Snake Skin (21 page)

"Find the cell phone?" Lucy asked.

"Sitting on the table. Still on."

"We'll need to bag and tag it." Taylor and
Walden appeared in the doorway and she nodded to them to take care
of the documentation. "See if there's any evidence Ashley's been
here."

"You got it, LT," Taylor sang out, his eyes
lit up brighter than the flashbang. Walden trailed after the
younger agent, shaking his head, looking a tad embarrassed by
Taylor's exuberance.

Lucy turned her attention to Delroy and his
lady friend.

"I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Littles,"
she started, scrutinizing him like he was a item displayed on E-Bay
and the auction was heating up.

"Look," he craned his head forward, so
anxious that spittle accompanied his words, "I don't know nothing
about that gun, you can't hang me on that, I've been clean ever
since I got out, you ain't gonna find nothing—"

"One call to your PO and I'll find something
on a drug test," Lucy continued, stepping closer, violating his
space and pitching her voice to a most intimate level. "Won't I,
Mr. Littles?" It wasn't a bluff. He reeked of garlic and ammonia,
that weird stench meth addicts exuded. He wasn't totally high, but
he'd used recently.

"Please lady, you can't do that, don't call
Havelock, the guy's got a hard on for me, he'll send me back so
fast, and I ain't done nothing wrong. Please, can't we work this
out?"

She smiled sweetly and stepped back. "Maybe.
Depends how cooperative you and your friend are." She nodded to
Burroughs. "Go ahead, take him in. I'll meet you at the Federal
Building."

Delroy gagged as he tried to find the right
words. "Federal? I ain't done nothing federal, hey, can't we talk
this out, I'm clean I tell you, you can't do this, I got rights you
know—"

Lucy smiled as two SWAT officers started to
drag him out. Stopping them just as they reached the remnants of
the front door, she said, "Go ahead and let him wait here." She
gestured for them to place Delroy onto one of the kitchen chairs.
"If you're straight with me, Mr. Littles, maybe we can avoid the
trip down to Carson Street."

"I told you, I ain't done nothing wrong." He
gave the last word a twang, drawing it out to two syllables. "So of
course I'll co-op-er-ate."

Lucy stood in front of him, forcing him to
stretch his head back to make eye contact. "Since you're in
custody, I need to explain your rights to you, Mr. Littles." She
gave him the Miranda warning. "Do you want a lawyer? If you do,
please tell him that you're being charged with first degree murder,
attempted murder, kidnapping, felony sexual assault, gross sexual
imposition, sexual assault of a minor, assault and battery, and
terroristic threats."

His eyes bugged out at her litany of
charges. He opened his mouth, licked his lips, debating his
options, then closed it again. Lucy let the silence lengthen.

"If you are convicted of any of those
charges, given your record, you're facing life in prison," she
added salt to the wound. "If you are convicted of homicide, you're
facing a death sentence." She leaned forward, her face a few inches
away from his, close enough to smell the fear oozing from his
pores. "So tell me, Delroy. Would you like your lawyer?"

"I-I ain't done none of those things. Just
tell me what you want lady, I'll play it straight."

"I want to know where you got this cell
phone." She dangled the evidence bag containing Ashley's phone
before him.

"I found it."

Lucy raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"No, no really, I did. Someone left it at
the bus stop on Liberty Avenue. I found it yesterday."

"Did you make any calls from it?"

"Yeah, yeah, but only two. See I didn't have
no charger and the battery was low, so I took a look and found
these nasty pictures of a girl. Figured maybe the owner was a
married guy or something so I could shake him loose a few bucks. A
finder's fee, you know?"

"Go on."

"So I called the last dialed number, figured
that'd be his home. Only this lady answers. Freaked me out and I
hung up. Then tonight me and Hildy we were just goofing around and
we called the lady back, just to mess with her, ya know? Didn't
mean nothing by it."

Lucy straightened, crossing her arms over
her chest. Delroy squirmed, his gaze locked onto hers as he
pleaded. "Honest, we was just fooling. Ask Hildy, she'll tell you.
Look, there's nothing federal about it. You got the wrong man."

"No, Delroy. You got the wrong phone. This
phone belongs to a little girl who was kidnapped."

His face fell. "Aw shit. You're kidding
me."

"Wish I was. Now, I'm going to check out
your story and do my best to keep you out of a federal
penitentiary. But the only way you can strengthen your case is to
give the Pittsburgh Police your full cooperation. Can I count on
you for that?"

"Oh yes ma'am, whatever you say, I'll do it,
I will." The words gushed out as his eyes widened with fervor.

"I'm going to let these fine gentlemen take
you into custody. But if I hear you haven't cooperated with
them..." She scowled, letting her threat sink in before gesturing
to the SWAT guys to haul him away. Delroy went eagerly, already
jabbering to his escorts.

Lucy picked her way through the detritus
that covered the floor and went into the bedroom where Taylor and
Walden were finishing their search. "Anything?"

"Some drug paraphernalia, a few pieces of
women's clothing but nothing that matches what Ashley was wearing,"
Walden answered. "No signs of anyone being held against their
will."

"No computers," Taylor said with a
disappointed frown. "Nothing but Ashley's phone and a trac-phone
that was in the woman's purse."

Burroughs returned. "What about the woman?"
He nodded to the other room where two more SWAT guys were watching
Delroy's lady friend spout off tirades of highly explicit and
imaginative expletives. "You want her?"

Lucy considered. With Delroy's being a
parolee, she had a little legal standing. Tenuous, but it was
there. She didn't have any standing with Delroy's friend. "We have
an ID on her?"

"Yeah. Hildy Figeruaro. Age 22, no wants, no
warrants. From the looks of her, she's been popping heroin and
meth. She's pretty strung out now, it's hard to get anything
coherent out of her."

"Why don't you have PBP take her in on the
weapons charge, give her time to sober up? Then if I need her,
we'll know where to find her."

"Sure. She won't get bail until Monday, so
there's time." He went to make arrangements. Lucy strolled around
the room, admiring the architecture with its high ceilings and
ornate wood-work. Trying her best to ignore the urge to scream.
Wasting time, that's all they'd accomplished.

Wasting Ashley's time. For the first time
since this morning, Lucy allowed herself to add:
if
Ashley
was still alive.

She yawned, stretching her jaw until her ear
popped, relieving the stabbing pain that spiked down her neck.
Rocked back and forth on her feet as she looked out the naked
window from her position beside the sex-soaked unmade bed, her shoe
kicking a meth pipe aside. Her wedding ring caught the light from
the lone bare bedside lamp and flared in a rich red gold, the only
pure thing in this place.

"You want anything else here, boss?" Walden
asked.

Lucy shook off her reverie, turned her back
on the darkness beyond the window and rolled her shoulders,
shrugging the Kevlar's weight into a less uncomfortable position.
"No. Let's go."

Ever since she could remember, Ashley had
fought hard to avoid straying too far. Her parents would accuse her
of being "flighty" or daydreaming and would chide her for "going
away".

Going away, that's what it was, a helium
balloon taking flight, drifting into the heavens, finding new
places, new people, a new life.

When she was younger, a mere word would snap
her back to the here and now. Then she learned to do it herself—a
pinch on the back of her arm would suffice. But soon that wasn't
enough to re-connect her and instead she'd scratch herself. That
evolved into writing—she'd scrape hidden words into her skin, words
she wasn't even supposed to know, words she wasn't certain
described her or others. Fuck, shit, slut, asshole, bitch.

When that stopped working, she learned the
power of blood. First a needle, a mere pinprick on the tip of a
finger. As she concentrated on the crimson drop of blood, the sting
of pain, she'd be able to convince herself that she
could
feel, that she wasn't totally empty inside, that she belonged here
in this world.

She saw a girl in her class slice herself
with her thumbnail and Ashley soon followed in her footsteps,
experimenting with many sharp objects and techniques. If she cut
too deep, there was too much blood, it would stream out, make an
unsavory mess and draw attention.

Too shallow and there wasn't any blood—and
at this point in her addiction she needed blood. Blood and pain
were her bridges back to reality.

Until now. Now she lay curled around a metal
pole, sweltering in air so heavy she had to gulp it down in quick
bites, the stench of terror and death smothering her, her legs dead
except for the occasional pins and needles, darkness all around
her, seeping into her veins, seizing her heart.

She had begun this journey eager, ready to
escape. To a new life, to new hope.

Hope. It was an obscenity in this new world
she found herself in. Far better to simply leave, let herself go,
than to waste energy on hope.

She stared into darkness so complete she
couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed. She didn't blink to
try to find out. She was already gone....

Chapter 18

Sunday 3:02 am

Burroughs couldn't help himself. He couldn't
face the prospect of going home to the empty apartment he rented in
Shadyside. Empty. That was the operative word.

When the boys weren't there, the damn high
ceilings and hard wood floors made his every movement echo,
rattling his teeth like a lone bullet forgotten in an ammo box.

Other than a few bottles of Yuengling and
some moldy pizza, the fridge was empty. Except for two shiny new
frames from Target surrounding the boys' school photos, the walls
were barren.

He ought to get a rug, ought to get some
dishes instead of eating off paper plates, ought to get a real
table and chairs instead of the card table his folks had lent him.
Ought to get a life.

Correction. He had a life—he'd just thrown
it away.

Of course, he'd had a little help.

He drove down Carson, away from the federal
building and wondered at the smiling couples loitering outside of
Blue Lou's and Mario's. Three am and people were still out having a
good time, finding things to talk about, to laugh about.

Stopped at a red light, he watched as a man
reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind his date's ear. A
casual gesture, the woman didn't even seem to notice except that
she interlaced her fingers between the guy's as they continued
strolling. The scene was so familiar, yet so foreign. Burroughs
felt blind-sided.

He headed downtown instead of east to his
apartment. Downtown was where the devil lived, ensconced in a ritzy
condo on Fourth Avenue.

He had a thousand opportunities to change
his mind—as he did every time he made this drive.

Thought about Guardino. Lucia Theresa
Guardino, what a name to be saddled with. But somehow it suited
her. He liked the way she was strong as steel but not hard, no
sharp edges, just determination that would not be bent or
broken.

He appreciated the way she refused to give
up on Ashley, rallying the rest of the cynical group of cops to
fight for the kid as well. Hell, even he had fallen for it,
starting to think the kid might even still be alive.

Guardino combined good people instinct with
charisma, making her a born leader. Not strident or overbearing
like most women in position of power, especially in law
enforcement.

Not one of the guys, though. She stood
apart. He had the feeling that had cost her, a lot.

He remembered how her voice changed when she
spoke with her kid on the phone; the way her eyes widened, her
breath quickened and she flushed when she joked with her
husband—hell, after spending the day with her, he could about tell
every time she even thought about her husband. Her pupils dilated,
a faint blush crept up her throat. And she thought about him a
lot.

Kim never looked at him that way, not even
when they were newlyweds. Or maybe he'd just never noticed.

He pulled into the underground parking lot
at the Carlyle. Licked his lips, hands still clenched tight on the
steering wheel. This was the last place he should be tonight.
Especially working this case.

But it was the only place left for him to
go.

He called upstairs. She was waiting at her
doorway when he arrived a few minutes later.

The door was open only a few inches, just
far enough to silhouette her in the glow of the light behind her.
She'd staged it to perfection: hair rumpled as if she'd just woken,
skin glistening and smelling of jasmine, a hint of eye liner and
lipstick, mouth parted in a welcoming pout, and gold silk robe
unbelted, slitted open wide enough to confirm that she wore nothing
beneath it.

The devil herself, offering everything he
needed and nothing he wanted.

"I knew you'd come tonight," she purred,
grabbing his shirt and tugging him to her when he hesitated. "After
seeing the way you looked at her today, I knew you'd be in my bed
tonight."

"What are you talking about?" He pulled
back, one foot still in the hallway, freedom only a short sprint
away.