The Only Witness (24 page)

"He went out the back door only a second or two ago." She pointed.

Finn rushed out the back door in time to see a white van pulling out of the lot. It had a Jimson Janitorial sign on the back with distinctive purple mops forming the Js.

The manager joined him on the asphalt. "I'll call Jimson and get the names of all the janitors assigned to us."

Four cars drove into the parking lot, one after the other.

The manager glanced at her watch. "We open in ten minutes. See you at one-thirty, right?"

That was his first scheduled interview with a lead nurse. "Right."

He walked to his car. Something about the disappearing Jimson Janitorial van was bugging him. No, it wasn't the van itself; it was the sign on the back of it. The dancing purple-handled J-shaped mops. Whimsical. Memorable. Distinctive.

Where had he seen that sign before?

Wait. Did he remember correctly? He opened his trunk and pulled out his camera, clicked back through the still photos. There. Neema's painting. The green blob—the 'cucumber car.' And in the lower right corner of the green blob, two side-by-side purple J-shaped swishes. He swallowed hard, staring at them, tamping down a surge of excitement.
Stay calm
, he told himself.
Stay analytical.
There were no other repeated patterns in Neema's art. Two purple J shapes. On the 'cucumber car.' The odds against this being a coincidence were astronomical. Weren't they?

Finn slid into his car, found the address of Jimson Janitorial Service with the locator app on his phone, and turned on the engine.

The branch office of Jimson Janitorial Service was a nondescript one-story brick building that looked as if it had been a car repair shop or a gas station in a previous life. The gravel parking lot held only a white Ford van and two cars, a scratched up blue Chevy and a silver Nissan. Only the van had a company sign on the back door featuring the dancing mops of Jimson Janitorial Service. Finn pulled out his camera, squatted on his heels, zoomed in and took a photo of the sign.

"You need something?" A girl leaned against the wall next to the entrance, a half-smoked cigarette in her hand. Her black hair was sawed off into uneven chunks and her fingernails were purple.

Finn stood up, his knees popping. "Detective Finn," he said, pulling out his shield.

"I seen you on television." She sucked on the cigarette and blew a stream of smoke out of the side of her mouth. "Can I help you?"

He thought about it for a minute. "Do you know Charlie Wakefield?"

She shook her head. "Am I supposed to?"

"He works for Jimson in Cheney."

She shrugged. "It's a big company. We got branches all over the place." She blew smoke rings as he pulled out of the parking lot.

When Finn stepped out of his car at the station, a reporter quickly thrust himself between Finn and the employee entrance.

"Reporter Joel Burnby," he said into his own microphone before thrusting it in front of Finn's nose. "Are there any new developments in the Ivy Morgan case?"

The kid looked all of seventeen. So clean cut, so damn eager. "The investigation is ongoing," Finn said. Then he shouldered the reporter aside and pushed open the door.

"But is there any progress?" the reporter shouted behind him.

Finn wished he had an answer to that one. He printed out hard copies of the photos of the Jimson logo and Neema's paintings.

As Finn was leaving the printer room, Dawes entered. "Got something?" he asked, glancing toward the pages in Finn's hand.

"Don't know yet," Finn said. "How about you?"

Dawes said, "Today I'm on the rock-throwing out at Bart Quillan's. Looks like it might have something to do with the school board debate."

"Really?"

Dawes shrugged. "Quillan's the science teacher, adamantly opposed to teaching intelligent design. He has one of those dinosaur stickers on his car. The rock that came through his front window had a cross painted on it."

"Nice Christian gesture," Finn remarked. "Ask him what
The Dinosaurs Died for Our Sins
means."

"Already did. He said the kids made it up; they thought it made as much sense as the debate over creationism. He thought it was funny, had some bumper stickers printed and he's been handing them out to anyone that wants one."

"Hence the rock."

"Yep. It's a crazy world." Dawes rubbed the back of his neck. "Any new leads on Morgan? I heard about the tip and the videotape."

But not about the gorilla
, Finn hoped. "You know tips; most of them are nutcases. But I'm following a couple of new threads. I'll let you know if they lead anywhere."

"You got the clinic robbery, too, right?" Dawes asked.

Finn checked his watch. Two hours before his scheduled interview at the clinic. "Yes, that one's mine, too. Gotta fly."

He jumped into his car and pulled out his cell phone as he started it up. It took eight rings for her to come to the phone.

"Grace, I have something I need to show Neema."

"What is it?"

"It's a photo of a company logo."

"She doesn't usually recognize letters or numbers."

"It's more of a graphic. It's important. I'm on my way."

As he drove out of the department parking lot, he saw a black Neon pull out and swing into traffic behind him. Damn reporter. He sped up to fifty in a thirty-five mile per hour zone. The black Neon was stuck, flashing its lights at an old pickup turning left ahead of it. Finn spied the marked car up ahead in the regular speed trap, stepped on the brake and spun the wheel hard, turning right into a parking lot. He watched in his rear view as the Neon zoomed past and the black-and-white pulled out behind it, siren wailing and light bar flashing.

Finn grinned as he drove around the block. Then he stuck the flasher on top of his car and drove like a NASCAR racer out to Grace's compound. A quarter mile away, he killed the sound and light show so as not to panic the humans or apes inside.

Grace met him at the door of the study trailer. "Is it something about the kidnapping?" she asked.

"We'll see," he said.

Neema stood watching him, balanced on one fist and her hind legs, looking a little ridiculous with a feather duster in her hand. "House cleaning?" he asked.

"Neema loves to dust," Grace said. "She's good with a sponge, too."

The gorilla sat down, dropped the duster, and made a couple of gestures.

"Cat dog," he and Grace said simultaneously. Grace laughed. He groaned. "Hello to you, too, Neema."

He turned to Grace. "Okay to show her the photo?" He held it up.

Grace glanced at it and raised an eyebrow. "I don't think it'll mean anything to her, but sure, go ahead."

"Can you film this, just in case?" He handed her the department camcorder.

"Okay," she said uncertainly, turning on the camera and flipping open the screen. "Ready."

Finn held the photo of the Jimson Janitorial logo in front of Neema. The gorilla stared at it for a moment, then grabbed it from him and set it on the floor in front of her black toes. Curling her hands to her chest, she hooted softly for a second. Then, her gaze still focused on the photo, she signed.

"Baby go snake," Grace translated as she watched through the camera. "Cucumber bad snake baby go cry. I don't understand—"

"Keep the camera rolling," Finn said.

Neema scooted to the corner and picked up her baby gorilla toy. Finn reached down and picked up the photo, showing it to the camera. "This is a photo of a Jimson Janitorial Service logo," he said for the microphone. "I'm Detective Matthew Finn, Evansburg Police Department. It's October 2
^nd
at 11:30 a.m." He paused briefly before saying, "Now you can turn it off."

"How did you know?" Grace asked.

He showed her his photo of Neema's painting. "Don't sell that painting on E-bay."

She swallowed. "It's on auction now."

"Well, stop it. Take it down. We may need that painting."

"Okay," she said. "Will it help find the baby?"

"It better. This is the first damn breakthrough I've had in this case." He stuck the photos back into his folder, grabbed the video camera from Grace and shoved it into his jacket pocket. "Gotta run, I'm going to be late for an interview." He headed for the door.

"Matt!" Grace followed him out. "Please don't show that video around without letting me know. Please don't tell the media without talking to me first."

He turned. Her face was tense with anxiety. "You have no idea of what can happen when people find out about talking apes," she said.

"Actually, I think I do." He walked back to her, stuck the folder under his arm and then put his hands on her shoulders. "I checked you out, Grace. I read about Spencer. I'm so sorry. I promise I will keep you informed."

Finn called Dawes as he was driving back to the station. "Hey, Perry, did you get any weird vibes from Jimson Janitorial in Cheney?"

"Nope. Charlie's boss seemed normal enough. But he didn't lay eyes on Charlie that night and he confirmed that nobody else was working with the kid on that job. He kept showing me the timesheet Charlie filled out and signed the next morning. I found one guy who worked across the street from the Ward Building. He saw a white Jimson van parked there, but he didn’t see who was using it. Why are you asking?"

"The anonymous witness called again," Finn lied. "She mentioned that the green car in the parking lot when Ivy disappeared had a Jimson logo."

"The only Jimson vehicle that Charlie checks out is a company van, and it's white," Dawes said. "As a matter of fact, all the vehicles owned by the Cheney branch are white vans."

"Maybe Charlie has a friend who drives a green car with a Jimson sign. I'll get a list of employees with vehicles."

"Charlie Wakefield and Jimson Janitorial connected to the high school and a Jimson vehicle seen at the Evansburg Food Mart," Dawes mused. "They are a huge organization. It could just be coincidence."

"We'll see," Finn said.

Brittany set up her sewing machine in the place her laptop would usually sit. She'd already cut out the pieces on the floor, and now she threaded the sea-green velvet under the machine foot. It felt so good to be creative again.

Her mom came into her room, carrying a glass of some glop. "I made you an eggnog. You didn't eat enough at dinner."

"Thanks," Brittany murmured. She pulled the threads through the cutter at the back of the sewing foot, clipping off the ends at the bottom of the seam.

Her mother set down the glass on her bedside table, and then came to hover over her shoulder. "What are you making?"

Brittany tapped a finger on her sketch. "It's a Halloween costume for Ivy. I already made the wings." She pointed to the silver-green creations on her bed. She was especially proud of the gold and black eye shape in the center of each wing.

Her mother looked at the wings for a long moment, then finally said, "A butterfly?"

"A luna moth." Brittany looked up at her. "Remember when we found that one at Gran's in Kansas? Remember how huge and magical it was?"

Her mother squeezed her shoulder. "I do. It
was
magical."

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. "Oh, here you are," her dad said lamely as he walked in. He focused on the wings on the bed.

"Brittany's sewing a luna moth costume for Ivy," her mother told him in the same tone she used to report absurdities like 'Our son says he wants to be a vampire when he grows up.'

Brittany focused on rearranging some pins. She could feel her dad staring at her. He started, "Oh, Britt, do you think that's—"

She cut him off. "It's for Halloween." She pushed the sea-green velvet under the sewing machine foot again. "Because Ivy will be home by then."

She heard him walk closer, but she didn't look up from the seam. "What is
that
?" he said.

"Mom told you," Brittany said. "It's a luna moth costume for Ivy."

"No," he said, grabbing her right arm. "I mean, what is
that
?" He turned her forearm over.

Her mother gasped. "Brittany?"

For a long minute, they all stared at the gauze pad taped to the inside of her wrist. A few dots of blood had oozed through the white fabric. Her father was frowning and her mother had a hand clamped over her mouth like she might throw up. Shit, what did they think, that she'd cut her wrists? If she was going to do that, she would have done it the right way, the
effective
way, down the arm through the veins so nobody could tape them closed afterwards.

She ripped off the bandage. The tattoo of three ivy leaves was still swollen and raw.

At lunchtime, Joy had given her some X. "To cheer you up," she said, pressing several pills into Brittany's hand. "It's not just for parties, you know, and now that you're not nursing… It'll make you feel better."