A dingy apartment on North Dotger.
The needle lifted, dropped as the thing slipped away.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
From nowhere, a comment by Slidell. Alice down the rabbit hole.
A name printed on a magazine. Alice Hamilton.
A name scribbled in a journal in a cellar. Alice Kimberly Hamilton.
The needle fired up and slapped over to the right.
CHAPTER 40
SAME DRILL.
I called Slidell. Got rolled to voicemail. Swore. Left a message that I hoped would goose his ass.
I called Ryan. Actually got him. Explained my theory. Asked him to check the evidence log from the house on de Sébastopol. To confirm.
Then I waited. Paced. Was my epiphany due to frustration? To the power of suggestion? A groundless leap triggered by a rabbit-hole quip?
No. I felt it in my soul.
When my cell finally rang, my whole body flinched. “Where the hell are you?” I barked.
A long moment.
“My cruiser.” Low and husky.
My agitated brain took a moment to process. Hen Hull. The investigator on the Estrada case.
“Sorry. I was expecting someone else.”
“I don’t envy the dude.”
I was too pumped to conjure a witty reply.
“Took some doing, but I finally located Maria Estrada,” Hull said. “Tia’s mother. She’s in Juárez and has no phone. But there’s a cousin living just outside Charlotte, in Rock Hill. I’ve got some free time, so I’m going there now.”
“That’s very generous.”
“The kid got shafted every step of the way. The family deserves the story firsthand.”
“You might want to hold off.”
“Hold off?”
“We’re thinking it wasn’t Ajax.”
“You’re thinking?”
“It wasn’t Ajax. And he didn’t kill himself.”
I gave an edited version of all that had happened. Felt a cold front coming my way from Wadesboro.
“Ajax’s tox results didn’t land on Larabee’s desk until yesterday.” Trying to justify leaving her out of the loop. “And I only talked to McGee’s doctor today.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I should have kept you better informed.”
“Yes.” Pause. “You really believe McGee is capable of this?”
“The therapist didn’t come right out and say it, but she implied that Tawny is very disturbed.”
Like Slidell’s, Hull’s mind went straight to intent. Because homicide demands it. Unlike robbery or fraud, the motive for murder is often unclear.
“Why kill?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
Brief pause before Hull spoke again.
“Maybe McGee gets her charge out of dropping Pomerleau again and again.”
“If that’s the fantasy, why pick young girls?” Quick glance at my watch. Ten minutes had crept by since last I checked.
“Or maybe she’s symbolically killing herself. It’s a guilt thing. She survived while Pomerleau’s other victims died.”
Though the same questions had tormented me, at that moment I had no desire to play Freud. I wanted verification. Action.
“Maybe—”
The line beeped to indicate an incoming call. “Hold on.” Without waiting for Hull’s consent, I clicked over. It was neither Ryan nor Slidell.
Any pretense at calm was now abandoned. “Mary Louise never came home. It’s almost eight. Something has to be wrong. Oh my God! You see these things on the news, but oh my God!” Yvonne Marcus was frantic. “I’ve called everyone I can think of. Her teachers. Her friends. No one has seen her since school dismissal at three-thirty. My husband is out looking, but—”
“Mrs. Marcus—”
“What do I do? Shall I call the police?”
“Does Mary Louise ride a bus?”
“No, no. She attends Myers Park Traditional. It’s right up the block, so I allow her to walk.”
Directly past Sharon Hall.
I felt the tiny hairs rise on the back of my neck. Sensed my hand gripping the phone too tightly.
“I’m sure she’s fine.” Controlled. “But just to be safe, phone 911. I’ll also make some calls.”
“Oh my God!”
“It will be all right.”
“I should go out and—”