Blinking, I turn to look at the woman behind me. “Any sign of Mrs. Lockwood?” I ask quietly.
“I didn’t see her inside, and other than the rooms we just checked out, the rest of the place is just one big empty space.”
Nodding, I return to the woman who is now scrolling through TikTok on her cell, like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Ms. Ortega, we’re looking for Starling Lockwood. Have you seen her?”
Rolling her eyes, she scoffs. “No, the stupid bitch was supposed to meet me, but she never showed up.”
“So, you haven’t seen her today?” I ask.
“I said she didn’t show up, didn’t I?”
Slipping my cell from my pocket, I open the link Sebastian sent me and check the location. It’s here, the dot flashing exactly where we’re standing.
“Ms. Ortega, are you aware that after some kidnapping attempts, the entire Lockwood family all had tracking chips fitted beneath their skin, so should there ever be a situation where they went missing, law enforcement could find them?”
The woman’s expression never changes from bored disinterest as she shrugs. “Okay.”
“Ms. Ortega, can I show you something?”
Sighing like I’m the most annoying person in the world. Her shoulders slump and she drops her hand that’s still holding her cell to her side. “Will this be over soon if I agree?”
Stepping toward her, I hold my cell out in front of her.
“What am I looking at right now?” she asks.
“That flashing dot is the current location of Starling Lockwood.”
“So, if you know where she is, why are you asking me?” she says dismissively.
“Because, Ms. Ortega, that dot is here.”
“Here?” she repeats.
“Can you open the trunk of your car, please, Ms. Ortega?”
“What? No, I can’t.”
“Is there something in there that you don’t want us to find?”
“No. But I know my rights. I don’t have to open it unless you have a warrant. Do you have a warrant?”
“Not yet. But I am willing to get one,” I advise her.
“While you’re wasting police time and funds, I’m leaving. If you want to talk to me again, you can contact my lawyers, Ortega, Ortega, and Beech.”
“Chief, I think I see a syringe,” Hank says, his hands shielding his eyes as he looks through the Mercedes window and into the driver’s door pocket.
“Are you serious right now?” Courtney snarls. “There isn’t a syringe in my fucking car. This is bullshit. I’m recording you, this is police corruption,” she says, spinning her cell phone around to face her and talking into the camera. “My name is Courtney Ortega, and I’m being victimized by the Green Acres police right now. I refused their request to see inside my trunk, and now they’re trying to say that I have syringes in my car so they can useit as an excuse to search the rest of my vehicle. This is bullshit, and I’ll prove it.” Flipping the cell phone around so it’s facing us, she arches her eyebrow and purses her lips, her expression triumphant.
Shielding my own eyes, I press my face against the window.
“It’s just there, I almost missed it, but you can see the plunger part underneath what looks like gloves,” Hank says.
“Ms. Ortega, if you and your camera would like to come here, I’m sure your audience would be happy to see this,” I say, motioning for her to come forward. “If you’d like to look through the window and down into the pocket on the inside of your door, we believe that to be a syringe.”
Spinning her cell around to face her again, she talks into the camera. “I want this recorded so that there’s evidence of this. I am not consenting to the police searching my vehicle. I’m going to personally open my door and prove that what they believe is a syringe is probably a pen or some shit. Again, I am not giving consent for the Green Acres police to search my vehicle.”
