The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,43
gestures, just this singular moment of eye-to-eye contact, a split second, nothing more. Then she turned her head and kept walking, her jaw tight.
Trey looked at me. “Are you ready?”
Chapter 22
The press conference was everything I expected it to be. Landon started with a little speech about Phoenix. Then the Beaumonts took the podium, explaining their reasons for offering the reward, for standing up for one of their own. Janie stood silent through it all, hidden behind the principals, clutching at her cross.
Mark Beaumont brought the proceedings to a close. “It comes down to what we do for each other. Eliza mattered, and I’m here, with these fine women and men, to make sure that she keeps on mattering.”
Not especially profound, but the applause rose rich and thick around Mark as the nucleus, the center of the spin. One of the reporters—this rangy disreputable-looking kid—moved forward and fired off shot after shot just as Charley took Mark’s hand. She looked nervous in the staccato bursts of light, and I wasn’t surprised when one of the security guards took the guy firmly by the elbow. He fought it briefly, flashing a nasty grin toward the stage, and then allowed himself to be led away, still popping off shots with one hand.
When it was over, Landon and Trey escorted the Beaumonts back to their offices. I was about to follow when I felt a hand at my elbow.
It was Janie. “Get me out of here before I blow and start using the f-word,” she said.
***
We went across the street to a wine and chocolate shop that also sold coffee—she sucked down a cigarette on the walk over. I resisted the urge. But I did get two cappuccinos and a gigantic chocolate muffin before joining Janie on the patio. By then, her hands weren’t shaking quite so badly, and she’d stopped fidgeting.
She took the top off her cup. “Thank you. That was starting to get to me.” She stirred her foam with her finger. “I mean, I’m really grateful to the Beaumonts for everything they’re doing. But I just want to get Eliza and go home.”
The sidewalk teemed with people lured outside by the clear undiluted sunshine. But the bright air carried an unexpected bite, especially in this part of downtown, shot through with crosscurrent breezes that ambushed you at every corner. The tourists huddled under the Fox marquee with their Starbucks and street maps. The dog walkers kept their arms folded and practically dragged their Chihuahuas and terriers down the sidewalk.
I offered Janie some muffin. She shook her head. She was still pretty, and I could see the high school girl she must have been once, before she had to grow up and be responsible for everyone around her.
“They told me we could have an open casket. Mama will be relieved.” She said it emotionlessly. “Do you have any news?”
“Maybe.” I thought about the intake report Rico had delivered to me, the one he’d marked for my eyes only. He’d found it filed away at a data collection service when it was supposed to have been expunged, something he said happened all the time. “Did you know William Perkins—I mean, Bulldog—when you were in high school?”
“No, not really.”
“Do you remember if he ever went away for a while?”
She frowned. “Went away? You mean like moved?”
“I mean like juvenile hall.”
She licked the milky coffee from her finger. “Like I said, I didn’t know him that well.”
I pulled out the file Rico had sent me. “I’ve got some information that says he spent six months in a juvenile correctional facility. Of course, he went on to get a grown-up rap for some petty robbery, possession, meth especially. On probation now.”
“So?”
“So it’s the juvie charge that’s got my interest.” I tapped the papers. “Breaking and entering. The report mentions two people committing the crimes, one of them a girl. She’d be lookout while he ransacked the place. She fled the scene when the cops arrived, though, and Bulldog never spilled her name.”
She stared at the report like it was a snake, or a bear trap, something unpredictable and dangerous. In the lot beside us, the stop-go drone of jackhammers intensified into a cacophony.
“How did you get this?” she said.
“Does it matter?”
She lowered her voice. “Do the cops know?”
“They can’t. It’s sealed.”
“So how did you get it?”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does! If the cops see this, they’ll think she was going to rob your brother’s house.”