“How to shoot across a busy city street? No. But thinking outside the box, staying one step ahead . . . Absolutely.”
D.D. sighed, rubbed her temples. “Leaving the dogs behind, the notes on their collars. You think she lured Hector here. She was targeting him. Pretty fucking brilliant if you ask me. Not to mention cold. Very cold.”
“If it really was her running up the street,” I said carefully, because the description wasn’t a slam dunk.
“Why? What’s Roxy’s motive for targeting Hector? What aren’t you telling me?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I didn’t even know Hector’s name before today. I’m learning as I go, just like you are. But now that we’re here, considering all the possibilities . . . My first thought is revenge. Maybe you don’t think Hector has anything to do with the death of her mother and siblings. But you’re still learning about the home situation. Roxy lived it. Gotta think she’s better informed than you.”
D.D. made a face. “Great, so now I get to come down hard on a man allegedly grieving for the death of his son and nursing a bullet wound.”
“Gonna go vigilante?” I asked her. “Give up the BPD, join us on the wild side? Less paperwork.”
“Don’t tempt me. Do you know what kind of gun she has, smart-ass?”
“No, like I said—”
“You don’t recommend firearms for females. Great. Where is she?”
I blinked my eyes. “Beats me. If she was spotted running up the street . . . Surely someone’s on her trail?”
“That witness account of a girl fleeing came in a good five minutes after the shooting. By the time more uniforms arrived to work the street, she already had a decent head start. Patrols headed north, but you know how it is in a city. She could’ve gone in a million directions since then.”
“Or she has a bolt-hole.”
“A hiding spot? What makes you say that?”
“Can an inexperienced teenage girl really go unnoticed for this long while remaining on the streets? Even this—” I gestured to where the dogs had been tied up. “You and I were here two hours ago. The dogs were left, what, another hour before that. She could leave the notes, but she’d have no way of knowing when someone would find the dogs and when Hector would finally show up. If she really was using them as bait, then she’d have to stick somewhere close. How else would she know when her plan worked?”
“Not bad thinking,” D.D. murmured. “Not bad at all.”
We both started looking around. I dismissed the green space. It was one thing to use the tree for cover once Hector showed up. But to stand in one spot for hours before that? I looked for deep doorways where a person could lurk in the shadows. Or busy locations—the coffee shop, a little market across the street, some neighboring boutiques—where Roxanna could drift through, keeping her head down and pretending to shop, while all the while casting furtive glances across the street. But again, the number of cops patrolling the area, the mass of TVs and smartphones already broadcasting her picture, feeding the general public news. Surely someone would’ve caught on— Hey, doesn’t that girl look familiar to you?
D.D. got it first. While I was looking around, she’d looked up.
There, across the street, above the market. A bank of windows on the second floor with a large sign: For Lease.
“Vacant real estate, with a perfect view of the coffee shop. What do you think?” D.D. asked me.
“I would definitely break in there.”
“Roxanna as good as you at picking locks?”
“Only one way to find out. Are you going to tell me to stay behind?”
“What would be the point?”
I finally smiled. “Knew I’d grow on you.”
“Shut up, pay attention. We’re looking for a sixteen-year-old girl who may have shot her family, or at least her brother’s father. Frankly, I’m relying on your presence to distract her long enough not to kill us both.”
I couldn’t argue with that. We headed across the street, D.D.’s hand already in position on the butt of her weapon.
Chapter 15
D.D. KEPT FLORA AT HER back as they headed up the narrow stairs to the second floor of the building. She wasn’t a big fan of the woman because she wasn’t a big fan of people who colored outside the lines. But Flora had never shown any violent tendencies toward cops or innocent civilians. It was merely the would-be rapists, kidnappers, and killers who had to look out.
If only D.D. could place Roxanna Baez on that spectrum. Because right now it felt like the more she learned about the girl, the less she understood.
The steep stairs gave way to a larger open landing. One door to the left bore a string of last names. Maybe an accounting firm or bail bondsmen, for all D.D. knew. To the right was the vacant unit in question. It featured a row of windows allowing D.D. to peer in. Long rectangular space. No furniture, but divided in half by a blue-colored cubicle system that ran down the middle of the room. The open cubicles facing D.D. and Flora appeared empty. Every space on the other side of the central divider, however, remained an unseen mystery.
Flora was already at the door, inspecting the lock system.
“Gonna pick it?” D.D. asked her dryly.
“No need. It’s the punch-key kind used by most Realtors. We just need the right four numbers.”
As D.D. watched, Flora hit 1-2-3-4. Not a bad starting point, but D.D. had a better idea.
“I’d go with three-six-oh-six.”
Flora obeyed. The lock clicked open. She stared at D.D. “How’d you know?”
“Most companies program the systems with the last four digits of their Realtors’ cell phones. That way they can also track who’s been in and out of the property. Now look up.”
Where there was a smiling picture of a beautiful brunette with a crisp blue suit and a fat string of pearls. My name is Sandra Johnson, and I’m here to sell you a brand-new future! the poster proclaimed. Below the photo, the Realtor’s cell phone number had been written in with a thick black marker.
“Sure you don’t want to go vigilante?” Flora asked.
“Gee, I feel so honored. Now stand back. I’m the one with the shield and the gun. I go first. If all else fails . . .”
“I have powdered coffee creamer and I know how to use it.”
“What?”
“Look it up sometime.”
“God help me,” D.D. muttered, then pushed open the door and eased into the dusty room.
She paused first. In an area with limited visibility, it was always smart to use your other senses. What did she hear? The nervous breath of an intruder on the other side of the blue fabric divider? Creak of a floorboard as the person stepped back? Click of a hammer as an anxious teenager cocked her weapon?
Nothing. The faint whir of traffic noise from the street outside. That was it.
Smell? Dust. Disuse. A space that been empty for a while. Had to be incredibly expensive, this amount of commercial real estate in Brighton. Meaning it would take the right company with the right plan to finally put it under agreement. And until then . . . great hangout for a kid on the run, where she could remain tucked behind the dividers, out of sight of anyone coming up the stairs, while hunkering low enough not to be spotted from the street.
Chances were, the girl was long gone. If she had been here, waiting for Hector’s return and her opportunity to ambush him, then mission accomplished. She’d fled up the street, and this was all old news.
Some small prey, once flushed from their burrows, kept on running. Others instinctively doubled back and went to ground. More often than not, it was those rabbits that lived to see another day.
Meaning it was possible Roxanna had returned here, back to her safe place, which is why they couldn’t find any trace of her on the street. And even now, she was hunkered down in one of the empty cubicles. Backpack at her feet.
Gun held tight to her chest?