Dead End Page 18

  “You want to call in the county people?” Benson suggested. “They’re faster and there are more of them.”

  Evan called Sheridan for the fifth time that day and told him what they’d found-an empty house-and asked that he send out the best techs he had on staff.

  “I want Carlin Schroeder and Mark Schultz,” Evan told him.

  “You got ’em,” Sheridan replied without hesitation. “And I’ll call Jeffrey Coogan down there in the lab and let him know this gets priority or I’m going to recommend a career change for him. Let’s get every iota of evidence from that house. Let’s find these bastards and nail them.”

  “Amen.” Evan paused, then added, “I have to tell you I’m feeling real uneasy about the timing.”

  “You mean the fact that they folded their tents just when you’re starting to ask questions on the street…?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who knew you were asking?”

  “Every john in the county who’d been busted more than once over the past two years.”

  “So someone tipped off someone over the past few days.”

  “Jesus, I just started making my calls on Saturday. How could anyone have moved that fast?”

  Bob Benson walked around the side of the house, waving to Evan excitedly.

  “Looks like Benson’s men found something,” Evan said as he walked toward the back of the property.

  “Go check it out. Just keep me in the loop, Crosby,” Sheridan told him. “I’ll get the techs you asked for and send them out ASAP. In the meantime, we’ll keep looking for Lawrence Bridger and any other properties he might own, and I’ll have someone track down Chuck Stock and see what he can tell us about the place.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” Evan closed the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

  “What have you got?” he called to Benson.

  “There’s a small shed out back; the door’s padlocked; but we got it open,” Benson told him. “Lucky for us, someone had the presence of mind to include ‘any and all outbuildings’ on the warrant. Anyway, there’s a mess in there. My officers thought it was paint at first, but it sure looks like blood. All over the walls, the floor… even on the ceiling.”

  Two officers stood silently outside the wooden shed that was set at the very back edge of the property, where it backed up to dense woods. They stepped aside as Evan and their chief approached, and held the door open for the two men to enter.

  The shed was no more than twelve feet wide and fifteen feet long. Rusted garden tools lay in a forgotten heap against a back wall. There was a metal folding chair near the door, and dirty blankets were piled in the middle of the floor. One small window on each wall was covered with dark paper, and in the August heat, the room was claustrophobically still. Benson waved away a yellow jacket and pointed to the wall.

  “Check out the spatter,” he said to Evan. “Odd patterns, don’t you think?”

  Evan knelt near the door and studied the way the blood had hit the back wall.

  “Lot of blood to have come from one person,” he noted. “The D.A. is sending the county CSI team over, including our two best techs. Let’s see what they find. First, let’s get a confirmation from them that this is, in fact, blood.”

  Ordinarily, Evan wasn’t one to speculate, but his gut told him whose blood they would find mingled in the harsh abstract work that adorned the dark walls of the shed. The thought of what had happened to those young girls-his girls-in this room made his hands shake with rage.

  His phone rang, and he was grateful for the excuse to back out of the airless enclosure. He stood under a half-dead maple in the backyard and listened to the news. When the call was complete, he hung up and motioned to Chief Benson.

  “The D.A.’s office has located another house registered to Lawrence Bridger.”

  “Nearby?”

  “Between here and Reading.”

  “That one vacant, too?”

  “No.” Evan smiled for the first time since he’d arrived on the scene. “No, that one is a busy place, apparently. The sheriff has had it under surveillance for several hours. Whoever lives there has had a lot of visitors this afternoon. All of them men.”

  “Well, fancy that.”

  Still smiling, Evan headed toward his car.

  “Hey, Detective, aren’t you going to wait for the lab people?” Benson called after him.

  “Nope. I don’t need to be standing around watching them swab the stains and dust for prints. It’s going to take them hours-maybe days-to process this place. You give me a call if anything comes up, but for now, I need to be down in Oakmont. The sheriff is waiting on a warrant, and I want to be there when it arrives. I intend to be the first person to speak with the lady of the house…”

  “Dorothea Rush.” Evan looked from the woman to her driver’s license and back again. “That your real name?”

  She nodded sullenly.

  “I want my lawyer.”

  “There’s the phone.” He pointed to it. “But you haven’t been arrested yet; you’re aware of that, right?”

  She nodded again, this time warily.

  “Then why did they bring me down here to the police station?” she asked.

  “We just need to ask you a few questions. Look, Dotty… is that what people call you, Dotty?”

  “My friends do.” She stared at him straight on.

  “Well, maybe by the time this is over, you’ll consider me a friend.”

  She scowled, and he amended his statement to, “Okay, maybe not a friend, but I may be in a position to help you.”

  “Help me how?” That got her attention.

  “Look, we know you don’t own that house, we know you don’t bring the girls in, we know your only role is in running the day-to-day. Keep the riffraff out, keep the girls clean, that sort of thing, am I right?”

  “Sure.” She nodded without meeting his eyes. “That’s pretty much it.”

  “So you have to know that you’re not the person we want. We want the person who owns the house.”

  “I don’t even know who that is.”

  “You live in a house, but don’t know who owns it?”

  She shook her head. “I never met him.”

  “What did you do with the”-Evan searched for the word-“proceeds?”

  “Someone comes by on Mondays and Thursdays. I hand over what we took in since the last pickup. On Mondays, he pays me. On Thursdays, he pays the house.”

  “Pays the house…?”

  “Expenses for the girls. Doctor’s visits, prescriptions, that sort of thing.”

  “How often do the girls see a doctor?”

  “Only if they’re sick.”

  “When was the last time someone was sick enough to call a doctor?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

  “Who does the food shopping?”

  “I do. Online. I order through a website once a week, the stuff is delivered to the house.”

  “You pay with cash?”

  “Credit card.”

  “Credit card?” Evan frowned. “Yours?”

  “No, Orlando’s.”

  “Who’s Orlando?”

  “He’s the one who picks up the money.”

  “His name is on the card?”

  Dotty nodded.

  “Where’s the card now?”

  She opened her handbag, took out her wallet, and handed over the card.

  “Orlando Ortiz. This his real name?” Evan studied the card.

  “How would I know?”

  “Good point.” Evan tapped the card against the palm of his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared into the hall, where he met Dan Conroy, one of the county assistant D.A.s. He handed over the card without a word, and Conroy, grinning from ear to ear, took it happily.

  “Let’s see where this little gem leads us. You’ll be the first to know,” Conroy promised Evan.

  “Okay, so, does Orlando Ortiz own this house, you think?
” Evan asked Dotty when he returned to the room.

  “I don’t know. Honest to God, I don’t know where he lives or who he works for, if that’s his real name or not. For all I know, his real name is John Smith.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “Orlando.”

  “How did that happen? You saw an ad in the classifieds for a madam and thought you’d apply?”

  “He came to me. I used to work someplace else. He offered me a job, said someone was starting up a new house, they wanted someone with experience to run it. Said I’d be paid well if I ran a tight ship and I asked no questions. I figured what the hell.”

  “When did they move you out of the house in Carleton?”

  “Sunday.” Her eyes flickered nervously.

  “How’d that come about? You lose your lease?”

  “He-Orlando-came by early in the morning and told me that everyone was moving out in the afternoon. They were sending trucks and they’d be taking us to another house.”

  “You didn’t think that was odd?”

  “I thought maybe the house was sold. I was paid to not ask questions. I didn’t ask.”

  “Did you ask questions when those three young girls disappeared about a month ago?”

  “They didn’t disappear. They were moved.”

  “Moved? Moved where?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged again, a flip of her shoulders, but the movement appeared overly casual.

  “Because you don’t ask questions.”

  “Right.”

  “Even when you see their pictures on the front page of your morning newspaper, after they turned up dead?”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her face flushed crimson, and she averted her eyes.

  Evan turned to leave, then stopped near the door and turned back. “Who watches out for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who’s your security?”

  She studied her nails for a long time, and Evan knew she was trying to decide which side in the drama that was about to play out would most benefit her. Finally, she said, “There were a couple of cops who came by at night. I don’t know their names, and I don’t know what police department they were from, so don’t ask me. I don’t know. But it was just the two of them, every time.”

  “They were in uniform?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know they were cops?”

  “Orlando told me.”

  “What else did he tell you about them?”

  “Only that the boss bought them to keep the peace and to protect his interests.”

  “Would you recognize them? These cops?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not…” She met his gaze head-on.

  Evan knew the look: Depends. What’s in it for me?

  Disgusted, he left the room, determined to find the rogue cops, with or without Dotty’s help.

  22

  “… so we put together an album with photos of every cop in the county, and she just looks at them all and goes, ‘I don’t know, I don’t think so…’ ”

  Annie could hear the exasperation in Evan’s voice.

  “Honest to God, Annie, to get this close and to have to play this kind of game…”

  “She’s not going to give you a thing she doesn’t have to give up. Not now, anyway. She’s going to hold on to every card she can get her hands on, save them ’til she needs them.”

  “Maybe we should turn the heat up on her, give her a reason to start talking.”

  “It couldn’t hurt. She can only give you more at this time, right? She can’t give you less.”

  “True. She gave us some information, but nothing that would implicate anyone other than this guy she calls Orlando.”

  “And that may or may not be his real name.”

  “Exactly.” He exhaled loudly.

  “Well, here’s something that should cheer you up. It looks like I have a lead on the kiddie trade coming out of Santa Estela.”

  “What?”

  “I got a call from Connor-voice mail, actually. He said the Bureau was involved in some op down there to shut it all down, about two years ago. There’s apparently a report in the office. Unfortunately, I have to wait for John to get back from his vacation tomorrow to get my hands on the report, but I’m hoping it will give us something you can use.”

  “God, that’s phenomenal! I can hardly believe it. But why do you have to wait for John?”

  “It must have been highly classified. I don’t have clearance to pull the case, but John will, I’m sure. That’s why I called you, to tell you that you might have another thread to pull soon.”

  “That would be terrific. This case has been like a black hole from day one. Honestly, this job is such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

  “Hey, you know what John said. Anytime you’re ready to make a career move, come see him.”

  “That would simplify things, wouldn’t it?” His voice softened.

  “Not if it’s not what you want to do. That would only create other problems.”

  “But we could spend a lot more time together. This catch-as-catch-can is wearing me down, Annie. I want to be with you.”

  “I know exactly what you mean, my love. I get worn down, too, you know. And I want to be with you, too.”

  “So what’s the solution? You’re there, with a job you love; I’m here with a job I love. In spite of what I say sometimes, I love what I do.”

  “We could both move to Baltimore and commute to our respective offices.”

  “Hey, swell idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” He tried to make light of the situation, but his retort came out flat, and he made no more attempts at humor. Instead, he said, “I’m just better when I’m with you. None of it-none of this shit-is as bad if I can come home to you.”

  “I know. Me, too. We’ll work it out, Evan. We’ll think of something.”

  “Damn it. Hold on, Annie, I have another call coming in…”

  Annie walked to the front window and looked out over the small grassy section in front of her building. The sun had yet to set, but the day was already beginning to fade. She stepped out onto her small balcony and leaned on the railing to watch the sky turn colors. The geranium she’d bought early in the summer sat dried in its pot, the soil petrified, the plant almost mummified. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d watered it, or what she’d been thinking when she bought it. As much as she loved flowers, she always let them die. Too much work, too much time spent away from here.

  “That was the lab,” Evan said as he came back on the line. “Preliminary reports show that the blood in the shed matches my girls’ blood types. Of course we’ll need to match the DNA, but I know that’s where they were killed. I knew it the second I stepped inside. It was as though-” He stopped, knowing he’d been about to say something that would sound irrational, then decided he didn’t care. “It was as if they had led me there, as if they opened that door and went inside with me. As if they wanted me to see what had happened to them there, like they were standing behind me, pointing around the room. They showed me where and how they died.” He hesitated, then asked, “Does that sound crazy?”

  “Not to me,” she assured him. “Now all you need is for them to tell you who.”

  “Sooner or later, they will. I told you before that I really believe the answer is already there, in the evidence. It’s like a big puzzle. I just haven’t found the right way to fit the pieces together. But when I do…”

  “When you do, you’ll have the key to the whole thing, from here to Santa Estela. I’m hoping I can help you with that. I was so excited this morning, after I got Connor’s message. I couldn’t wait to get into the office. Then of course I got there and realized that I had to wait for John. But this is going to come together soon. I can feel it.”

  “God, I hope you’re right. If we can find this guy, this Orlando, maybe he’ll lead us to the next rung on the ladder.”

  “How about the girls who were in the hou
se? Were they able to tell you anything?”

  “They’re all with social services right now. I won’t be able to talk to them until the morning, but I don’t expect them to know who’s running the operation. At least they should be able to tell us who they are and how they got here. We can take them back to their homes, get a lead on the kidnappers in their part of the world. The Bureau report should help us with that. It might take a while, but we can close down this little cottage industry. Maybe not permanently, and maybe only this little piece of it, but it’s something.”

  “And then maybe you can find out who the murdered girls were.”

  “I’m hoping so. Right now, we don’t know if these girls were from the same villages or even from the same country. But you’re right. Maybe soon we’ll be able to start tracing backward to find their homes.”

  “That should make you feel a lot better.”

  “I’ll feel better when I’ve got their killer-killers-in prison, awaiting trial.”

  She started to say something, then heard the click on her phone.

  “That’s your call waiting, Annie. Go ahead and take it. I’m going to try to get a little sleep tonight, get an early start in the morning.”

  “Are you sure? I can let the call go into voice mail…”

  “Go on and take it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” She paused, then clicked off his call to pick up the incoming. “Anne Marie McCall.”

  “Annie? It’s Brendan.”

  “Hey, Brendan, what’s up?”

  “You still looking for a copy of those reports, the ones that have been missing from Dylan’s file?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, but I might have found them.”

  “Are you serious?” Her heart leaped in her chest. “Where? When?”

  “Well, like I said, I’m not positive these are what you’re looking for, but they might be. I found them this afternoon, stuck in a file. A shooting out in Oakland the same day that Dylan was shot. I guess at some point the reports might have fallen out, and maybe someone just looked at the date and filed them in the first file that popped up with that incident date on it. Anyway, I meant to bring them home, but I left them in my briefcase, and wouldn’t you know, I left that locked in my office. I thought maybe I’d drop copies off tonight, but I have a tire going flat…”