded in my head, but I ignored them. I focused only on getting the prints and possible DNA from this cigarette. So what the guy was an ass? I met several of those a day.

  Buffy's eyes widened in awe. "You're Cybil Lewis!" She squealed like a teenager at a concert and I smirked.

  I didn’t get that from females too often.

  "You-you ousted Governor Price not too long ago with that excellent detecting of his plans to take over the Southwest Territories," Buffy rambled on, drawing a long, hard stare from Regulator Jameson. He went so far as to shush her, but she ignored him.

  "Yeah, but it happened a while ago. That’s not what brings me down here today. Could you run this through the scanner?" I asked, trying to steer her back to the task at hand. Celebrity didn’t really work for me. My ego was large enough as it was.

  "Absolutely!" she said and took the plastic container from my hand. With her latex covered hands, she lifted the lid. Next, she took a pair of tweezers and lifted the cigarette from its case and sniffed. "Smells like rain."

  I nodded, not wanting to give anything away and very aware of Jameson hovering over my shoulder. He didn't seem to be familiar with the Change case or my involvement in the violation charges against former Governor Price, but then he was really young.

  And he wasn't happy that Buffy was dropping everything, including his prints, to look at my cigarette.

  Jameson wasn't busy on the street or doing any investigation work because he stood at Buffy's station for a good twenty minutes, watching her work. Perhaps he didn’t trust her to do a good job. I had the feeling that he was hanging around to see my results. I didn’t know why I felt this way. Just my gut speaking.

  Buffy placed the cigarette onto a sleek scanner behind her after she had separated the outer edge where the person’s lip sucked nicotine. The scanner rested along the edge of her desk, surrounded by framed photographs and clocks. A baby blue butterfly clock that read the time as nine-thirty with its mechanical hands, while another square butterfly clock the color of taupe gave the time as ten o'clock.

  The flash of red light drew my attention back to the scanner as the laser beam drifted over the cigarette.

  I waited.

  Jameson waited with his arms folded across his chest.

  Buffy hummed a tune to herself.

  Finally, her computer screen flickered.

  "Well, here's the good news," Buffy said around a wad of bright pink gum. "There are fingerprints on the cigarette."

  "The bad news?" I asked, already not liking this.

  "They’re classified," she said with a sigh. "Somebody doesn't want us to know who this guy or gal is. It could be anyone. At this point, there’s no way for me to tell."

  “DNA from the saliva? Male or female, can you at least give me that?”

  Something, I needed something. Wonderful. Although the prints were classified, I knew that meant only one thing. Territories Alliance or regulator. It could be a T.A. agent was following me. No doubt in hopes that I would lead him to Trey. Or it could be the Memphis regulators spying on me for Mayor Christensen.

  Buffy swerved partially around in her chair, allowing to me get a good look at her profile.

  "Here, one second.” She clicked a few buttons on her touch screen, nails causing the plasma to ripple as she skipped across message windows, and then waited.

  The computer bell rang and Buffy clicked on the highlighted box. It enlarged to fill the screen with a report. “The person is definitely male, but I can’t give you any more than that. It’s red flagged and tapped up tight—classified.”

  I stood there staring at the file as if willing it to give me more.

  “Listen, I've got work to do. Anything else?" Buffy asked.

  As before it didn't sound rude or crass. Something about her voice made it amusing, even nice. Perhaps it was her smiling face that took the edge off her words.

  "Thank you," I said as I turned to leave. I walked a few paces and looked back to the pair.

  Jameson lingered around to discuss something with Buffy. He had his hand wrapped around her wrist and appeared to be jerking her arm as if to emphasize a point. Her clear complexion grew slightly pink, but she shook her head no to whatever he was saying to her.

  I thought to go back and set Regulator Jameson straight about putting his hands on women, but instead I found my way back to the front. I'd gotten what I came here for.

  "Ms. Lewis!" someone shouted as I passed the desk clerk.

  Hearing my name bellowed out across the room made my stomach tighten. It couldn't be good, that much was for sure. This day, like the ones before, was sinking into bad luck like a person who'd broken a mirror.

  "Yeah," I said as I stopped before the security trunks

  Herman, the desk clerk, gestured for me to come over to him. Half an hour ago, he didn't even look me in the face or acknowledge my presence except for grunts.

  Now he wanted to talk?

  I shoved my way through the packed intersection of the lobby up to his desk.

  "Yeah."

  "Call came in for you," he said as he handed me the earpiece and turned the telemonitor around for me to watch the picture. He clicked on the message and turned his attention to watching the prostitutes waiting outside the booking room. Must have been a raid or something where so many were scooped up at once. Why stay and peddle your wares here when they could do it freely in the Northwest Territories?

  Jane's face popped on screen. "This call is for Cybil Lewis. Meet me at the rental room by eleven; I've got something you should see. End call."

  Straight to the point. I glanced down at my watch, ten minutes after ten.

  "Thanks," I said as I handed back the earpiece to Herman, the bored watcher.

  He mumbled something I couldn't quite catch.

  I wandered out of headquarters knowing only a little more than I did before.

  Perhaps Jane had better luck with the boyfriend.

  “Tell me again why we’re here?” I said fighting to keep my voice pleasant in light of the bold wind blowing and slicing through my coat. The noonday sun had been erased from the welkin by a hoard of dark clouds.

  “Because,” Jane said as she squatted down next to a midnight-black aerocycle, her reflection gliding across the polished finish, “Aunt Belle paid us and because my cousin vanished.”

  "It is molecularly impossible for a human being to vanish," I said against the wind's fierce howl and suppressed the urge to squeal. The cold slipped in and poked my skin. "Ugh!"

  Jane raised an eyebrow and a queer look appeared on her face, before focusing her attention back on the muddy footprints that circled past her aunt's aerocycle, a slick, two-blaster vehicle with lots of chrome and leather, and on to the river’s edge.

  “You sure this is the spot?” I asked, irritated and a little bit cold. My toes were numb and I hopped from foot to foot trying to keep the blood flowing. Jane was doing more detecting than I was at the moment. The cold winds seemed to slip under my scabs and made them squirm and itch.

  I followed Jane carefully as she stepped over the frozen, muddy tracks into the brittle yellow grass. She squatted down and the blades were mashed under her black combat b
oots. She ran her fingers through the surrounding stiff stalks.

  Her sunglasses hid her eyes from me. “She was here. The boyfriend said this was her favorite spot to be when pissed off at her mom. He even said that she’d worn high heels when he last saw her. Look, there are holes in the mud.”

  I stared into the blackness of her sunglasses.

  “Okay, led on.”

  I saw the tiny, nearly nickel size holes in the mud. They weren’t the only tracks here, which meant our girl hadn’t been alone…if the marks belonged to our missing person at all. This could be many people's favorite spot.

  "It poured last night," I said. "How can there still be prints here?"

  "Because it only rained in our section of town and further east. Not over here on the west bank," Jane explained. "The meteorologist called them scattered rain showers."

  "But this could be anyone's hang out," I said back, playing devil's advocate because Jane didn't need to get her hopes up too high. Too much time had passed to think Amanda was still alive, but I too clung to hope anyway with the whispers of reality cutting through every now and again.

  “Mud, lipstick, and high heels,” Jane was saying as I focused through the frigid day. “She was here.”

  I nodded, relenting to her assumption. “The big question is: where is she now?”

  The Mississippi River, dark, dirty and draining, licked at the embankment like a lover with patience and gentleness. In slow, southern leisurely fashion, it made its way through the divided states, and on to the Gulf of Mexico, taking the deep, dreadful environmental garbage (literally) to a watery grave.

  Jane and I continued to scour the area with my mood plummeting further and further into the black. In this cold spell, I only wanted one thing. A warm bed and a hot cup of cocoa.

  Okay two things.

  We scanned the area in a one hundred-foot radius from the tracks.

  We found nothing, nothing that would point us in the direction of Amanda Christensen. Where did she go after she came here?