bite out of.
Why did I bring this in here? It is just looking like fatness to me. How could I ever have eaten so many of these?
She opened up a document and wrote the date of the night that Jonathan Briar was lying about.
Why was he lying?
Ren looked up the Irish Hound bar on Google Maps. It was the last stop on Hope and Jonathan’s night out.
His ‘cab’ answer was the least convincing.
Would they have gotten a cab for such a short trip if Hope Coulson was as hammered as I believe she was? Wouldn’t they have gone for some fresh air in their lungs?
Ren called the Irish Hound for the video from that night. They had aready erased it.
Shit.
She went back to the map and marked out three separate routes they could have taken home … if they had walked. From that, she put together a list of businesses and homes that they may have passed, and who may have captured them on CCTV cameras.
Her phone rang. She looked down and saw the flashing name of Glenn Buddy, DPD.
She picked up. ‘Hey, Glenn. Before you say anything, I didn’t get a chance to ask you last time – how’s Brenda doing?’
Glenn was close friends with Cliff and Brenda James. Cliff was Ren’s adored big-bear JeffCo colleague who Janine had replaced. His wife, Brenda, was undergoing cancer treatment and had been given just months to live. Cliff had gone back to work at JeffCo Sheriff’s Department to be closer to home.
‘It’s not good,’ said Glenn. ‘But they’re holding up, they’re holding up.’
‘I haven’t spoken to Cliff in weeks,’ said Ren. ‘I’m afraid to bother him.’
‘I know, I know – time is precious, but I’m sure he’d appreciate a call. You cheer him up, Ren.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘You do. Now, I’m about to not cheer you up. We’ve got reports of a missing prostitute. Name’s Donna Darisse. We brought her in a few times. Real nice lady. She’s a cancer survivor.’
The word survivor sounded stark when side by side with Brenda James’s prognosis.
‘She’s got a six-year-old girl,’ said Glenn. ‘It was Donna’s first day back on the job after treatment. The daughter’s friend’s mom called it in this morning – Donna never came back to pick her up after a play date at six p.m. yesterday. That was totally out of character for her. But the friend’s mom figured she had to work late – she thought Donna was a waitress – and that her battery had died. She took her to school this morning, then nothing. The school hasn’t heard from her either. The friend’s mom knew that Donna would never do something like that.’
‘Please let her have fallen asleep in some luxury hotel suite with Edward Lewis.’
Silence.
‘Pretty Woman …’ said Ren.
‘I’ll go with that,’ said Glenn. ‘According to some of the other girls, she was last seen on East Colfax, getting into a dark sedan. No description of the driver. We’re going through the HALO cams now, see if we see anything. Her last cell phone signal was picked up in that area, then nothing.’
‘Is she a user?’ said Ren.
‘No,’ said Glenn.
‘Do you have a photo of her?’
‘Yup,’ said Glenn. ‘Emailing it through.’
‘OK.’ Ren got off the phone, opened the email, and saved the image. Donna Darisse had a thick head of chestnut hair that fell past her shoulders. She had a warm smile, good teeth. She looked healthy. She didn’t look like a street hooker.
I’m finding comfort in that. If the skinny blonde is his type, and not just a coincidence.
Shit. Cancer … she had cancer.
Ren called Glenn back. ‘Sorry, again, Glenn – had Donna Darisse dropped a lot of weight?’
‘Oh – yes, according to one of the other girls.’
‘And did she lose her hair?’ said Ren.
‘Yes,’ said Glenn. ‘Shit, I didn’t think of that. Let me see if I can’t get a more recent photo.’
Twenty minutes later, a new photo of Donna Darisse hit Ren’s inbox. She was holding a little girl in her arms. Both of them were laughing. The girl had her hand in the air, having just placed a tiny gold plastic tiara on her mother’s head.
Oh. Shit. Hollow cheeks, blonde hair … blonde wig.
Stephanie Wingerter, Hope Coulson, Donna Darisse. These women look too alike for this to be a coincidence.
Donna Darisse, I think you wore the wrong-colored wig. That is fucked up.
Ren opened a document and typed: prostitute / teacher / prostitute.
Did you return to what you knew best? Women who were easier to take? Did the media attention on Hope Coulson send you back under your rock? Well, we care about all of them, you fucking reptile.
Everett came into the bullpen. ‘What’s going on in your world?’
She filled him in on Donna Darisse.
‘Shit,’ said Everett.
‘I know.’
They both turned as they heard footsteps rushing down the hallway.
‘Where is she?’ a woman was roaring. ‘Where is she?’
No security in the building …
Everett and Ren both got up, drew their weapons, ran to the door. Gary rushed out of his office past them toward the woman. He had no weapon drawn.
‘Don’t do this,’ he said. ‘Don’t.’
What the …?
The woman almost growled, struggled to make herself seen around Gary. Ren saw a flash of blonde hair.
‘Where the fuck is she, Gary?’ she shouted.
That’s Gary’s wife! What the fuck?
Ren put her weapon back into her shoulder holster. She turned to Everett, shaking her head silently, letting him know to put his away. They started to back into the bullpen.
‘Ren!’ Karen was screaming. ‘Ren!’
Me?!!
