Cassie changed lanes. “Gardner, how rare is this? Her waking up?”
“With her GCS score,” I said, “one in a hundred and eight thousand.”
“That’s amazing,” she said. “And you thanked him, right?” Her eyebrows arched. “You thanked all the nurses and doctors?”
I turned to her.Had I thanked anyone?
I pulled out my phone to write a note, and Cassie turned the rental into a small neighborhood of trailers and manufactured homes. The streets were wide, and the RVs were painted in pastel colors: soft pinks and Easter yellows. I glanced at the address, then pointed at a sky-blue manufactured home with a white vinyl lattice around the base.
“There,” I said.
Cassie parked the car, and we got out. Walked to the front doorand banged on it. It was a little after 7 a.m., and the street was quiet, but we heard movement inside. After a moment, a blond woman answered the door.
“Rebecca Nelson?” I asked.
“Uh-huh?”
“My name is Gardner Camden. This is my partner, Cassie Pardo.” I showed her my identification, and Cassie did the same.
The woman tucked a wavy bunch of hair behind her ear. She was in her late forties and dressed in a V-neck and sweats.
“We’re here to talk to you about your daughter, Melanie,” Cassie said.
On the way over, I’d noticed that Rebecca Nelson had been interviewed after Melanie had gone missing, but she had not been the one to report her daughter’s disappearance.
“What’s she done now?” she asked, her hand holding the edge of the door ajar, her body in the space in between.
“Do you mind if we come in?” Cassie asked.
“Place isn’t clean,” the mother said.
As she turned to me, I examined her face. She had a wide, almost square mouth and two moles the color of over-milked coffee, four millimeters to the left of her nose.
“When’s the last time you saw your daughter?” I asked.
“Over two years,” Rebecca Nelson said. “She left home when she turned of age.”
“No phone calls?”
“I talked to her on the phone once. But that was a while back. A month after she left. What do you want with her?”
“Does Melanie live by herself?” Cassie asked.
The woman’s head swiveled to Cassie, her face showing irritation that we were not answering her questions. “Your mother knowwhereyouare at all times, missy? Melanie ran away with a guy. Y’understand?”
It looked as if she might close the door on us, and I took out my notepad. “His name?”
“His Christian name?” She snorted. “Hell, I dunno. They call him D-O-G,” she said, spelling out each of the letters, one at a time.
“Dog?” Cassie repeated. “Is he a Georgia fan or something? From that area?”
“I don’t think he was studying at the university in Athens, if that’s your thought, hon. Listen. Melanie ran away with a pimp. It was clear to everyone except Mel what he did for business. And if you run away with a pimp, it’s only a matter of time before you work for one.”
“Eighteen months ago, the police came out here,” I said. “A friend had reported Melanie missing.”
“Yeah, I ’member that.” Rebecca Nelson waggled her eyebrows. They were so thin and reddish blond they nearly disappeared against her skin. “This good-looking Mexican cop talked to me. I told him the same thing as you. I got no idea where she is.”
“We were hoping you could look at some pictures of a man,” Cassie said. “See if he’s someone you recognize.”
