I narrowed my eyes and poked her cold, hard chest. “Don’t cross me.” I grabbed my jacket and keys.
“Okay,” Nina said, following me out the front door. “But we’re running lines in between heists.”
I like to think I was making Batmobile-type progress, slicing through town while the reflection of the yellow streetlights bounced through the spitting rain. But in actuality, Nina and I were pinched in my Honda and stuck at a traffic light while we waited for the half-naked, half-leathered Folsom Street Parade to march through.
“I thought they banned public nudity,” Nina said, snarling.
“That’s why they’re marching,” I said.
We pulled into the police station, and Nina and I shared a look. My heart was pounding and bat wings were flapping fire in my stomach, but Nina was cool as a cucumber in a pair of half-glasses, marking a script with her red pencil.
“Are you ready?”
“Say, ‘No pulse, no breath, no problem!’” she asked, holding the eraser end of the pencil to her lips.
“No pulse, no breath, no problem,” I deadpanned. “Now can we get in there? I really prefer to commit my felony offenses before midnight.”
Nina blew out a sigh and crossed something off on her script. “It’s going to take a lot of work with this one,” she said to the car’s interior. “Take a note.” She put down her pencil and tucked her hair behind her ears, then went through a brief series of random vocal warm-ups.
“Nina?” I screamed, when she went into a frenzied series of “Toy Boat” enunciations.
“Watch and learn.”
Nina went into the police station first to get things rolling while I waited in the shadows of the parking lot. I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing as she went from a dainty walk through the parking lot to a spastic run into the station, screaming, crying, tearing at her long hair. I had to give it to my roommate: she played a splendid madwoman.
As every available officer raced to assist—and possibly subdue—Nina, I was able to sneak into the foyer.
“Excuse me—”
A pup officer whom I’m glad I didn’t recognize was about to stop me when I heard Nina’s feet stomping and her bellow, “Oh sweet Jesus, I got the devil inside me!” The pup’s eyes went wide and right over my head as Nina scratched and clawed, shouting things about Corinthians and her need for an “old priest and a young one.”
I was in Alex’s dark office before she launched into an impressively deep baritone and the first few lines of “Ol’ Man River.” As she hit the chorus, I hit the jackpot—Alex had never fully embraced file cabinets or any particular system of organization other than “put stuff in box,” and the Mercy file box was open on his desk. I had it under my shirt like an incredibly boxy pregnancy belly and was out free in the police station parking lot before Nina stopped, blinked, pressed the back of her hand to her head and made some excuse that left the five officers surrounding her open-mouthed and stunned enough to let her walk right out of the station.
I started the car and drove carefully out of the parking lot while every nerve in my body hummed.
“That was great. That was great! We really should do stuff like that more often; it makes me feel so alive,” Nina said, kicking her feet up on the dashboard.
“No way,” I said, flicking on my blinker. “We are only doing the sneaking-into-the-police-station thing when it is absolutely necessary. It might make you feel alive, but if Alex ever finds out, I’m the one he’s going to make dead.”
“Well, what’d you get?”
I wasn’t able to answer because the seat-belt warning starting pinging furiously as Nina unbuckled hers and started to climb into the backseat, her butt mashed against my ear as she tried to climb. “What’d we get? Ew, papers?”
“I told you, this is business. I had to get the police files for this case. I’m not going to dodder around on this stupid witch hunt when there’s a girl”—bile rose in my throat—“two girls in danger.”
“Okay, but why are you turning here?”
“I’ve got a theory.”
Nina’s eyebrows went up. “Ooh, a theory. Lay it on me, Sherlock.”
“Remember that girl I told you about, Fallon?”
Nina pursed her lips. “The pretty, mean one?”
“Yeah. I think—when Kayleigh disappeared, Sampson brought up the idea of a partner. Someone that Kayleigh—and maybe Alyssa and Cathy—knew.”
“And you think this Fallon girl is in on the act?”
I paused for a beat. “Maybe. Kayleigh was riding her bike when she went missing. When Will and I went over to Fallon’s house, she was riding her bike, just coming back from somewhere.”
Nina looked at me, clearly expecting more.
“It’s just a theory.”
“Because two girls were riding bikes?”