Say Goodbye (12 page)

“Seen them around lately?”

“Nah, not really.”

“That happen a lot? Girls appearing and disappearing?”

“Happens all the time. Girls think they’ll try on the life, make a quick buck or two. But then it sucks ’em in and burns ’em out. Then they’re gone.”

“Where do they go?” Kimberly asked.

“Work the loop,” Delilah said with a shrug. “If you’re not making it here, you head east to Miami, or west to Texas. Everyone’s got a story of a friend who lives here or there, making a thousand bucks a night. So off the girls go, to do the same old thing in a different city, as if they’ll suddenly strike it rich. Kind of funny, if you think about it. All us working girls are actually optimists at heart.”

“Do any of them ever come back?” Sal wanted to know.

“Sometimes. I don’t know. Maybe a year or two later. Unless they get into drugs,” she said matter-of-factly. “Then they’re just plain fried.”

“Cyndie, Beth, Nicole. What about them?”

Another negligent shrug. “Haven’t seen ’em. Why do you care?”

“Why do you care about Ginny Jones?” Kimberly asked. “Why do you think she didn’t set off to find greener pastures like everyone else?”

“Because she wouldn’t go like that,” Delilah said immediately. “She wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

“You were that close?”

“Ginny was nice. No one appreciated that about her. They thought she was freaky. But she had plans, dreams, hopes. She was just…lost, you know.”

“Ever talk about her mom?”

Another shrug, but less certain this time. She’d gone back to staring at her pasta, and Kimberly could practically feel the girl picking through her brain, trying to find the least obvious lie.

“I think her mom died,” Delilah said softly.

“She tell you that?” Sal asked.

“She…implied it. Said she had no one. That she was all alone.”

“And you, Delilah,” Kimberly asked quietly, “what brought you here?”

The girl recoiled as if struck. Then her head was up, her eyes flashing hot. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Cops! Never around when you need ’em.”

“If you’d like to report a crime—”

“Fuck you!”

“Delilah—”

“No, I’m done. All right? You guys are no better than anyone else. Just a different pair of johns, ready to use and abuse to get what you want. Then you’ll kick me to the curb without even tossing me a ten-spot. Fuck it, all right. Just plain fuck it!”

Delilah darted her gaze between Kimberly and Sal, then, having made her choice, planted two hands on Sal’s chest and shoved him aside. Short of physically restraining her, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

She stormed over him, several diners pausing over their meals long enough to gawk at the flash of bare legs.

The restaurant manager hurried over, giving them nervous glances.

“Check, please,” Kimberly said.

Manager scurried away. Sal collected himself.

“She’s a little hot-tempered,” Sal said.

Kimberly was already slapping money on the table, then heaving out of the booth.

“Come on, Sal. Little Miss Muffet is scared. Let’s see where she runs.”

SEVENTEEN

“A spider eats about 2,000 insects a year. Without spiders the world would be overrun with bugs.”

FROM
Freaky Facts About Spiders,
BY CHRISTINE MORLEY,
2007

DELILAH ROSE MOVED FAST FOR A PREGNANT GIRL IN four-inch heels. Despite her claims of returning to work, she bypassed five clubs, weaving her way in and out of the long blocks with the practice of a woman who knew her way around.

Huffing and puffing behind her, Kimberly and Sal were forced to hold back, blending into the crowds of young people swelling the doorway of each establishment, then fighting their way free only to latch onto the fringes of the next party strolling up the block. Inevitably, the group would veer off from Delilah’s route, leaving the investigators exposed and vulnerable until the next foursome came along.

Delilah had her head down, hands clutching her ragged blue coat closed. She alternated between a near sprint and sudden dead halts, where she glanced every which way with the heightened paranoia of a woman living on the edge.

She went up one side of the block, made a hard right, only to come back down the other side. To flush out quarry? Throw the diligent off her tracks? Kimberly was beginning to get dizzy with the effort of keeping up while simultaneously keeping out of sight, when suddenly, Delilah homed in on a banged-up Mazda wedged between two four-wheel-drive trucks.

The girl fished underneath the Mazda, finally pulling out a magnetic case bearing keys, and Kimberly felt her heart sink.

“Damn, she has a car.”

“I thought the police picked her up the first time at the MARTA station.”

“Well, apparently that taught her a lesson, because now she’s driving.”

Delilah had the door open, was sliding behind the wheel.

“Now what?” Kimberly muttered, holding her left side, which had begun to cramp from the exertion.

“Look,” Sal said rapidly, glancing at her rounded belly. “You go back for my car. I’ll stick with her. These city blocks with a light on every corner…Hell, you can pretty much walk ’em as fast as you can drive ’em. With any luck, I can keep her in sight until you can rendezvous with the vehicle.”

He tossed her the keys just as Delilah pulled out. Sal scrambled to follow, dashing for the intersection. Kimberly headed back as quickly as she could, gasping in spite of herself and hoping she didn’t throw up.

Mac was right, dammit. In another month, it would be all she could do to waddle down the hall.

Now she pressed her hand against her side and promised Baby McCormack a pony if she’d just hang in there five more minutes. Baby McCormack kicked her, so apparently the child already had Mac’s sense of humor.

She made it to Sal’s car. Did not throw up. Slid into the driver’s seat, then floundered with the ignition, the seat belt, the unfamiliar setup. She was still shaky and panting, not at all like her normal cool, calm self. Pulling out, she cut off another vehicle and earned a blare from a horn and a loud
screw you!

She careened north, driving with one hand, working her cell phone with the other. Sal gave her an intersection, but when she peeled over to pick him up, Delilah was no longer in sight.

“Where?” Kimberly started.

“Just headed for the highway,” Sal gasped. “North. Quick. Find the gas.”

She found the gas and Sal went flying back into the passenger seat. He grabbed his seat belt and they resumed the hunt.

Hitting the GA 400, Kimberly shot into the middle lane and floored it. Sal glued his eyes to the right, Kimberly to the left.

Which is why they almost ran over Delilah’s blue Mazda coming up the middle. At the last minute Kimberly saw her, hit the brakes, and dropped way back. She ducked into the right-hand lane, whipping into the exit lane like the normal run-of-the-mill asshole who didn’t know where she was going. At the last minute, she jerked back into northbound traffic but with two other cars between them and Delilah’s vehicle.

“Where do you think she’s going?” Sal wanted to know.

“No idea. Did you ever get her address from Sandy Springs PD?”

“Yeah. Apartment complex, but when I rang the unit number, the fat Hispanic guy who answered the door had never heard of anyone named Delilah Rose. I’m gonna go out on a limb, and say the hooker lied.”

“What about her prints?”

“Nothing in AFIS.”

“Huh,” Kimberly grunted. “In other words, we still don’t know jackshit about her. Clever girl.”

Sal held up his notepad. “Ahh, but now I can run her plates.”

“Good work, Sal. Good work.”

Delilah had her turn signal on. Whatever else Kimberly thought of Delilah, she was a conscientious driver. Didn’t speed, followed the rules. Made it very easy to follow her. It helped that Kimberly knew GA 400 like the back of her hand. Atlanta, Sandy Springs, Roswell, and Alpharetta all formed a line heading up the central thoroughfare. There were times Kimberly felt she spent her entire day driving up and down the 400. Her and the rest of Atlanta.

Delilah exited and a minute later Kimberly followed suit.

The little blue Mazda headed through an office park, into a residential area. It all looked vaguely familiar to Kimberly, but she couldn’t place it. The road was wide, double lanes separated by a divider. Delilah stayed to the right. So did Kimberly.

Traffic was thinning out now, the hour nearing midnight. Half a dozen cars became four, then three, then finally just Sal and Kimberly, twenty yards behind Delilah.

“Shit,” Sal murmured.

“Shhh,” Kimberly told him. “It’s dark. She can only see our headlights. As long as we don’t do anything stupid, we should be able to get away with it.”

Delilah was slowing down. Kimberly dropped back, too. She was looking out her window, frowning. She would swear she should know where she was. The line of overgrown bushes, the skeletal trees.

And then all of a sudden, she knew. She was coming at it from the opposite direction, but there was no doubt in her mind.

Just as Delilah Rose made the hard turn onto the dirt road where Tommy Mark Evans had died.

Kimberly drove past the lane, then killed her lights and pulled over. “Get out of the car,” she whispered urgently. “Time to walk.”

Sal had his glove compartment opened, was rifling through the depths until he found a flashlight. “We can’t take the car?”

“It’s a dirt road. No traffic. No way she won’t notice us. But I think it’s the end of the line for her as well. Only thing down this country lane is a crime scene.”

Sal’s eyes widened as he connected the dots. “This is the road where Tommy Mark Evans was shot? But why would Delilah…”

“Yeah. Exactly. Why would Delilah? If we move fast enough, hopefully we’ll find out.”

They both tucked their flashlights into their sleeves, pointing them straight down, where a narrow beam of light could discreetly illuminate the ground without giving away their position. Sal had already started running. Kimberly rubbed her side and grimly followed suit.

The road was deeply rutted, washed out in places from the deluge of rain they’d had in the fall, dotted with small rocks and clumps of dirt. They had to weave their way around, trying to move silent and sure even as Sal twisted his ankle and Kimberly tripped over a downed tree limb.

Kimberly could see a faint glow straight ahead. Headlights from a running car. One car, two cars, she couldn’t be sure. It occurred to her that Delilah might be meeting someone at this spot, and the most likely person would be the subject who had shot Tommy Mark Evans. If that was the case, they should assume the UNSUB was armed and dangerous, the type of person who wouldn’t take the unexpected arrival of two special agents particularly well.

What had she told Mac just last night? She wasn’t throwing herself into any shoot-outs, she had voluntarily removed herself from serving high-risk warrants. He should trust her to keep herself safe as she’d done for the past four years.

It came to her, the way the truth liked to come to people when it was ill-timed and unappreciated: She shouldn’t be doing this. She was an ass.

Her footsteps faltered but it was already too late. Sal was flying down the dirt road, trusting her to have his back.

Kimberly pulled out her gun and prayed for the best.

Fifty yards. Forty. Thirty. This close it became apparent it was only one car, twin headlights forming a singular spotlight on the white cross, much as Kimberly’s car had done last night.

Slowing to a half-jog, flashlights off, they slid along the edge of the road, moving nearly shoulder to shoulder so they could communicate by touch, feel.

Twenty yards. Ten.

Delilah Rose finally came into view, her back illuminated by the headlights. She was standing in front of the cross. Her hands appeared to be clutched in front of her. Her shoulders were heaving.

Sal’s touch on Kimberly’s arm. Pointing to the other side of the road. She nodded, then dashed across the open road to the relative cover of the bush-shrouded side. Keeping even with Sal as they homed in, closer, closer. Two bird dogs on the scent.

At the last minute, Kimberly looked up. Nothing.

Gazed side to side. All was clear.

A last glance behind her.

The road formed a long black tunnel of night, swallowing up civilization, a lonely place to die.

Sal counted down on his fingers. Five, four, three, two, one.

He stepped into the puddle of light, gun still down at his side, but finger on the trigger.

Delilah gasped, turned. Her hands flew to her tear-stained face.

“Delilah,” Sal said evenly.

The girl started crying. And in those heartfelt sobs, Kimberly finally understood.

“Hey, Sal,” she said. “Meet Ginny Jones.”

“You don’t understand,” the girl was saying. “You can’t call me by that name. I’m Delilah Rose. It’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

Sal and Kimberly had loaded Delilah back into her car, this time with Kimberly at the wheel. They had returned to the main road, where Sal picked up his vehicle, then continued on to a late-night pharmacy where they could easily blend in with other parked cars. Now they had Delilah sitting in the backseat of Sal’s Crown Vic, while both of them homed in on her from the front. The cramped quarters were even tighter than the usual interrogation room, and much more effective.

“Why’d you tell us Ginny Jones was missing?” Kimberly asked the girl. “If we’re not supposed to know that name, why bring it to our attention?”

Delilah/Ginny wouldn’t look at Kimberly. She was staring down at her lap, twisting the hem of her jacket over and over again.

“I’m the only one left alive,” she whispered. “One by one, bit by bit…” Her head finally came up. “I wasn’t lying before. I do want better for my baby. I want this…I
need
this to end. I thought, if I could just get someone to pay attention. To care about us. I’m just so tired.”

“What is this?” Sal pressed gently. “Start at the beginning, Delilah. Tell us what happened, and maybe we can help.”

“It’s my fault,” the girl rambled. “He pulled over. I accepted the ride. I had no idea. Some guys get violent, you know. Gotta slap a girl around to get their rocks off. But this guy…He doesn’t want to hit a girl. He wants to own her. Destroy her. And then he kills her. That’s what makes him happy. Breaking you.”

Sal and Kimberly exchanged glances. Sal got his mini-recorder going. Kimberly took the lead.

“When did you accept his ride?”

“Lifetime ago,” Delilah replied dully.

“Winter, spring, summer, fall?”

“Winter. February. My mom had locked me out, least I thought so, and I was cold. He appeared in his fancy SUV. I thought I’d gotten lucky.”

“What year, Delilah?”

The girl frowned, seemed to have to think about it. “Long time. One, two…two years ago. Before graduation. I was going to go to beauty school. Everyone thought I was a loser, but I had plans. I was gonna be a hairstylist.”

“So it’s February 2006,” Kimberly supplied. “It’s late at night…”

“After eleven.”

“You’re…”

“Couple blocks from my house. Walking. On the main road, you know.”

“Your mother locked you out?”

The girl’s lips twisted. “I was with Tommy. Missed curfew. The jackass.” Her mouth trembled, she looked as if she was going to cry again, but caught herself, pulled it together. “Mom said if I messed up again, she was gonna teach me a lesson. I got home, things were locked up tight. I thought she’d finally gone and done it. So I hit the road.”

“So you’re walking, it’s cold, and a vehicle appears. What kind of vehicle?”

“I already told you. A black Toyota FourRunner with silver trim. Limited Edition.”

“And the driver?”

“Dinchara, like I said. Red hat, Eddie Bauer clothes, fancy SUV. Why does everyone assume that just because I’m a hooker, I can’t tell the truth?”

Kimberly decided to ignore for a moment that, in fact, Ginny had lied several times. “So you first met him two years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“When he picked you up.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened next, Ginny?”

The girl’s eyes glazed over. She shivered, looking at pictures only she could see. “He played a tape.”

“A tape?”

“Yeah, in his car. It was a recording…of my mom, dying. He made me listen to it again and again. Her screaming and screaming and screaming. And giving him my name. Goddamn bitch. Right up until the bitter end, she couldn’t do nothin’ right. Goddamn, pathetic, miserable, sorry bitch.”

Ginny sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She curved her other hand around her belly, rubbing her thumb absently over her unborn child. Making silent promises to her baby? Wondering if she could do any better than her own mother had?

“What happened to your mother, Ginny?”

The girl frowned at Kimberly. “He killed her, I told you that.”

“Did you see anything? Where he did it? What about her body?”

“No, I just heard the tape. Trust me, that was enough.”

“And then?”

“Then he smiled. He said, ‘Your turn’s next.’ He said, ‘Welcome to the collection.’”