Costello shoots me the same kind of look Leah did when I walked into her office holding the girl’s hand. Must be an effect little girls have on people, or maybe it’s the effect I have, being seen holding the hand of a little girl with nothing but a suit jacket on.
Costello lifts herself out of the expensive ergonomic chair behind her desk, walks to the front of the desk, and leans her butt on the edge. She’s wearing a solid gray pencil skirt and a matching two-button blazer with a red button-down shirt. The skirt shows off her long legs, and if I weren’t on the verge of a mental crash, and holding this poor girl’s hand, I might feel my blood pumping itself in the right direction. The shirt she wears is one of her “go to” power shirts, usually reserved for an important court appearance. That’s probably why she didn’t answer the phone when I called. I’m crossing my fingers and hoping it was a matter she already took care of and not something she’s on standby for.
“You can let go of my hand now, Amanda.”
She does, but reluctantly. I can see her studying Costello, maybe feeling a bit more comfortable because of the comfortable office setting and Costello’s pleasant demeanor.
“Hi, Amanda,” she says.
“Hi.”
Costello gives me that same look, obviously waiting for an explanation.
I look at my wristwatch again. It’ll have to be the seriously condensed version.
I nod my head sideways and downward toward Amanda, a signal that it might be best to talk in private. We’ve worked together long enough that she gets it immediately.
“Amanda, do you like orange soda?”
She nods.
“I have another room here that I use for meetings. It has a television with cable. I’d like to take you there to wait with Miss Leah if that’s all right. I think we can find something good for you to watch on TV while Mr. Marr and I talk.”
She stands from her leaning position on the desk and offers Amanda her hand.
Amanda takes it.
Amanda looks at me, then turns to Costello. “Can Frankie come, too?”
“Yes, Frankie can, but he’ll have to leave you with Miss Leah while we talk in private.”
Amanda nods.
We walk out of her office and down a little hallway to the conference room.
A large rectangular mahogany table is in the center of the room. A conference phone sits at the left end. Three chairs are tucked under the table on each side, and one at each end. Other than a nineteen-inch flat screen affixed to a bracket in the right corner of the room and a large whiteboard with nothing written on it centered on the opposite wall to the left of the door, the room is devoid of anything that might be overly distracting.
“You can sit anywhere you want,” Costello tells her.
She doesn’t decide, so I walk in and pull out the chair at the end of the table closest to the TV.
“This one has the best view,” I say.
She walks toward me slowly and sits down.
Costello pushes a button on the phone.
“Yes, Miss Costello,” says Leah over the speaker.
“Would you come to the conference room, please? Oh, and bring an orange soda and whatever snacks you can find.”
“Be right there.”
I find the controller for the TV and push the power button. CNN pops on, with a panel discussion about the latest terrorist threat. I hit the channel button and stop on the Discovery Channel.
I hand the controller to Amanda.
“Here. You can watch what you want.”
She takes it and tucks it in both hands on her lap.
Leah arrives shortly thereafter carrying a medium-size wicker basket that contains assorted snacks—Snickers bars, granola bars, small bags of pretzels, potato chips, and Wheat Thins. Amanda grabs a bag of potato chips. I tell her I’ll be right back, then exit and walk to Costello’s office.
“What the hell’s with the little girl, Frankie, and who is she? And why does it look like your suit coat is the only item of clothing she’s wearing?”
“I’ve been working on this case I picked up couple of weeks ago. I was conducting a bit of surveillance on this house and there were exigent circumstances, so I had to go in. That’s when I found her.”
“Exigent circumstances? Don’t try to con me with that ‘exigent circumstances’ shit, Frankie. You know me better. What the hell is this about?”
“Damn, Leslie, I got in because it was necessary, and now there’s a little girl who’s been through all kinds of shit and has to get back to her family.”
“Okay, okay, tell me what’s going on.”
“I found her in this house on Kenyon Street. She was being held against her will, handcuffed to a chain in a bathroom. They shot her up with heroin, some other shit, raped her, I’m sure, although she won’t talk about that right now. I’m certain it’s some sort of gang-related thing, but she’s not a part of the gang. They were just trying to make her a part of it and probably would have had their way if I hadn’t gotten there. She’s scared to death. Didn’t even want to leave at first because they convinced her they’d kill her family if she ever escaped.”
“That poor girl. So why didn’t you call 911 and take her to a hospital? I don’t get why you’d bring her here.”