17
THE WHITE HOUSE
Slash
Wearing her brunette wig, non-prescription glasses, and forgettable clothes—a black collared shirt and black pants—Slash entered the Alexandria police station and flashed her FBI badge at the front desk officer. “Special Agent O’Reilly for Detective Flickinger.”
Not long after, a heavyset man with short hair and graying temples walked over, shook her hand. “I’m Flickinger. Come on back.”
At his desk, he pulled up the case file. “Wish I had more to tell ya. The first case—Julie Darden—she went missing five months ago. She danced at The Blue Suit club. Her sister, who lives in Dayton, called to report her missing. Said she wasn’t returning texts or answering her phone. Ms. Darden had no relatives in the area. I talked to two outta three roommates.” He paused to read his notes. “One said Miss Darden had been looking for a different job. The second hadn’t seen her in a coupla days, but they weren’t concerned.”
“Why’s that?” Slash asked.
“Their schedules were varied, plus two had boyfriends, and stayed with them. I checked with her employer, Karen—” he paused. “I can’t find her last name.”
“Woodside,” Slash said. “What did she say?”
“She hadn’t worked there long and she was still figuring things out.”
“What about Ms. Darden’s mom and dad?”
“Mom said she saw her at Christmas. Her daughter mentioned wanting to move to Hawaii. Dad took forever to return my call. Didn’t know anything.”
“Foul play?” Slash asked.
“If she had a boyfriend, no one knew about him,” the detective replied. “I checked with a couple of dancers at the club. They didn’t know who her regulars were. I asked one of the bartenders, but he said she was quiet. Did her job, didn’t hang around the bar. I can forward everything I have to you. I could use fresh eyes on this.”
Slash nodded. “You said Ms. Darden was your first missing person case at Blue Suit. Who else do you have?”
The detective pulled a different folder from his desk. “Felicia Jones, also a dancer, vanished four months ago.”
The detective had followed up with family, a few friends, and Karen Woodside. He had no leads for that case either.
“I’ve got nothing,” he said. “No signs of foul play, no boyfriends. I’ve got two women who work as exotic dancers at a club where the GM tells me turnover is high.”
“Did your crime scene dust for prints?” Slash asked.
“Yup. Nothing.” He leaned back. “You new to the area?”
“There are cameras in the club,” Slash replied, sticking with the cases. “Did you ask the GM if you could review the videos?”
“A lot of the guys at these clubs aren’t from around here,” Flickinger said. “They’re on business, looking for a little fun.”
“So, is that anoto the video surveillance?”
Flickinger’s eyes went flat. He reviewed his notes. “I didn’t ask on the first case, but I did on the second.”
Slash waited, but the detective didn’t say anything.
Ohmygod, really?
“Who did you ask about the cameras?” Slash asked, her patience growing thin.
“That woman, the manager.”
“And?”
“And what?”
