CHAPTER36
I WAS SITTINGat my desk the next morning, feeling a little tired after a night out with the girls. When I’d gotten home last night, Julie was already in bed but I lay down to chat with her for a few minutes. Then Joe and I did more than that once I lay down next to him in our bed. So I didn’t mind being a little on the sleepy side this morning.
So far, I’d evaluated a dozen tips that had come in overnight about the still unidentified body from Marshall’s Beach. It seemed like the Duke of the Tenderloin had been working overtime, showing people the image of the woman who had washed up on the beach.
None of the tips amounted to anything. Most people were well-intentioned. Some of the tipsters said the digital composite of the woman from the beach looked like someone they knew. In each case I was able to look up on the internet the women they thought might be my victim. None of them were even close. The missing persons notice on one young woman said that she was five foot eleven. My victim was five foot two.
Some tips came from the kind of ass who liked to see the police run around in circles. One was just a comment that said, “I wish this was a cop instead. You guys deserve to wash up on a beach.”
Lovely.I hoped the tipster never needed help from the police.
It was midmorning when Rich Conklin came over to my desk.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I’ve been visiting shelters, and one of the workers I met just told me about a beautiful young woman who’s staying in their shelter.”
“That’s nice that you’re keeping tabs on all the attractive women in the city.”
“Funny. But she fits the description of the girls you’ve been looking at who were either murdered or went missing. And”—he made a real show of his big reveal—“apparently a tall, good-looking man tried to convince her to come with him yesterday. She hid from him in a museum and then decided she needed to find a safe place to stay. I say it’s worth a visit to the shelter to speak to this woman.”
“I agree with you, Inspector Conklin.”
“She may not be interested in talking with us. But I think we have to give it a shot.”
Less than a half hour later, we were at a run-down shelter operated by a mishmash of city agencies and private organizations. It was in the middle of the block on Oak Street, not far from Octavia Boulevard. I’d been here before over the years. It wasn’t the kind of place where I’d want to spend the night, but it was definitely better than living on the streets.
Rory Tuge, the woman who Conklin had talked to earlier, greeted him with a friendly smile and a little hug. Conklin seemedto appreciate the attention—she all but batted her pretty blue eyes at him—but to his credit, he didn’t reciprocate the flirtation.
We followed Rory through the shelter to a rear office, where a striking young woman sat in a ratty recliner with duct tape on the headrest. We introduced ourselves and asked her about the incident the day before. She didn’t give many details or seem all that interested in talking, but she did tell us that a man and a woman in a white SUV had approached her. They were older than her, but she wasn’t sure how old. They’d tried to get her to come with them. When she declined, the man grabbed her arm. Sasha threw water in his face, then rushed into the museum.
I said, “Can you help us out, Sasha, with a few details? Likeabouthow old was the man who approached you?”
Sasha screwed up her pretty face and said, “I don’t know. He was kind of older.” She looked up at Conklin and said, “I guess he was about your age.” Then she looked at me and said, “Not as old as you.”
I’d heard worse from people whomeantto insult me, but I wasn’t going to let the comment throw me off this interview. “You said he had a woman with him. What’d she look like?”
“I guess she was a little younger. She was pretty in an athletic kind of way. Broad shoulders, not much body fat—you know the type.”
“Hair?” Conklin wondered.
“Dark. Not that long, but not short either.”
I asked, “Did you notice if the man had a scar on his face?”
“What kind of scar?”
“Just a faint one that ran down the left side of his face. You could see it in his eyebrow.”
Sasha shook her head. “I just want to go home, back to Denver. I didn’t know the cops were going to come talk to me when I told the people here I was too scared to stay on the street. I really don’t want to get involved. Look, the man was tall and pretty good-looking. The woman didn’t really say much and she was also good-looking. They told me I could make some money and have fun doing it. What doyouthink they were trying to get me to do?”
Given what I was learning about human trafficking, there could’ve been a lot involved in the answer to that question.
I pulled out my phone and showed her a photo of Eric Snaff. If this was more than just a theory, I probably would’ve gone to the trouble of creating a photo lineup. For now, I just wanted to see if she even recognized him.
I held the phone out until Sasha actually took it from my hand so she could concentrate on it. I was in favor of giving up my phone if it meant this witness took this a little more seriously.
Finally, Sasha shook her head. “It sort of looks like the guy. I was a little freaked out while he was talking to me. It could be him. But I can’t be sure.”
