Chapter 9
Suds
Back at the home office, we eat a late lunch, and discuss the pros and cons of disclosing our intel to the Buffalo police. I say we should play our cards close to the vest, but Sam’s sense of righteousness wins out. She calls, asks to speak to the detective in charge, and is put on hold. Phone to her ear, she paces, pausing only to sip her coffee.
“Babe, chill.” My arm around her shoulder, I pull her to my body. However, I share her concern. How the fuck does a missing teenager turn into a murder investigation?
Reading my mind, her lashes lift. “You’re the one who took on this case. This is your fault, not mine.”
I mouth the words ‘danger-magnet’ real slow-like, to mess with her, and also, because it’s true.
Her snarky comeback must wait because the on-hold music comes to an end, replaced by an authoritative male voice. “Detective William O’Rourke. What can I do for you?”
She presses the speaker icon and lays the phone flat on the table. “Hello. I’m Sam Russo-Sutcliff, private investigator. My partner and I were hired to find Chrissy Bright. I spoke to your Officer Guppy last week.”
“Right.” Papers rustle. “You any relation to Police Chief Mike Russo?”
“He’s my dad.” Her family is a royal pain in my ass, but when name-dropping, they come in mighty handy.
“And is Ms. Bright with you?” His tone sounds friendly enough but I’m not buying it and thankfully, neither does my wife.
She sticks to the plan we laid out earlier, meant to show goodwill while sharing minimal information. “Here’s the thing. We tracked her from upstate to Manhattan. Then, she went into hiding. We believe she was driven to the city by a madam.”
“As in prostitute?”
Dumbass. What else would she mean?
My wife’s brows raise, no doubt surprised the locals haven’t yet discovered the University’s dirty secret. “Yeah, let me back up. Your dead collegiate had an escort service running on a UB server.”
“And did you bother to tell anyone?” His sarcasm makes me chuckle.Dude, you’re going at this all wrong.
As I predicted, Sam’s Brooklyn attitude rises to the surface. “Yeah, I did, for your information. Check with Officer Fish-head. I spoke with him a few days ago.”
“Send me the URL. I need to see it.”
“No can do. Akash took it down.” She wisely doesn’t mention how she pretended to be a cop and threatened to have him arrested.
“I see. When was the last time you spoke to him?”
As she takes a breath to answer, I press mute. “Make him tellyousomething of value first.”
She nods and toggles the silence button. “First, can I ask where the body was found? The manner of death?”
“I’m sorry. We haven’t released that to the public.”
Her mouth purses, no doubt wondering why it’s a secret and how she can find out. “Can you tell me why Chrissy’s a person of interest?”
“Witnesses said she was constantly butting heads with Patel. If you find her, you will call, or I’ll slap you with obstruction of justice so fast your head will spin.”
“No need. You’ll be the first to know.” Her tone says just the opposite and as she hangs up, she faces me.
“Dammit. Stupid kid. I’m hungry. Fucking diet.” She plops in a chair, thumbs her phone, and holds forth an image of our grinning son on Santa’s lap. “Mom’s spoiling Mikey rotten.”
“I do believe that’s a grandparent’s prerogative.” I kiss the top of her head, open the fridge, and extract the makings of breakfast.
After chopping up a pile of veggies, I sauté them in a miniscule amount of butter, and add a couple eggs. The result makes her eyes pop.
“Wow. You’ve been holding out on me. You’ve got mad omelet skills.”
