He throws a loving smile Amanda’s way, then stands.
“We’ll be in the living room, sweetie,” the mother says, and they exit.
Mr. Meyer closes the sliding doors, but not all the way. I can see them as they walk into the living room.
“You’re not really a policeman,” she says directly.
“No, but I used to be, and you know what they say: ‘Once a cop, always a cop.’”
“But you don’t work for the police.”
“Sometimes I do, but I wasn’t then. I’m a private investigator now. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I needed you to trust me then.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“The important thing is you’re safe now, right?”
She nods her head a couple of times.
I’m not gonna question her about what she told the FBI. In connection to me, I mean. I gave Davidson a good story, and I’ll stick to that.
“Did your parents tell you why I wanted to talk to you?”
“Yes, about a missing girl.”
“Yes. She’s from a neighboring community and went to the same school as you. I’m working for her family, trying to find her.”
I unzip my briefcase, pull out my notebook and a case jacket I put together for Miriam Gregory. I open the file and take out the two photographs of her. I hand the head shot photo to Amanda and she takes it.
“Do you know her?”
“A policeman showed me another picture of her already.”
“Yes, but I’m working for the family. What did you tell the policeman who showed you the picture?”
“That I don’t know her, but I’ve seen her around.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Last year at school. I don’t remember when exactly, just that it was around school. I never talked to her or anything like that.”
“Do you know any of her friends?”
“No. I don’t think so, anyway.”
“Okay.” I take back the photo and slip it into the file.
I reach into the briefcase and pull out the yearbook. I open it to the marked spot for the older Edgar. Edgar Soto.
I hold it up with one hand and point to the photo. “What about him?”
Several nods and then, “That’s Edgar.”
Thirty-five
This is the kid that introduced you to those boys in DC?”
“Yes.”
“Did the FBI show you a picture of him, too?”
“Yes, it was a larger photograph, but looked like the same yearbook picture.”
That means he wasn’t arrested; they couldn’t get a juvie arrest photo. But it also means they’re onto him and for all I know already picked him up and charged him with some shit like conspiracy. Once the police have him, it’ll be next to impossible to talk to him, unless he gets out on bond, which I seriously doubt. Judges usually don’t fuck around with these types of cases. And if he’s a smart boy, he’ll know better than to talk and more than likely will lawyer up right away. They usually set up debriefings, but those take time. My case will quickly turn from freezing cold to dry ice.
“I’m sure they asked you all this before, but I have to ask some of the same questions. Do you know where Edgar lives?”
“No. He never took me to his house.”
Slick kid.
“Did you ever communicate with him through social media or texting?”
“No, I’d just see him at school.”
“He drove you to DC, though. What kinda car does he drive?”
“They asked me that, too. It’s light blue. I think like a new Camry or something. I always thought his parents were rich if they let him drive a car like that.”
“You see him driving that car a lot?”
My cell phone rings.
“Hold on,” I say, and pull it out to look at it.
Costello. I let it ring and go to voicemail. She’ll leave a message if it’s important.
“About his car, did he drive it a lot?”
“Yes. Sometimes he’d pick me up at the school bus stop and take me himself.”
“Was anyone else with him when he picked you up?”
“No.”
“Any of his buddies here ever go to DC with the two of you?”
“No. It was always just us.”
“Did you ever hang out with him around here, someplace he liked to take you?”
She hesitates.
“It’s all right. That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone.”
“He’d take me to this place off a path near South Run Park.”
“You’d go smoke weed there and stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Does he hang out there a lot, maybe with some of his buddies?”
“Yes. That’s where they would go to get high and sell their weed.”
“What days and around what time do they go out there?”
“It used to be every day right after school.”
“You said it was a path. Where’d he park the car?”
“At South Run Park, usually at the very far end of the parking lot.”
“Why were you nervous to tell me that? Did you used to sell too?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“Because we did other things together.”
“You and Edgar?”
“Yes.”
“You mean something more than just kissing?”