Spider's Web (3 page)

Annie shook her head. “No way to know for sure, but I didn’t find any traces to indicate she was. And her shorts and underwear were mostly intact.”

“Okay,” Jacob nodded, “Thanks, Annie.”

So far their Jane Doe remained anonymous.

As soon as they returned to the squad room, Mitchell made his way to the filing cabinet. He was not interested in anything inside; these days almost all their files could be accessed digitally. But the file cabinet held the important position of pedestal for the coffee maker. He made a pot of strong, black coffee and poured two cups, handing one to Jacob, who was already typing furiously on his keyboard. The coffee maker, a ridiculously expensive model bought a year before by Captain Fred Bailey, was the squad’s most treasured possession. As far as Mitchell was concerned, it was more important than any of the detectives.

He leaned against Jacob’s desk, one of four desks in the room. The Glenmore Park police department had four detectives and a captain. They’d once had a lieutenant as well but, due to budget problems, the chief had decided they could do without, a decision that still inspired controversy and criticism.

“Once you’re done writing the report, send it over to me and I’ll submit it to the system,” Mitchell said.

Jacob sent him a look overcome with gratitude. His relationship with the department’s internal report program was fraught with distrust and downright hatred. He sometimes reminded Mitchell of his mother, who called him regularly with complaints like, “The internet won’t play the song I clicked on the desktop,” or “I wrote an e-mail but then the computer made it disappear, and now I can’t find my pictures.”

Mitchell crossed the room to one of the whiteboards. The room had two of them, used for brainstorm sessions or to collect info on major cases. Both were currently covered with doodles, mostly of ducks. He erased all of it, ducks included, and wrote at the top:
Jane Doe Murder - Buttermere Park
. Then he headed to the captain’s office, to see if he was in and give him an update.

The captain’s office was adjacent to the squad room, separated by a rickety wooden door that was always on the verge of collapsing, due to the captain’s tendency to slam it when irritated. Mitchell knocked on the door several times, then went to sit by his computer. They could update Captain Bailey later.

Mitchell opened NAMUS, the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, on his computer. He searched for missing females in Massachusetts, and received five results from the past year. Two of those were aged forty six and eighty nine. Mitchell ignored those and focused on the rest. Of the three left, one was African-American, so he could ignore her as well. That left only two. Their descriptions didn’t exactly match the dead girl’s, but Mitchell had seen descriptions that ended up being wildly different from the actual person’s appearance. He preferred to check for himself.

He picked up the phone, then hesitated. After a second, he put down the phone, took out his mobile, and called Pauline instead. The call went unanswered, as it usually did. Pauline hardly ever answered calls during work, but he’d been hoping she’d answer anyway. It seemed as if they rarely had time together lately, with him working at all hours, and her going to night classes in the evening and working during the day. He missed talking to her. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much happier he was in those few minutes they managed to occasionally steal together. He was determined to try harder to find extra time to be with her, or at the very least talk to her.

A moment later, the inevitable message blinked on his phone screen.
Can’t talk now, sry
. She almost never shortened any word while texting except
Sorry
and
Goodnight
, which invariably turned to
sry
and
gnight
. He sighed and put the phone back in his pocket, then picked up his office phone and called the number on the first missing female.

A female voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Mitchell said. “I’m Detective Lonnie from the Glenmore Park police. Is this Mrs. Brody?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Mrs. Brody, I’m calling about your daughter, Patricia.”

“Why?” the woman asked. “What happened to Patricia?”

“I understand you reported her missing two months ago?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, we’ve had some recent developments and we think that we may have new leads—”

“My daughter returned two days after she went missing,” the woman said.

“Oh.” Mitchell drummed his fingers on the table. “Why didn’t you inform us?”

“We didn’t think about it.”

“I see. When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

“Fifteen minutes ago. She went to her boyfriend’s house.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, thanks Mrs. Brody. Next time, please—”

“It’s the same boyfriend she ran off with last time.”

“Yes, I see. Well, next time, please let us know if—”

“He’s up to no good, that one.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brody,” Mitchell said, and hung up.

He called the second number. A gruff, impatient voice answered the call.

“This is Bob Vern.”

“Hello, Mr. Vern, this is Detective Lonnie from the Glenmore Park police department. I understand that your daughter went missing three months ago.”

A moment’s pause. “Yeah?”

“Well, we’ve had some recent developments, and we wanted to check if they were relevant to your daughter’s case.”

“What kind of leads?” The voice became soft, more urgent. “Do you know where she is?”

“I would like to ask you some questions about your daughter.”

“Go ahead.”

“Her height, according to the missing person’s report, is—”

“Five foot six. She has red hair—kind of strawberry-blonde—and green eyes. A scar behind her right knee. Do you know where she is?”

Annie hadn’t mentioned a scar, and the Jane Doe’s hair was a dark red, not even close to blonde. Still, Mitchell had to ask: “Did she have a root canal at some point?”

“No.”

“You might not remember; it might have been when she was a small child. I—”

“I’m a dentist, Detective. I do all of my children’s dental procedures.”

“I see.”

“I take it that the new developments are no longer relevant?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I should have learned by now.” The man’s voice became bitter. “I should never get my hopes up when you people call. But I still do it, every time.”

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Vern.”

The man hung up.

“Missing persons is a dead end,” Mitchell told Jacob.

“Okay then,” Jacob said. “We’ll have to go with the car key.”

“Right,” Mitchell said. “If she lived near the park, she wouldn’t have taken the car key with her. She probably parked her car in the vicinity.”

“Sounds likely,” Jacob said, nodding. “Since there was no apartment key on the body, or anything else for that matter, she probably left whatever she was carrying in the car and went for a jog.”

“Okay, then,” Mitchell said, and opened a map of the city on his browser. “Here’s Buttermere Park. If she parked on the southern side, on Valley Vista Road, it would have been in one of those parking lots.” He pointed at two parking lots on the map. “There are no other parking spots on Vista Road.”

“Okay,” Jacob looked over Mitchell’s shoulder. “If she parked east of the park, she would have had to run through some unpleasant terrain to get there, so for now let’s assume her car’s not there. But she could have parked anywhere on Firestone Drive. It’s a quiet street, and there’s lots of parking space there.”

“If she did, and her car was left there for a week or more, it might have been towed.”

“Good point,” Jacob said. “Let’s start with that.”

He stood up and put on his hat.

“Where are you going?” Mitchell asked.

“To Traffic,” Jacob said.

“The Traffic division is inside the building,” Mitchell pointed out. “Why are you taking your hat?”

“It’s my hat,” Jacob said. He looked offended. “It’s part of my uniform. Do you go down to Traffic without your pants?”

“Sometimes,” Mitchell said. “When I want them to take me seriously.”

“Okay. Keep your pants on, please, I’ll be right back. That report is waiting on my computer to be submitted.”

When Jacob walked into the Traffic division, it was empty except for Sergeant Wallace. Jacob had known Wallace for a very long time. They’d joined the force the same year, and had been at the police academy together.

Though they were on friendly terms, Jacob secretly thought Wallace was one of the most useless cops in the station. He’d been useless at the academy, always one step from being discharged, and he continued to be useless once he became a cop. During their academy days, their entire room disliked Wallace because he snored at night. Each snore was a long, ever-changing buzzing sound, rising high, then dropping low, only to suddenly stop completely. Anyone nearby would feel himself tense up, certain Wallace’s breathing had finally stopped altogether, and he was about to choke to death. Seconds would tick by—one… two… three—and then another buzzing snore would emerge from the man’s twisted sinuses. It was a sound that was impossible to ignore, impossible to get used to, and it kept them awake at night when every second of sleep was precious. In the morning, when Wallace woke up, his bed was surrounded by shoes that had been lobbed at him during the night by his irate roommates.

Wallace was a medium-sized man, a bit chubby, with tanned brown skin. He was balding; unlike Jacob, however, he still had a crown of gray hair surrounding the bald spot on his head. His nose, despite the snoring, was quite wide and took up a large part of his face. As he saw Jacob, he smiled and leaned back; his belly made a brief appearance.

“Cooper!” he said. “What brings you to our humble division?”

“Hey, Wallace,” Jacob said. “I’m trying to locate a car. It might have been towed from Firestone Drive sometime.”

“Okey dokey,” Wallace said cheerfully. “Do you have a description or license plate?”

“No.”

“Do you know when it was towed?”

“I’m not even sure it was towed,” Jacob said.

“Well, that might make it difficult,” Wallace sighed. “I mean, there could have been dozens of cars towed from Firestone Drive in the past year. How will we be able to tell which one you’re looking for?”

“That’s my job,” Jacob said.

“It’s just that if I had a more accurate description, I could save you some time.”

“I know, but I don’t have a description.”

“Not even part of the license plate number? Maybe a witness saw some of the numbers. Sometimes people notice the strangest things. Did you ask the residents if they saw the car’s license plates?”

“No, Wallace. No license plate.”

“Tricky one, huh? Doesn’t make our life easier. Who knows how many cars were towed during—”

“Can you check?”

“Sure, sure. It might be difficult, but I’ll check. I mean… it would save us some time if you tried to find some details. But let’s see, maybe we can figure something out.” Wallace swiveled his chair to face his computer. “How is Melissa?”

“
Marissa
is fine,” Jacob said. “Doing great, actually.”

“Glad to hear, glad to hear,” Wallace said, typing slowly with one finger. He was twice divorced, and loved to tell anyone who cared to listen about his divorce woes. “A nice catch, that one.”

“Thanks. I think so too.”

“Okay, there were no cars towed from Firestone Drive in the past six months.”

“None?”

“Nope.”

Jacob was incredibly proud of himself for thanking Wallace politely. He returned to the squad room, dragged his chair to Mitchell’s desk and sat down. Mitchell was lost in thought, staring at the screen, and didn’t turn to look at him.

Mitchell always made Jacob feel a bit old. The young detective was thirty-two, which was
twenty four
years younger than Jacob. When Jacob had become a detective, Mitchell had been learning to draw with crayons instead of eat them. He was good-looking too, as Jacob had repeatedly been told by his wife, his teenage daughter, and several coworkers. He was tall, wide-shouldered, skinny and muscular, his skin tawny. Unlike Jacob, he had hair, and it was infuriatingly rich and thick.

And, of course, he had the Lonnie eyes, which all the Lonnie siblings were blessed with: jade green, deep, and perfect. Mitchell’s eyes gave a constant impression of wisdom and sorrow, the eyes of an old soul, well acquainted with humanity’s evil ways. Once, Mitchell had told Jacob this was no accident. He trimmed his eyebrows to make himself look more sorrowful. Jacob wouldn’t have known how to trim his eyebrows even if his beloved wife’s life depended on it.

Then again, as Jacob had repeatedly proven, he could outdrink the young shrimp three pints to one.

He cleared his throat. “No car towed from Firestone Drive in the past six months,” he said.

“Okay,” Mitchell said, turning to face him. “Let’s check the parking lots on Valley Vista Road.”

They got into their car and drove off. Traffic being what it was, it took them almost half an hour to get to the first parking lot on Valley Vista Road. There were fourteen cars parked there. The key matched the fourth one they checked, a battered blue Chevrolet Cobalt.

According to the registration, it belonged to Kendele Byers.

Chapter Three

Kendele Byers’s car had a small handbag in the trunk, and inside it Jacob and Mitchell found a keychain with two keys, and a wallet containing fifty-seven dollars, a driver’s license, and a credit card. They drove to the station, processed the car and its contents, and signed the keychain out.

Kendele’s address was registered as 76 Halifax Drive, which was an address in the Halifax Gardens Mobile Home Park, the city’s only trailer park. Though it housed some of Glenmore Park’s more impoverished citizens, Halifax Drive was a clean, quiet street. The trailers were small, beige-colored homes that hid their mobile infrastructure with white wooden bases. At first glance, they all looked the same. Same walls, same windows, same roofs. But on closer examination, the differences popped immediately. One was surrounded by circular pots containing various small trees. Another had custom-made red drapes on its windows. Most of them had tiny front yards, which ranged from
immaculately tidy
to
jungle of death
.