Snake Skin (9 page)

The last was an afterthought. Yeager wasn't
upset by the sex, but rather the fact that he'd lost control of
what was his. Family as possession.

Burroughs scratched a few notes, nothing to
imply the father was a suspect—no need to give the defense any
fuel—but just to show he was actively listening to Yeager's
rant.

But the other man said nothing more. Just
sat there, rigid, his back not touching the seat cushions.

"Did you call child services? Launch an
investigation?"

Yeager looked offended. "Of course not. I
wasn't about to have strangers invade my privacy. Bad enough those
photos were out there, being bought and sold. Melissa made no
secret that they were of her—they re-launched her career. For a few
years at least."

"Did you confront Tardiff? Ask him if
anything more than taking photos happened?"

"What good would that do? The damage was
done."

Burroughs scratched his cheek with his pen,
then closed his notebook. It was clear Yeager had nothing concrete,
only a long-held grudge that was more about his pride and less
about any possible abuse of his daughter.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Yeager." He left
the father hiding in the shade while he went to see what Guardino
was up to. She was infinitely more interesting than the
cold-blooded father.

He found her still in the girl's bedroom.
She was sitting on the floor Indian-style, a collection of items
spread out around her on the beige carpet. An archeologist trying
to reconstruct a vanished tribe from discarded artifacts.

"Anything good?" Burroughs asked from the
doorway.

She beckoned for him to join her. He
crouched down beside her, poking at her cache with his ball point
pen. She'd found several pieces of good quality costume jewelry
that corresponded to the missing items from the closet. A very
expensive digital SLR camera. A few artists' pens.

And one item that changed everything.

"This kid is different from any teenaged
girl I've ever worked with." Guardino played a drum tattoo with two
marking pens, the small sounds drowned out by the room's
emptiness.

"Isn't that the whole point of being a
teenaged girl—standing out from the crowd, being an individual?" he
asked, checking the camera for a memory card and finding it
missing.

"Not this girl. Instead, it's like she's
trying to erase herself."

Burroughs turned over the item that had most
caught his eye. A metal letter opener with an intricate gold and
silver-etched handle. "Where'd you find this?"

"Taped to the back of the commode. In its
own little cardboard sheath. I'd bet money she stole it from
mom."

"For what? It's no good as a defensive
weapon. Too flimsy."

She balanced the opener on end so he could
see the blood-stained tip. "Our Ashley is a cutter."

"Great. Self-destructive tendencies and a
high rate of suicide."

"Not to mention these kids often feel
disconnected from reality, seek out fantasy worlds where they can
control their environment, escape to."

"Aren't cutters usually abused? Maybe we
should look at this Tardiff guy more closely. See if he's been in
recent contact with Ashley." He filled her in with the little
information Yeager had given him on Tardiff.

She tapped her wedding ring against the
letter opener, gold against silver. Considering their options. He
sympathized. Some cases you had no leads at all, some you had too
many—all leading nowhere. This case was starting to feel like
that.

"Any evidence she was knocked up?" he
asked.

"I can't rule anything out at this point.
But I think an eating disorder is more likely than pregnancy."

"Fits with the mom."

"And her attitude about Ashley's developing
figure." She scooped a handful of Austrian crystal necklaces and
let them trickle through her fingers. "We need to know what was on
her computer. And where she got this camera from—looks like at
least a five hundred dollar camera to me. Or possibly something a
professional photographer like Tardiff might give a kid."

"To bribe her or groom her?"

Guardino held the beads up before her face
like a veil she was trying to see through.

"You think she was doing some modeling of
her own?" Burroughs asked. "For Tardiff or a friend out in
cyberland?"

"Someone who told her she was as beautiful
as her perfect mother, who gave her what she needed: validation,
attention."

"Love," he said with disdain. "Or maybe she
was doing it for money to finance her escape. Lord knows, I can
understand why a kid might want to bug out from this life."

She stood without using her hands, her grace
distracting Burroughs. Guardino was quite a looker—and what made
her even more attractive was that she didn't even seem to realize
it. He extended a hand to her and she leveraged him up to stand
beside her.

He held on a moment too long, smiling his
thanks. Then his phone rang. He listened for a short minute. "Maybe
we've finally caught a break. Monroeville PD thinks they've found a
witness. Thought you might want to head on over with me. It could
very well be the last person to see Ashley alive."

Chapter 8

Saturday 1:12 pm

Lucy told Walden where she was going and
followed Burroughs to his unmarked white Impala. "This isn't
exactly your jurisdiction, you could get out before things get
nasty," she said as he steered them through the street littered
with cop cars and looky-lou's. "Or do you have nothing better to do
on a Saturday afternoon?"

He caught her staring at the pale ring of
skin on his left hand. "Not for a while," he admitted. "I usually
get the kids on weekends, but not when I'm on call."

"How old are they?"

She liked the way his smile made it all the
way up to his eyes when he thought about his kids—Nick did that
too, every time Megan came into sight. Burroughs' smile looked a
little droopy around the edges. Weighed down with sadness.

"Boys. Nine and six. Still young enough to
think their dad's a hero." He nodded at the gold wedding band on
her own ring finger. "You?"

"One girl, twelve. She still thinks her
dad's a hero, not so sure about me right now."

"You moved because of your job."

"That and there's the whole puberty thing.
Hormones." She rolled her eyes in a good approximation of
Megan.

"Girls are tough. I'm glad I have boys." He
pulled out of the development onto a two-lane road leading them
into the woods and down the mountain. "I mean, look at this case.
She could have run away. With a boy. To have an abortion. To get
away from Mr. Freeze and Miss America back there. She could have
been taken—coerced or forcibly. She could have planned an elaborate
scheme to get her parents back together again or to get some
attention or whatever.

"If it was a guy—I mean, bad things happen
to boys, too. But it's just more straightforward, you know where to
look, what you're getting into. Know what I mean?"

"Right now I'd settle for any forward
motion. I hate that we're spinning our wheels like this."

"Hey, you've only been on the case for what,
two hours? You accomplished more than everyone else in the hours
before they called you."

"It's not enough. Not when she's already
been gone twenty-one hours."

He darted a glance at her. "You getting that
feeling too, eh?"

"I
always
have that feeling on cases
like this."

The road leading away from the development
twisted and curved down the side of a mountain ridge. He drove with
confidence, one wrist draped over the steering wheel, eyes darting
from the road to her and back again.

"Did you invite company?" she asked after
watching in the side mirror and seeing a red BMW 6 series following
them.

Burroughs glanced in his mirror and made a
snorting sound. "That's no company, that's Pittsburgh's ace girl
reporter, Cindy Ames."

"Sounds like you two know each other."

"She sicced a camera crew on my kids,
following them to school when I wouldn't give her an exclusive on a
big time murder case last year. My kids, especially my oldest, went
through hell after. Guess you could say Cindy was the straw that
broke my marriage." He scowled into the mirror. "She's ruthless,
vindictive, and as cold blooded as any serial killer. You want me
to lose her?"

"No, pull over. Let's have a chat and lay
down some ground rules." She was surprised to see his expression
change to one of concern.

"You're new around here. Much as I'd love to
rattle Cindy's cage, you don't want to get caught in the crossfire.
She'll go after you, your family, whatever it takes to create a
headline."

"It's all right. I can take care of myself.
Just pull over." Lucy had dealt with reporters before, veterans of
the blood-thirsty Metro DC's Capital beat. She doubted Ames would
be much of a problem in comparison.

"Ma'am, yes ma'am." He grinned as he stopped
the car, angling it across the road to block any escape.

"Grab your recorder and follow my lead."
Lucy got out, leaning against the side of the car, arms crossed
nonchalantly. The BMW hit its brakes and squealed to a stop less
than a yard away from her. The driver, a brunette built for TV
news, emerged, slamming the door.

"What the hell! I almost hit you—"

"Good afternoon, Ms. Ames. I don't believe
we've met." Lucy borrowed some of the Southern charm Nick and his
relatives always showered her with and laid it on thick. "I'm
Supervisory Special Agent Guardino. I understand you have an
interest in the Ashley Yeager case."

Avarice glittered in Ames' eyes. She reached
into the car and brought out a small digital recorder.

"Nice to meet you, Agent Guardino," she
said, her heels clicking on the macadam as she crossed to Lucy. She
darted a look at Burroughs who leaned with his arms on the Impala's
roof, watching, his face impassive except for one skeptical eyebrow
arched in Ames' direction. Ames scowled, then returned her
attention to Lucy. "Tell me about Ashley's tragic disappearance. Is
she dead? Is the father a suspect?"

Lucy ignored Ames' outthrust hand holding
the recorder inches away from her face. Instead she stared straight
into the reporter's heavily eye-lined and camera-ready eyes. "We
are investigating every possibility. Why would you assume the
father is a suspect or that Ashley is dead?"

Ames blinked as if not used to having anyone
answer her questions, much less turn her interrogation into a
dialogue. "Well, so much time has passed, the odds are Ashley is
dead. The family is always suspect in cases like this, especially
the opposite-sex parent. And sexual abuse isn't uncommon."

"Go on. Cases like what?"

"Kids missing, especially kids from broken
homes like Ashley's. That father, he's hiding something.
Molestation or worse."

"So you have reason to believe Ashley is
dead?"

"Um-well, it's obvious—" Too late Ames saw
the trap.

Lucy smiled. Not a genuine smile, it was
what Nick called her saber-tooth-tiger smile. "Did you get all
that, Detective Burroughs?"

"Yes ma'am." He held up his own recorder for
Ames to see.

"Now, Ms. Ames, you obviously have insight
into this case above and beyond the general public. I think that
makes you a person of interest. Don't you, Detective
Burroughs?"

"Should I call for a squad to take her in
for questioning?"

"What? You can't! You have no right—"

"Yes ma'am, I'm afraid we do. But, you'd
miss the press conference Chief Deputy Dunmar will be holding
shortly. And lose your chance to get your face on the six o'clock
news."

Ames regrouped quickly. "So what? I'd make
headlines: journalist terrorized by police, upholds first amendment
rights. I'd be a hero."

Lucy nodded as if she hadn't considered
this. "Maybe, maybe. But we'd be obliged to release your
statements. Your network may not appreciate a civil action brought
against you by the Yeagers."

The reporter was silent for a long moment, a
shrewd expression etched into her face. "You wouldn't be wasting
your time talking with me if you didn't want something."

"True. We want your cooperation in our
efforts to locate Ashley Yeager. That means no interference with
our investigation, no end runs to focus the public's attention on
us—or our families," Lucy added with a glance over her shoulder at
Burroughs.

"The public has a right—"

"Ashley Yeager is part of the public and she
has a right to have her safety protected."

"She's dead already and you know it."

Lucy pushed off the car and stepped forward
into the reporter's space. She was shorter than Ames but that
didn't stop Ames from backing away until the BMW stopped her.

"I do not know that, nor do I believe that.
But you can believe me, Ms. Ames, I will do whatever it takes to
bring Ashley Yeager home safely. If you interfere in any way
whatsoever, I will take you into custody. Is that understood?"

Ames opened her mouth for another protest
then clamped it shut. She nodded. Lucy wasn't satisfied and stepped
even farther into Ames' space, forcing her to lean back. "I asked
if you understood my position in this matter, Ms. Ames."

"Yes." The single syllable was clipped.
Ames' lips compressed into a single line and appeared chalky
beneath their wine-colored stain of lipstick.

Lucy backed away. "Right. Very good. Thanks
for your cooperation. I'm sure you won't want to miss the press
conference, so we'll let you be on your way."

Ames took a moment to glower at her, a sneer
twisting her lips. "Good thing I didn't have my camera man with me.
A woman with your coloring should
never
wear pastels."