I was acting like a fool.
“So you’re doing private investigations now?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“No,” I said.“Just helping out a friend.”
“Oh.Anybody I know?”
I shook my head.“Guy I went to high school with.”
“Fellow Stag?” she asked, teasing.
It had been a point of ribbing between us from the very beginning, when we started the police academy together.Katie had gone to Riverside High and they were arch-rivals of Deer Park High, where I went to school.When things had been good between us, we’d teased about the mascots of both schools-Deer Park Stags and Riverside Rams.The possibilities of what high school kids will come up with are as endless as they are obvious and Katie and I both had a good memory.
But those days were gone, so I gave her a simple nod.She looked mildly hurt that I hadn’t picked up the gauntlet.
“I heard you made detective?” I asked, almost as an apology.
Her eyes brightened slightly.“Yeah.It only took ten years.”
I shrugged.“Some people never make it.Some people push a cruiser for their entire career.”
“I guess,” she said.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s a fun job,” she said.“I like it a lot.”
“Slower than patrol?”
“Yeah, but more mental.I mean, you have to think on patrol a lot, and most of the time you have to think fast.In investigations, I’ve had to get used to thinking slower.”She spread her hands apart.“And broader.”
“So it’s not the retirement gig everyone says it is?”
Katie grinned.“Well…for a few, it is.But there’s as much work available as you’re able to get done.”
“Good for you, Katie,” I said quietly.“Good for you.”
“Thanks.”She motioned at the folder.“You going to look?”
“Later,” I said.“I’d rather talk to you now.”
I was surprised at how easily I said it, but my surprise washed away when I saw her reaction.A moment of concern flashed across her face and she winced.It was gone a moment later, but it told me everything I needed to know about any chance for us.
Ever.
“Stef…” she began.
I held up my hand.“Never mind.”
“But, I-“
“No, it’s okay.Really.I didn’t mean it that way.”
She looked at me with the same cautious, guarded expression that she’d had when she arrived, only now there wasn’t a smile to mask it.
“I know there’s no chance for us,” I told her.“Not after all that’s happened.I know where I’m at right now would be a deal breaker all by itself.That’s not even counting what happened on the job or between us.So-“
“Do you think that’s what it’s about?” she snapped. “Where you are now?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
Katie shook her head. “You’re still a selfish bastard,” she said, her voice lower.Caution had given way to anger and a blush of red lit up her cheeks.“Nothing’s changed.”
I didn’t answer.It was easier that way.
“But you’re right,” she said, the anger rising in her voice.“There’s no chance for us.I could’ve told you that four years ago.But I thought maybe we could still be friends.”
“Women always think that,” I muttered.“But it doesn’t work like that.”
Katie shook her head in disgust.“And for men, if you’re not having sex or trying to have sex, then there’s just no point, is there?”
We sat in silence for a long moment.I wondered if she was right about what she said.
Katie took a sip of her tea and looked out the window toward Sprague.I looked at the soft hollow of her throat and remembered kissing it.The scent of her hair.
“You really think we can still be friends?” I asked quietly.
Katie didn’t look at me.She slid out of the booth.“I guess we’ll see,” she said before walking out of the diner.
I followed her with my eyes and felt a stab of sadness at how erect she stood as she strode confidently away.I stole a glance at the curve of her hips just as the diner’s door swung closed behind her.
“I guess we will,” I said to no one and no one answered me.
20
Phyllis re-filled my coffee and took away the tea cup, which was still nearly full.I pushed my thoughts of Katie as far away from the front of my mind as I could and I opened the folder that she’d brought for me.
Keeping her out of mind was nearly impossible as I thumbed through the pieces of paper inside the folder.She must’ve received my voice message almost immediately and gone straight to work.There were notes on some of the items, and they were grouped together by subject.
I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes. She put some effort into this. And now, just like that, she was gone again. A familiar aching in my chest flared and pulsed at the thought.
I took a sip of my hot coffee and swallowed too soon. My throat burned and my eyes watered.I brushed at my eyes and turned back to the file.
Matt Sinderling had nothing more than traffic tickets on his record, which didn’t surprise me.Katie had written only one word in red ink below his entries.“Comp?” meaning complainant.
Good guess, chica.
Gary LeMond was also clean.Not even a traffic citation.I noticed that he’d been fingerprinted, but Katie had circled the entry and made a note that all teachers are required to be printed for their teaching certificates.
Kris Sinderling had just one entry.My stomach sank when I saw the type-code for the entry.
PROST, it read.
“Great,” I muttered.Prostitution.
It didn’t make sense.How does a girl like Kris go from wanting to be a movie star, and probably having the tools to make it happen, to working on the streets?That was a Los Angeles story maybe, but not a River City story.
The entry wasn’t a formal charge or even an arrest, though.It was an FI, a field interview.That meant a cop had stopped her and figured that prostitution was what she was up to. He just didn’t have enough probable cause to make an arrest, so he did an FI.
Even so, she was a runaway.Why didn’t he take her into protective custody and call her parents?
I looked at the date and realized the contact had occurred before Matt had reported her as a runaway.
I pressed my lips together.Fine, she wasn’t a runaway.But she was still a sixteen-year-old girl out at-
My finger traced the typed entry and found the time.
0213 hrs.
Jesus.How do you not do something about a sixteen-year-old girl out on East Sprague at two in the morning?
I turned to the next page and saw that Katie had pulled a copy of the FI.I read through it.
Subject contacted Sprague/Smith with known prostitute (street name Rhonda, see other FI).Dressed provocatively.Claimed to be waiting for bus, but busses no longer running.Offered her a ride home or to safe location.Subject refused.Denied being engaged in prostitution.Name check clear.Known pimp, Rolo, spotted one block away, across the street.
How many FI’s had I written just like that when I was on the job?All it really told me was that she was there and when it had been.And that she appeared to be working as a prostitute.The excuses she had used were amateur and timeworn.
I found the name at the bottom of the page.Officer Paul Hiero.
I closed my eyes briefly and tried to recall Paul.I remembered that we used to kid him a little about his last name, but that was about all.
I flipped the FI over and read through the biographical data on Kris Sinderling.She’d given him 329 Poplar in Cheney for an address and a telephone number that wasn’t a Cheney number.All Cheney numbers begin with the prefix 235.I guessed the number she gave to be a cell number. Or one she made up.
Hiero described her clothing in detail.Short denim skirt.T-shirt tied off and exposing the midriff.Matching black stilettos.Small gold hoop earrings.My eyes flitted over to the MARKINGS/SCAR/TATTOO box and saw it had been filled in.
“Oh, great,” I muttered again.