L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (51 page)

“Rose will be ready to go home, you know.”

“I know.” With three children at home, Rose Blackthorne didn’t work any longer than she had to. Laura had two full-time counselors besides herself at Victory House. Three nights a week, two of them would alternate the street watch from 10:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. searching for children to help. In particular, Hollywood Boulevard, Sunset Boulevard—the strip—Van Nuys, Santa Monica and Long Beach, anywhere they’d find children of the night—runaways selling their bodies on the streets to survive.

She and Phoebe brought along sandwiches and milk, fruit and bottled water, because most of the kids they met were homeless. The few minutes they spent with each child was intended to give hope and let them know they had a place to go if needed.

She gave thanks every day that her daughter was safe and secure and, God willing, would never experience what these teens went through—what she’d gone through.

Laura parked in the driveway at the shelter, and they got out and walked inside the old two-story home. Phoebe went directly upstairs to bed, leaving Laura to talk to Rose, who stood at the door holding her backpack. “Anything happen while we were gone?” Laura asked.

“That strung-out kid was here looking for Brandy.”

“Any problem?”

Rose shook her head. “Not at all. Oh, and a detective was here looking for you.” Rose dragged a hand through her long, black hair, a mark of her Navajo heritage.

“What time?”

“Right after you left. He didn’t say what it was about, but it was probably the usual. Tracking down a missing kid.”

Though the police were invited to call first, most of the time they didn’t bother with the formality because it was easier to keep a kid from running again if no one knew they were coming.

“He said he’d come back tomorrow.”

Laura nodded. “Okay. Now, get out of here and get some sleep.”

“Uh, one other thing. I think Alysa is ready to make contact with her parents.”

Laura smiled. She liked nothing better than reconciling a runaway with her family. If she hadn’t had help when she was sixteen, who knows how she’d have ended up. “Great. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Laura said goodbye, locked the door and, still smiling about Alysa, traipsed down the hall to her bedroom on the first floor across from Caitlin’s.

Reconciliation was the shelter’s main goal—if possible. But many times it wasn’t because abuse at home was the reason the teens had run in the first place. In those cases the shelter housed some girls and helped others with foster care, education, part-time jobs and gaining enough self-esteem to make it on their own. Feeling worthless was one of the biggest problems with the teens they took in.

She peeked in on Caitlin, who slept soundly, all covered up like a mummy. Cait’s little-girl scent permeated the air in the tiny room…orange blossoms and bubble gum, Cait’s favorite bubble bath and lotion. Cait’s room wasn’t a bedroom at all but an oversize pantry that Cait had insisted could be her room when she’d decided she was too big to sleep with her mother anymore. The room had one small window and was barely big enough for a small twin bed and dresser, but Cait loved it. Laura’s heart warmed as she looked at her. So sweet. So innocent.

The child had no recollection of what had happened three years ago. Laura had explained to Cait that her daddy had been really sick, his death the result of an illness. It was a lie, but that was better than telling the child her father had been murdered. And whenever Cait had asked about him, Laura painted a happy picture.

Though Caitlin had quit asking about her daddy more than two years ago, Laura knew someday she’d have to tell her the truth. Someday when the child was old enough to understand.

Undressing as she went into the bathroom, Laura tossed her jeans and hoodie into the hamper, did her ablutions and then went to her own room and crawled between fresh clean sheets worn smooth by age and use. She felt an enormous sense of satisfaction. Most nights were the same; she fell into bed exhausted, but the knowledge she was helping a few kids make positive changes in their lives made it all worthwhile. She wished she could do more.

The Anaheim shelter was holding its own. She’d received more grant money to keep the place going for the next year, and they’d reunited three teens with their families in the past six months. To some critics, the numbers didn’t seem like much, but they didn’t know how difficult the process was. Sometimes it took months of counseling to make it happen.

She pulled up the handmade quilt and snuggled underneath. Life was good. Her daughter was safe and secure, and she intended to keep it that way.

She was just drifting off when the sharp ring of the phone pulled her back. She pried open an eye and glanced at the red neon numbers on the digital clock. It read 1:00 a.m. Who would call at this time of the night? They had a twenty-four/seven crisis hotline for emergencies, and only people she knew well had her private number. She reached across the pillow and dragged the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

No answer.

“Hello, is someone there?”

Heavy breathing was all she heard. Maybe it was some kid who’d gotten her phone number and was too scared to talk? Only she never gave out her personal number. Laura pushed up on one elbow. “If you don’t say something, I’m going to hang up.”

Whoever it was didn’t wait for her. She heard a click and then the dial tone droned in her ear.

CHAPTER TWO

“
MOM, WHO’S THE man
outside?”

Laura went to the door and peeked out one of the long narrow windows framing it. “I don’t see anyone, sweetie. Just kids going to school and you’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on.”

Caitlin sidled up next to her and pressed her nose to the window. “He’s gone now.”

“What did he look like?” Sometimes parents came looking for a child but were afraid to approach the house. Sometimes the police came. Sometimes an old boyfriend—or a pimp who wanted his cash cow back. And although she didn’t think about it all the time now, she never took for granted that they were safe.

“He was big and he had on a black coat.”

Laura glanced again. “Well, you’re right. There’s no one there. Now, c’mon. We need to skedaddle.”

Mornings had been a lot easier when she’d homeschooled Caitlin the past two years. But it had been obvious for some time her daughter needed to be with other children her own age. For all of her seven years, Cait’s social contact had been with the teenage girls at the shelter. And it showed in her behavior.

“I’m ready already.” She swung a strap of her purple backpack over one shoulder and then wiggled into the other one.

“Okay. But you have to eat first.” Good grief, Cait had never been so forgetful as she had the past few days. Was something bothering her? Something with school, maybe? She made a mental note to talk with the teacher.

They went into the big country kitchen together, and once again, Laura was reminded of how perfect the old house was for the shelter. Five bedrooms, one down and four up, not counting Cait’s, a living room that connected with a bright sunroom, a separate dining room next to the big kitchen and two baths. Two bathrooms were a necessity when you housed a half-dozen girls or more at one time. But sometimes, even two weren’t enough.

She motioned for Caitlin to sit at the round oak table while she got the orange juice from the refrigerator, another relic from the past, but she’d been happy someone had donated the old appliance to the shelter. She stuck a bowl of instant oatmeal in the microwave and waited.

“Here you are.” Laura set the juice and oatmeal in front of her daughter, made them both some cocoa and sat.

“I’ve been thinking,” Caitlin said, suddenly all serious. “I want to walk home with Shannon today.”

Laura caught herself mid-gasp. Biding time, she sipped her drink. She really didn’t need to drive Caitlin to school and back since it was only a few blocks away, but she still grappled with a tiny remnant of the fear she’d felt after…the murder. She got clammy just thinking about it. Which was silly. It had been three years.

The police had questioned Laura and accepted her explanation that Cait hadn’t been at her father’s in weeks.

“Please, Mom. All the other kids think I’m a baby because I can’t walk home with them. It’s so embarrassing.”

Laura had to smile. “Embarrassing, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Caitlin slurped another mouthful of oatmeal. “Besides, Shannon’s big sister walks with her and she’s in sixth grade.”

Laura sighed. She had to bite the bullet sometime. She couldn’t hold her daughter’s hand for the rest of her life. She wanted Caitlin to be with kids her own age. It was the reason she’d enrolled her in public school in the first place. And in the six months she’d been attending, nothing, absolutely nothing, had happened to make her doubt Cait’s safety. “Okay. But you can’t dawdle.”

“Awright!” Caitlin’s smile could’ve lit the room. Then frowning, she crinkled her nose. “What’s a dawdle?”

“Dawdling is being slow. Getting sidetracked. You have to come right home or I’ll be worried. You can’t stop at anyone’s house and you can’t—”

“Mo-om! I’m almost eight. I know my way home. Shannon walks home all the time.”

Girding her resolve, Laura reached to straighten Cait’s curly ponytail. “Just remember to come directly home. If you don’t I’ll come after you and then you’ll
really
be embarrassed.”

As the smile on Caitlin’s face grew from ear to ear, Laura smiled, too. Such a small concession to make her daughter happy was worth the worry.

Alysa came into the kitchen. “There’s some detective guy here to talk to you.” The statuesque fifteen-year-old, who looked years older, had been at the shelter for six months and was doing remarkably well.

Standing, Laura said to Cait, “Finish your breakfast, sweetie, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Laura passed Phoebe in the kitchen archway.

“You’ve got company.”

“I know. Thanks,” she said, unable to quell her annoyance as she headed for the living room. Mornings were the busiest part of the day at the shelter and this would put her off schedule.

A tall man in a dark suit stood next to the table in the foyer, his back to her. Looking at him, she felt a sense of déjà vu. The straight broad shoulders. The purposeful stance. “Can I help you?”

He turned. “I hope so,” he said, smiling, then held out a badge. “I’m Detective Jordan St. James, Ms. Gianni. I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

Then she realized why he seemed familiar. He was the man in the red car last night. And Phoebe was right. He was good-looking. And he was dressed better than any cop who’d come to their house looking for a runaway. His navy suit, light blue shirt and burgundy tie were impeccable, his brown sun-streaked hair perfectly styled. He could’ve been a GQ cover model. With the amount of care he’d put into his dress, she’d bet money her assessment about good looking guys being narcissistic was right on.

Before she had a chance to answer, Caitlin skipped into the room. “I’m ready to go now.” Then she saw the detective. “Hi, I’m Cait,” she said, introducing herself as if she were another adult.

He reached down and shook Caitlin’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Cait. I’m Jordan.”

“I get to walk home from school by myself today,” Caitlin told him, her brown eyes sparkling.

Laura put an arm around her daughter and pulled her closer.

“I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t have time to talk right now.”

Phoebe came from the kitchen with Alysa and two of the other girls. “I can drive,” Phoebe offered, her gaze traveling from the detective’s head to his toes. “I’ve got to stop at the store, anyway.”

While Cait wiggled away, Alysa held up a piece of paper.

“Can you sign this for me? It’s an excuse for my last class. A doctor’s appointment.”

Laura glanced at the note, frowning, and lowered her voice so the detective couldn’t hear. “A doctor’s appointment? Do I know what this is about?”

“It’s for that part-time job interview. It’s only an hour before school gets out, and it’s during my study hour.”

“Just this once,” Laura said, and quickly signed the paper. “Will you need a ride?”

“It’s walking distance from school. The ice-cream parlor.”

“And afterward?”

“I’ll beg a ride from a friend.”

That raised a warning flag for Laura. But one of the first things she’d learned working with teens was that trust was critical. She gave Alysa a hug. “Break a leg, kiddo.”

“Okay, gang. Let’s get this show on the road,” Phoebe announced in tour-director mode, and the group headed for the back door where the van was parked.

Laura bit her bottom lip. “You come right home, Caitlin. No detours along the way.”

***

Jordan watched the women leave, while two more who’d just come downstairs went into the kitchen.

“Let’s talk in here.” Ms. Gianni motioned toward a small sunroom off the living room. “Please have a seat.”

The house smelled nice, as if someone had just baked a batch of cookies or cinnamon rolls. Sheer white curtains made the room seem full of light even though it was still overcast outside. A small white wicker love seat and two chairs with flowered cushions took up most of the room. Plants and books filled the rest of the space. He sat in one of the chairs while she took the other, a small round table between them.

He knew from her ex-husband’s case file that she was the director of the shelter and also a counselor. She had a seven-year-old daughter and the only vehicle registered in her name was a ten-year-old Chevy van. Limited information, but until he had a reason, there was no need to do a background check on her.

“This is the reading room,” she said, apparently seeing him take in the surroundings. “You wanted to ask me some questions.”

He nodded. “Yes, I—”

“And you know I’m bound by confidentiality in certain areas.”

He nodded again. “Yes, I know. But this isn’t about one of your residents. It’s about a four-year-old murder case.”

The woman’s gaze narrowed. She had hazel eyes, but they looked green next to the tangle of long dark auburn curls. He could see the resemblance between mother and daughter.

Her back straightened. “I don’t understand.” A frown creased her brow, underscored her words.

“An acquaintance of your late husband.”

Her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip.

“My ex-husband died three years ago and we were divorced at the time. I don’t know any of his acquaintances.”

Tight. She was really tight. He could see he had to handle this with the proverbial kid gloves if he wanted her cooperation. “Frank DeMatta. Do you know him?”

She blinked and was silent so long he wondered if she was even going to answer. Running a hand through her hair, she pushed it back, then gave a half nod.

“Your ex-husband’s uncle.”

“Right. And no, I didn’t know the man personally. I only met him twice, once at the wedding and then at the funeral.”

“Did your husband talk about him?”

She shifted in her chair. Touched her hair again.

“He told me he worked for Mr. DeMatta to put himself through school. After college, when we started dating, Eddie was in real estate.”

When she didn’t say any more, he asked, “Anything else?”

“If this is about what Eddie was going to say at the trial, I’ve already told the police everything I know.”

“It’s not. It’s about the murder of a woman named Anna Kolnikov.”

Her eyes went wide. Her back even more rigid. He’d hit a nerve. “Ms. Kolnikov was Frank DeMatta’s…close friend for many years. Did either you or your husband know her?”

He thought he saw recognition in her eyes…maybe. Except she looked away too fast for him to know.

“I’d met her, but I don’t know anything about her relationship with Mr. DeMatta.”

“I understand your ex-husband was a gambler.”

She nodded. “Part of the reason for the divorce.”

“And the other reasons?”

She looked surprised, then angry. She pushed to her feet. “I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t see how my divorce has anything to do with the murder you’re investigating.”

He stood, raised his hands in a surrender pose, hoping to put her at ease. “No, I’m sorry. My intent isn’t to pry into your personal life. I’m trying to get a handle on your ex-husband’s relationship with Kolnikov.”

“There was no relationship. At least not when we were married.”

Her tone was firm, her words resolute—but not altogether convincing.

“The police told me after Eddie’s death that he was to be a witness against his uncle, but I don’t know anything more. I don’t know anything about his testimony. I didn’t back then, and I still don’t.” She crossed her arms, eyes flashing. “But I do know the police were supposed to protect Eddie and they didn’t.”

That was true. Few had been privy to the information the police had used to get Eddie to cooperate and testify against his uncle, but the media made sure everyone knew the police botched the protection job, even though WITSEC was FBI. Their punishment for not revealing the facts of the case.

She gave a big sigh. “And, as I said, I don’t know how any of that relates to the case you’re investigating.”

He smiled. She was forthright and wasn’t going to let him get away with anything. He liked that. And he found himself staring at her unusual hazel-green eyes that seemed to change color with her mood. Which wasn’t very friendly at the moment. “DeMatta had his fingers in a lot of pies.”

“Do you think Mr. DeMatta was involved in Ann—the woman’s murder? Or are you suggesting my ex-husband was involved?”

“I’m collecting information, Ms. Gianni. Trying to connect the dots. The best way to find out who murdered this woman is to find out everything I can about her. And the best way to do it is by talking to the people who knew her.”

Her face paled.

“You said you met Ms. Kolnikov. What did you think of her?”

She moistened her lips. “I…” Her gaze avoided his and he thought she might protest again, but then she said, “She seemed…nice. Kind.”

The two girls who’d gone into the kitchen came out, both talking loudly at the same time, harsh words and a few curses flying. “I did not,” the blonder of the two screeched.