A Trace of Vice. Блейк Пирс
at the interlopers but no one said anything.
The sound of multiple kids screeching came from inside. After a minute, the inner door was opened by a small blond boy who couldn’t have been more than five. He wore holes-pocked jeans and a white T-shirt with a homemade Superman-style “S” scrawled on it.
He stared up at Ray, his neck craning all the way back. Then he looked over at Keri, and apparently viewing her as less threatening, he spoke.
“What you want, lady?”
Keri sensed that the kid didn’t get a lot of sweetness and light in his life, so she knelt down to his level and spoke in as gentle a voice as she could muster.
“We’re police officers. We need to speak to your mommy for a minute.”
The kid, unfazed, turned and shouted back into the house.
“Mom. Cops are here. Want to talk to you.” Apparently this wasn’t the first time he’d had a visit from law enforcement.
Keri saw Ray glance over at the guys around the Corvette and without looking herself, asked him quietly, “We got a problem over there?”
“Not yet,” Ray answered under his breath. “But we could soon. We should make this quick.”
“What kind of cops are you?” the little boy demanded. “No uniforms. You undercover? You detectives?”
“Detectives,” Ray told him and apparently deciding the boy didn’t need to be coddled, asked his own question. “When’s the last time you saw Lanie?”
“Oh, Lanie’s in trouble again,” he said, a gleeful grin consuming his face. “No surprise there. She left at lunchtime to see her smart friend. I guess she was hoping some of it would rub off on her. Don’t bet on it.”
Just then a woman wearing sweatpants and a heavy, gray sweatshirt that said “Keep Walking” appeared at the end of the hall. As she lumbered toward them Keri took her in. She was about Keri’s height but weighed well over 200 pounds.
Her pale skin seemed to merge with the gray sweatshirt, making it impossible to clearly tell where one ended and the other began. Her grayish-blonde hair was pulled back in a loose bun that was in danger of falling apart completely.
Keri guessed that she was younger than forty but her exhausted, worn face could have passed for fifty. She had bags under her eyes and her puffy face was dotted with gin blossoms, possibly alcohol-induced. It was clear that she had once been quite attractive but the weight of life seemed to have drained her and you could only see flashes of pretty around the edges now.
“What’s she done now?” the woman asked, even less surprised than her son to see police at her door.
“You’re Mrs. Joseph?” Keri asked.
“I haven’t been Mrs. Joseph for seven years. That’s when Mr. Joseph left me for a massage therapist named Kayley. Now I’m Mrs. Hart, although Mr. Hart cleared out without a proper goodbye about eighteen months ago. But it’s too much trouble to change the name again so I’m stuck with it for now.”
“So you’re Lanie Joseph’s mother,” Ray said, trying to get her on track. “But your name is…?”
“Joanie Hart. I’m the mother of five hellions, including the one you’re here about. So what exactly did she do this time?”
“We’re not sure she’s done anything, Ms. Hart,” Keri assured her, not wanting to create unnecessary conflict with a woman who was clearly comfortable with it. “But the parents of her friend Sarah Caldwell haven’t been able to reach her and they’re worried. Have you heard from Lanie since about noon today?”
Joanie Hart looked at her like she was from another planet.
“I don’t keep tabs like that,” she said. “I was working all day; 7-Eleven doesn’t close just cuz yesterday was Thanksgiving, you know? I only got back about a half hour ago. So I don’t know where she is. But that’s not special. She’s gone half the time and she never tells me where she’s going. That one loves to keep secrets. I think she’s got some guy she doesn’t want me to know about.”
“Did she ever mention this guy’s name?”
“Like I said, I don’t even know if he exists. I’m just saying I wouldn’t put it past her. She likes to do things to piss me off. But I’m too tired or busy to get angry so that pisses her off. You know how it is,” she said, looking at Keri, who had no idea how it was.
Keri felt her anger rising at this woman who didn’t seem to know or care where her daughter was. Joanie hadn’t asked about her well-being or expressed any concern at all. Ray seemed to sense how she was feeling and spoke before she could.
“Can we get Lanie’s phone number and a recent photo of her, please?” he asked.
Joanie looked put out but didn’t say so.
“Give me a second,” she said and wandered back down the hall.
Keri looked at Ray, who shook his head in shared disgust.
“You mind if I wait in the car?” Keri said. “I’m worried I’m going to say something…unproductive to Joanie.”
“Go ahead. I got this. Maybe you can call Edgerton and see if he can bend the rules to access their social media accounts.”
“Raymond Sands, my stars,” she said, rediscovering a bit of her sense of humor. “You seem to be adopting some of my more questionable law enforcement methods. I think I like it.”
She turned on her heel and walked off before he could respond. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the men two doors down were all watching her. She zipped up her jacket, suddenly aware of the cold. Late November in Los Angeles was pretty tame, but with the sun gone, the temperature was in the low fifties. And all those eyes on her added an extra shiver.
When she got to the car, she turned and leaned with her back against it so she could maintain a good view of both Lanie’s house and her neighbors as she dialed Edgerton’s number.
“Edgerton here,” came the enthusiastic voice of Kevin Edgerton, the unit’s youngest detective. He may have been only twenty-eight, but the tall, lanky kid was a tech genius who was responsible for cracking many cases.
In fact, he’d been instrumental in helping Keri get in touch with the Collector while shielding her own identity. Keri imagined that right now, he was brushing the longish brown bangs out of his eyes. Why he didn’t just get his sloppy, millennial hair cut was beyond her, as were most of his technical abilities.
“Hey, Kevin, it’s Keri. I need a favor. I want you to see if you can access a couple of social media accounts for me. One is for Sarah Caldwell from Westchester, age sixteen. The other is Lanie Joseph, Culver City, also sixteen. And please don’t give me a hassle over warrants and probable cause. We’re dealing with exigent circumstances here and – ”
“Got it,” Edgerton interrupted.
“What? Already?” Keri asked, stunned.
“Well, not Caldwell. All her accounts are password-protected and require her approval to view. I can crack them if you need. But I’m hoping we can avoid any sticky legal situations just using Joseph’s stuff. She’s an open book. Anyone can look at her pages. I’m doing it now.”
“Do they say anything about where she was today after about noon?” Keri asked, as she noticed three of the men from the Corvette driveway walking toward her.
The two other men remained behind, their focus on Ray, who was still standing at the Hart front door, waiting for Joanie to find a recent photo of her daughter. Keri readjusted herself slightly so that even though she was still leaning against the car, her weight was more evenly distributed in case she had to move suddenly.
“She hasn’t posted on Facebook since last night but there are a bunch of posts on Instagram of her with another girl, I’m assuming Caldwell. They’re from the Fox Hills Mall. One’s in a clothing store. Another’s at a makeup counter. The last one is of her at what