“So we get the name, maybe we send it to your guy? Vega?”
He looked over. Her eyes were closed, her head leaning into the sling of the seat belt, asleep. Her hands were in her lap, fingers twitching. Cap smiled, glad she was getting rest. Also realized he worried about her getting rest. Realized he was worried about her at all. Some loose strands of her hair fell across her cheek, into her eyes, and Cap thought what was the harm in it, really, just to sweep it off her face and bring it behind her ear. I’ll barely touch her, he thought.
—
Vega was not asleep, just shut down for a while. She pictured John McKie, and she pictured Evan Marsh, head shots and camera flashes behind her eyes. They were dots on a map with roads sprouting out from each like veins, and only one road was the one, only one lit up from underneath with runway lights, but she couldn’t see where it led.
Cap’s phone dinged, and Vega opened her eyes and sat up. Cap grabbed at his phone but somehow knocked it onto the floor, near Vega’s feet.
“Fuck,” he said, disoriented. Like he had been asleep.
Vega picked it up and read from Kendrick’s text aloud.
“The girl’s name is Dena Macht. In Riverside for eighteen months for assault and possession of drugs and stolen property. Corresponded with John McKie while on the inside and then reunited when they were both out. Kendrick said before they were arrested their hobbies included smoking meth, snorting Vicodin, picking pockets, and stealing from family. He would not be surprised if they were involved in one or more of those activities currently.”
Vega scrolled, read more.
“That’s how Dena Macht got busted in the first place. Her parents called it in.”
“Her parents,” said Cap.
Vega typed in a message to the Bastard on her phone, and then Cap’s phone buzzed again and she read the text on the screen.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“Traynor. He wants us to come in.”
“Why?”
“They have Kevin Brandt.”
Then she had to put both phones in her lap because of the sweat budding on her hands. Also on the bottom of her feet, muddying the insides of her shoes, and a single drop slipping down her arm. She opened the window and stuck her head out. It was getting dark, and there was a little rain in the air.
Cap was asking her questions but she didn’t answer; she breathed and tried to count five on the inhale and five on the exhale. Push, pull, said a yoga teacher in her head. In breath to the out breath.
Fuck you, said Vega to the yoga teacher. I want the shallow breath, and I want the sweat, and I want the headache. It means I’m close.
—
Cap huddled in a hallway with Traynor, Junior, and the Fed. Vega stood with her back flush against the wall, not leaning. She had her jacket draped over her forearm and her skin was wet and white. Cap tried to get her eye, but she wouldn’t look at him.
“Brandt’s in A,” said Junior.
“Who’s with him?” asked Cap.
“No one right now,” said Junior. “Says he has a lawyer coming.”
Traynor added, “He claims he doesn’t know where the girls are, hasn’t seen them in eight years. Same story Jamie told us.”
“Where’d you find him?”
“Town in southern Ohio,” said the Fed. “Living under the name Miss Vega’s contact provided. We had people search his home, where a number of illegal recreational substances were recovered.”
“But not two girls,” said Cap.
“No. His alibi checks out as well.”
“Which is what?”
The Fed paused, looked at him sideways.
“That he was in southern Ohio at the time of the abduction. He’s got half a dozen people who can vouch for him.”
“Yeah, but he lived here once,” said Cap. “He could still have connections here.”
“He didn’t know Evan Marsh,” said Traynor. “Says he didn’t.”
“Who’s talking to him?”
“Harrison could,” said Traynor.
“Let Vega do it,” said Cap.
She looked up, pushed gently off the wall.
Junior stiffened up, ready to talk. Traynor cut him off.
“She’s not a police officer,” said Traynor, but he wasn’t digging in.
“Brandt’s not a suspect,” said Cap. “They’re perfect for each other. He also owes eight years of child support—he doesn’t have a lot of cards here.”
Traynor and the Fed glanced at each other. Cap felt them tipping. Come on, he wanted to say, she’s having an anxiety attack; this will be just the thing to snap her back. Some girls need a spa treatment to unwind; this one likes an interrogation. Vega looked at him, brows heavy over her eyes, tired and a little grateful.
—
It was a little room, had the coppery smell of office machinery. Kevin Brandt sat at a square table, texting on his phone when Vega came in.
“Who are you?” he said.
“Vega.”
“Yeah, who are you? Cop, lawyer, FBI?”
His voice was nasal, congested, and he had a flat face like an inbred dog.
“No,” said Vega.
She sat opposite him, and he sniffed loudly.
“Then why are you here? You know my ex-wife? Huh?”
Vega folded her arms.
Brandt dropped his phone on the table and pressed a fingertip hard on top of it.
“You can’t keep me here without charging me, you know that, right?”
Vega was quiet.
“I got a lawyer,” Brandt said. “He’s coming.”
Vega leaned forward and laced her fingers together on the table like an altar boy.
“Where are the girls?” she said.
“How should I fuckin’ know?” said Brandt.
“When’s the last time you saw them?”
“Eight years ago,” he said, not having to think about it.
“You know a guy named Evan Marsh?”
“Nope.”
“You sure?” she said. “Be sure.”
“Hey, fuck you, bitch. Nothing wrong with my faculties. I heard you and I answered you, and unless you or a real actual cop is gonna charge me with something, I have somewhere to be.”
Brandt crossed his arms and waited for the insults to sink in. Vega just leaned back in her chair. She stretched her arms up, kept the fingers laced, palms up. Just like a yoga instructor would tell her. And then she yawned.
—
Cap and Junior stood on the other side of the glass. Junior was moving around, nervous, not sold.
“So she’s tired? That’s the plan?”
Cap watched Vega yawn, having never seen it happen before. There was no way she was tired. She didn’t get tired. Or she was just young enough to fight it off.
“Just wait,” he said to Junior.
But to Vega in his head he said, You got a plan, right, girl?
—
She let her hands drop to her sides, rolled her head from side to side, hearing little cracks from the cartilage in her neck.
“So you’re sure you don’t know where the girls are?” she said again, almost friendly, almost cute.
Brandt stared at her, shoving his confusion into a corner to make room for the agitation.
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been fucking saying for fucking two hours since I got picked up. Now charge me, or I leave through that door, right there, right now,” he said, pointing to the door in question.
Vega turned around to look at the door like she’d forgotten where it was.