Down the Darkest Street (6 page)

“Doesn’t sound like something a murderer would do,” Pete said.

“Right, which makes it the perfect thing for a murderer to do,” Kathy said.

“Are you free now?” Pete said.

“I have to file my column, but that’s close to final,” Kathy said. “I hate writing these feel-good pieces. This one’s about a kid who discovered his grandmother’s stamp collection, which apparently helped his family keep their house. Nice, but a dime a dozen.”

After the death of her father and her eventual reinstatement at
The Miami Times
following the Silent Death case, Kathy now held her father’s old job: local Miami-Dade columnist. The hours were flexible, the work was easy, and the pay was good, so Kathy tolerated it. But the parallels to Chaz’s life did not escape Pete. He could tell she was bored.

She rattled off the address to Pete.

“Meet me at her apartment in an hour?” he said.

“Make it forty-five.”

Sunset Place
, a once-proud mall and haven for hoity-toity shops that had faded into a series of empty storefronts and chain restaurants, was about a half-hour drive from Pete’s house in Westchester. Shoehorned between South Miami and Coral Gables, Sunset Place—and the surrounding bars and restaurants—was cluttered with University of Miami students looking for fun and South Miami residents looking for the perfect crib for the baby’s room.

Pete turned the volume up on his car’s shitty stereo. Mick Jones sang about being lost in the supermarket. Pete nodded to the beat for a few seconds. It was happening again, he thought. That weird instinct that told him he had to be involved in something. Except it was electric, not like before, clouded and muffled by alcohol. No, this reminded Pete of his days covering sports teams and investigating the next big enterprise piece. The coach who lied on his resume. The player who had somehow hidden his DUI arrest. He could sense there was a question that needed to be answered. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet, or if he’d like the answer once he figured it out.

Alice Cline’s apartment was a few blocks north of the central Sunset Place stores, off US1 and across the street from Fox’s Lounge, a dive bar that served a great French onion soup but had seen better days. Pete pulled into a guest parking space adjacent to the small four-story apartment building and noticed Kathy’s silver Jetta a few spaces over. She was in the car, earbuds in and oblivious to the world outside. Pete got out and walked over, rapping his knuckles on her driver’s side window. She reacted with a start. She yanked the buds out of her ears.

“You’re here early,” Pete said, as Kathy’s window slid down.

“Does it surprise you that I didn’t want to stay a second longer at that place?”

“Can’t blame you.”

“What took you so long?”

Pete checked his phone.

“Impatient much?”

“Not at all,” Kathy said. “Just bored. All I had in the car to listen to was Amy’s Pixies playlist, which—apologies to Kim Deal—gets boring on the hundredth listen.”

Pete didn’t comment. Amy, like Mike, had been murdered by the Silent Death—a final casualty before Pete confronted the killer and uncovered his true identity: Pete’s high school friend, Javier Reyes. Amy had been Kathy’s best friend, and they’d all worked together at
The Miami Times—
Amy as the Books editor
.
She was tough, smart, and her help had been integral to finding Kathy. It had been over a year since her death. Kathy rarely mentioned her.

She got out of the car, slid her bag over her shoulder, and closed the door before turning to Pete.

“The roommate’s name is Janet Fornell. Her parents are Cuban, like you and everyone else in this godforsaken town,” she said. “She works down the street at Fox’s Lounge, a bar—”

“I’m familiar with it.”

“Oh, right. Of course you are.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Kathy said. “You seem different. It’s nice.”

They started to walk toward the elevator, located in the middle of the first-floor lobby, which was empty and dilapidated. Pete didn’t notice much activity, either. There were a few cars in the lot, but he’d yet to see an actual person.

“It’s amazing what not drinking a bottle of vodka a day will do for your disposition,” Pete said. He pushed the UP button on the elevator.

“How long has it been?”

“A while. A few months.”

“That’s something.”

They stepped inside the elevator and Pete pushed the button for the third floor, exchanging a concerned look as the old elevator creaked to life. He let out a breath as the doors opened on Alice’s floor. They made a left toward the building’s west side, where the apartment was located—3H. Kathy knocked a few times and backed up, waiting for what was inside.

“Who is it?” a soft voice on the other side of the door said.

“Ms. Fornell?”

“Yes?”

“My name’s Pete Fernandez. I was wondering if you’d have a few minutes to talk about your roommate.”

They hadn’t discussed strategy beforehand. Pete hoped Kathy would follow his lead.

The door didn’t open. Kathy crossed her arms.

“Are you with the police?”

“Not exactly,” Pete said. “I’m a…I’m a private investigator.”

Pete didn’t have to look at Kathy to see she had a smirk on her face.

They heard the latch and another lock turn, and watched as the door opened. Janet Fornell smiled as she backed into her tiny apartment, a signal for Pete and Kathy to come in. She was wearing sweat pants and a Voltron T-shirt, but they couldn’t hide her fit body and simple but strong facial features. Pete reminded himself to focus. Being smitten this early in the game wasn’t healthy.

“This is my colleague, Kathy Bentley,” Pete said.

“You write for the newspaper, no?”

Kathy nodded. “Yes, but that’s not why I’m here.”

Pete noticed that Janet’s expression had gone from somewhat welcoming to concerned.

“She’s a friend,” Pete said. “This isn’t for a story. She helps me on cases when she’s not working on the paper.”

“Sounds like bullshit, but OK,” Janet said. “Everything here is off the record. So, don’t go quoting me anywhere. I’m not some
balsero
that just came ashore.”

She walked them over to the apartment’s tiny living room. Pete and Kathy took a seat on the IKEA loveseat and Janet pulled up a chair from the dining room set that filled out the rest of the space. The kitchen, also connected to the living room, was off the main hallway. Pete didn’t notice many pictures, but one caught his eye: on a small table to his right and next to the couch was a framed photo—taken at a bar, Pete guessed, based on the giant mugs of beer Janet and Alice were hoisting up. They seemed happy. Alice’s dark brown hair flailed around wildly, and both of them wore a variety of beads. He pointed at it.

“Mardi Gras?”

“Right, but not in New Orleans,” Janet said, rubbing her palms on her sweatpants. “We just went down to Titanic, that UM bar a few miles from here.”

“I know it,” Pete said. “They do craft beers and burgers?”

“I think so, yeah. So, we were there,” Janet said. She looked at Kathy, then at Pete. “Tell me, what can I do? Are you trying to find Alice?”

Kathy turned to look at Pete.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I know Rick, Rick Blanco.”

Janet’s expression darkened.

“I don’t think I want to talk to you, then.”

Pete raised his hand.

“Hear me out first,” he said. “I know Alice. Do you remember when she was being stalked by her ex? And she hired a PI? That was me. I was the guy that helped her.”

Janet seemed appeased, but not fully convinced. Pete looked over at Kathy, as if to say “Help me out here, will you?” but only got a slight shrug in response. He was on his own.

“OK,” Janet said. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re working for Rick. That guy’s a big-time asshole. For all I know, he hurt Alice.”

“That’s the thing,” Pete said. “I’m not working for Rick.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m worried about Alice, and I want to make sure she’s OK.”

“Just like that?” Janet said, her shoulders rising and dropping, her body talking along with her mouth. “I’m supposed to just tell some random dude everything I said to the cops?”

“So you did go to the police?” Kathy said.

Janet hesitated.

“Yeah, I mean, of course I did,” she said. “I had to file a missing person’s report. She hasn’t been home in over a month. The last time I saw her, she was going to have dinner with Rick. His wife was out of town or something, so they could actually spend time together. He’d gotten a nice room at a hotel on the beach—the Eden Roc. She was really excited.”

“How often would they see each other?” Pete asked, trying not to lose the momentum of the conversation, to keep Janet talking.

“Depends,” Janet said. “Sometimes a few nights a week, if his wife was busy, sometimes once a month. He was really cagey about it. He definitely didn’t want to end his marriage. But he seemed to like Alice. He told her that maybe, down the line, they could figure something out. But he couldn’t leave his wife just yet.”

“They always say that,” Kathy said. “But it’s never true.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Janet said, her eyes distant, reliving a painful memory. “But you can only tell your friend so much before they have to learn this shit for themselves, you know? She was in denial. Thought Rick was some kind of shining knight when he was really just a dude who’d gotten bored of fucking the same blonde
americana
, so he wanted another, different one.”

Pete bristled at her description of Emily, but let it go.

“Did Alice have problems with Rick?”

“Yeah,” Janet said, almost laughing. “What do you think? Everything was a problem. You’ve met Alice. She’s a pretty girl. Smart, too. She didn’t want to share her man. But she fell hard for this dickhead and he knew it, so he played her. She’d go to him every time he could spare a minute. And wow, try to take that girl’s iPhone away. She’d be texting him all day, all night.”

“Do you think Rick would hurt her, though?” Kathy said.

“I don’t know,” Janet said, her voice lowering. “I met the guy a few times, when he’d come over really late at night. Seemed OK. I could tell he liked her. But like I said, anyone can want you. It’s the guys that actually do shit for you, beyond opening doors and their wallets, that count. This guy was just a player.”

“Is there any chance Alice went to stay with relatives?” Pete said, racking his brain, looking for any logical explanation for her disappearance. “Friends? Has she ever just up and left like this?”

“Nah, never. She’s the kind of girl that would always tell me where she was going and when she was coming back, even if it was clear I didn’t give a shit,” Janet said, her eyes watering. She clasped her hands together.

Pete flashed back to something in his blurry memory. Alice had heard of him through Kathy’s book and the related news coverage. Pete had been struck by her beauty when he first met her at his house, to talk over the case. He’d been drinking heavily then—waking up with a vodka on ice to get through the morning, and doing his best not to leave the house. She seemed scared and surprised when she saw his living room: bottles collecting around the garbage can, newspapers stacked near the door. Someone lived here, he wanted to say. Someone else had made this mess. He’d been struck by her intelligence; she got to the point and spoke with conviction. Soon, they’d agreed to terms and Pete was ready to start. “Ready” being relative.

“You sure you’re up to this?” she’d asked.

“Yeah, of course.”

“All right, man. Just don’t fuck up and make me regret this.”

They’d laughed. But now, thinking back on the exchange, Pete felt empty; sitting on the tiny couch in Alice’s apartment, a space she might never fill again, he felt like a complete waste.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Janet’s question shook Pete out of his reverie and he noticed Kathy’s concerned look—one that was mostly sadness but also said, “What are we getting into?”

He had no answer. For either of them. He looked at Janet, his eyes locked in on her, trying to provide whatever comfort he could muster and send it to her.

“I don’t know.”

“What can I do?” Janet said.

“Can you tell us anything else about Alice, about what she was doing before she disappeared?” Kathy said.

Janet thought for a moment, her hands rubbing together as if that would help jog her memory.

“Not really,” she said. “We were going to split soon.”

“What do you mean?” Pete said.

“Like, we had to find our own places,” Janet said.

“How come?” Kathy asked.

“I’m moving to New York, got a job doing social work,” Janet said. “I graduated last semester and tried to find something here, but
nada
. Our lease is up in a month.”