Thirty-seven
I find the narrow bike path that winds its way through a wooded area, just about where Amanda’s hand-drawn map said it would be. The drawing shows where there’s a split in the path near a large boulder. Follow the path straight and it leads to Burke Lake. Take it to the left and it leads to another community development.
She has a little x that marks the spot when you go left. It should be on the right side of the path near a creek. Find two large fallen trees, one on top of the other, at the bank of the creek and that’s where they’d hang, sitting on one of the fallen tree trunks like it’s a bench and smoking up their weed.
I follow the directions, and sure enough, there it is. A small dirt path, probably made by thousands of footsteps, leads to the creek and the two fallen trees.
No one’s around.
I walk the short distance to check out the area. The ground surrounding the crisscrossed fallen trees is littered with empty beer cans, a couple of forties, a pint bottle of whiskey, and cigarette butts. The walking path I took to get here is nicely kept, but it seems this little area is a neglected spot. Probably because the park authority wouldn’t normally walk off the beaten path to find all this litter at my feet. This mess made by thoughtless teenagers is not so obvious unless you’re standing over it. Too many shrubs and trees to conceal it. That’s more than likely what attracted them here in the first place.
I head back to the car.
When I get there, I open the door. I sit for a second or two, and then I smash my head against the top of the steering wheel two times, very hard.
“Damn,” I mumble, and then feel the blood trickle down my forehead.
Thirty-eight
I smoke a couple of cigarettes laced with cocaine for the ride home. It amps me up, but not for long, ’cause it’s just a quick fix. I don’t even know why I do it. It’s a waste of good coke.
I call Leslie on her cell, but she doesn’t answer. I leave a message for her to give me a call back so we can talk. I try the private line at her office, but again no answer. Last, I call the main number, and Leah picks up.
“Hi, Leah. Can you put me through to Leslie?”
“I’m sorry, Frankie. She’s not available,” she says in a way that I know Leslie told her she doesn’t want to take my calls.
“Just tell her I called, all right? That it’s important I talk to her.”
“I will.”
I disconnect the cell and drop it in the center console.
“Idiot. Such a fucking idiot,” I tell myself.
The guilt sets in when I decide I can’t do any more work today.
I wouldn’t have the guilt if it were any other case.
When I get home I grab a beer from the fridge, settle myself on the sofa, and get ready for what I know will be the beginning of a serious binge.
Thirty-nine
I’ve been up all night.
I’ll need some help to make it through the rest of the day, so I replenish the supply I carry around, and then I put two grapefruit and some toast in my stomach.
I’m no rookie. I’ve gone off on binges before. My record’s three days, and I haven’t even hit twenty-four hours with this one. I’ve got some time before I start to shut down. My head feels muddled in a cloudy haze, though. This thing with Leslie’s driving me nuts. I want to call her again, but I know she won’t pick up. I need to fix it, but I also know I can’t. I convince myself that she’ll come around with time. Time has a way of doing that.
To start the workday off, I give Luna a call at his office to see what kind of information I can get from him.
“I need to know if Davidson picked up this kid yet,” I say after we exchange pleasantries.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“Because I’d have to fill him in on everything I’m doing and I’m not ready to go there yet. I just need to know so I don’t waste any more time trying to find this kid. He’s the only lead I got.”
“What’s his name again?”
“Edgar Soto.”
“Do you have a date of birth?”
“No, just that he’s seventeen, maybe eighteen, and lives in Virginia.”
“Hold on.”
I hear him typing on a keyboard and breathing into the phone.
After a minute, he says, “Nothing in the system, not even NCIC. If he just got locked up, it might not be in yet.”
“What about Live Scan for an arrest photo? That goes in right away.”
“Now you’re making me get out of my chair.”
“I’ll buy the rounds at Shelly’s next time we go.”
“You know I can get in a lot of trouble doing this shit for you, right?”
“Yeah, and that’s why I’m bribing you.”
“Hold on a second,” he says, and I hear the phone receiver hit the desk.
Almost five minutes later he returns with, “You still on?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” I say.
“There’s nothing for Edgar Soto in the system, but you know that doesn’t mean anything. If he was processed as a juvenile I wouldn’t see it here.”