The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,62
she had gotten him to smile. She was hoping for a third.
“Please, Detective Montoya, let’s not go overboard with enthusiasm here.”
“Lucy,” she raised her eyebrows; this was the first time he had called her by her first name, “you’ve still got a lot of problems with your theory that the killer was a police officer who overheard you and me talking at the police station. Mainly, how could the killer know you were talking about Patsy Burke when you didn’t even know her name?”
“Yep, that sure is a big hole,” she agreed in a fake Texas accent. “But isn’t there a way to triangulate cell towers or something? I mean, I’m sure that’s not what you call it, but you police-type people must have some gadget to find cell towers. The killer finds the cell tower and he finds Scanner Lady.”
“That’s the kind of equipment they have at the FBI and big-city departments. We just can’t afford something like that,” he said. “I think it’s more likely that it has nothing to do with you or the cell-phone call. It was probably someone who knew her. Or a robbery. Sometimes coincidences are just coincidences.”
They both thought quietly for a moment before Lucy said, “You haven’t asked me who the police sources were who leaked the newspaper the info about Melissa’s drug use.”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t tell me.”
“That’s right, I wouldn’t, but a girl still likes to be asked.”
He smiled again. His third smile. So he likes to be teased. She could do that.
Detective Montoya looked at his watch. Lucy wondered where he was in a rush to be at ten to midnight. He finished off the rest of his coffee and started making it’s-time-to-leave movements.
“So you headed home to curl up with your gun?” she asked, flinching for a second at the sexual innuendo, which she hadn’t meant.
“No. I have some things to take care of,” he said.
“On the Baca case?”
He didn’t answer her and said instead, “Thank you for your help, Miss Newroe. Good night.”
She watched him leave, wondering what had happened to their joking ease. Was it because of her gun comment? And why had he switched back to using her formal name? She realized that it bugged her. Really bugged her. She finished her coffee and left her money on the table. She reached the parking lot just as he was pulling out in his unmarked police car—so obvious for what it was. She jumped into her car and turned onto Cerrillos Road. There was enough traffic for her to blend in. And even if he did see her, she could just as easily have been on her way home. He stopped at the light. She was four cars back. He turned into the Silver Cowboy parking lot, and she continued on her way, pretending that she was just driving past. She took the next left and made a U-turn, going back down the street. She slowed as she passed the bar. She saw him get out of his car and go inside. She wondered what he was doing. He didn’t seem the bar type.
She made another U-turn and pulled into the parking lot. She parked well away from his car, on the other side of the lot. She skirted around the quiet side of the bar and stood outside the door for a second, waiting until a big group of people headed inside. She fell in with them and made her way through the door. The bar was huge and crowded. She thanked her genes for making her short. She could hide in the forest of tall people all night. She looked around for Detective Montoya. She didn’t see him at any of the tables. Maybe he was in the bathroom.
She didn’t know what to do next. She wasn’t even sure why she had followed him. She tapped her fingers nervously against her leg. She didn’t know how to move. She needed a drink. She went to the bar and asked for a Coke, which the bartender gave to her quickly, then he moved away. She took a drink and started drumming her fingers against the plastic cup. She should have asked for a rum and Coke. Maybe she should sit down. Maybe she should go home. She turned around, and came face-to-face with Detective Montoya. Or, in her case, face-to-chest. She swore out loud before she could stop herself.
Gil took a sip of his club soda as they sat at a table near the