My Soul to Play (Games People Play Book 2) Page 3

  "I vaguely remember having a car towed, but we have cars towed all the time. I don't know why people leave their cars here, but hey. The towing company loves it."

  My reminders got me nowhere, but then I asked about security cameras.

  "Sure, we've got them."

  "Could I see the footage?"

  "Got a court order?"

  "Seriously?" I said. I leaned forward. I wasn't above testing my feminine wiles in a case like this. I gave him a peek down my blouse. His eyes flickered lower, but only for a moment, and I didn't see a lot of interest. "Come on. You don't want to put me through that. If I have to go get a court order, I have to bring back all sorts of other officers to help me enforce it. All those cops wandering around, getting in your way, getting in your customers' way... It's a waste of taxpayer dollars and an intrusion for you."

  "Court order," he said.

  "Thank you for your time," I said. "You've been a lot of help." I started to get up.

  "Or a hundred bucks."

  I sat back down.

  "An hour," he added.

  "Do you keep the video back that far?"

  "We just might. One way to find out. Two-hour minimum. We've got an ATM if you need to use it."

  I sighed and pulled out a wallet.

  * * * *

  For my $200, he showed me the security system and showed me how to review past video. It was actually a good system, storing the video in files lasting an hour and organized with one folder per day. There were four cameras, so there were 96 files per day.

  I knew when the car was towed, so I started there. I found the video of the Corolla being towed. After that, I backed up, two days at a time, finding when it first appeared.

  Thursday evening. The following Friday, Rachel hadn't shown up for work.

  While the system itself was good, the video wasn't the best quality. Rather than storing thirty images per second, this was one image every two seconds. This made for dramatically smaller files. But it was good enough for what I needed.

  I saw her pull in, park the car, and then sit in the car for perhaps ten minutes. Then I saw her get out and begin walking. She was wearing a skirt and dress, and it looked like sensible shoes. There was a large purse hanging from a strap over her shoulder, and she had something in her hands, but none of the video gave me a good look.

  I watched the next twenty-four hours of video over a twenty-five minute period; at no time during that period did Rachel return to her car.

  The manager had left me alone, which he probably shouldn't have done. I slipped a blank thumb drive into the computer and copied as many of the files as I could fit. Then, on a hunch, I backed up and reviewed video for the previous week, spot-checking here and there.

  I was only mildly surprised to find Rachel's Corolla had been to this particular Quick Stop three times during the week prior to her disappearance.

  Interesting indeed.

  * * * *

  I drove the neighborhood, concentrating on the direction Rachel had gone. I'd been here before, working on a different case, but it was a year or two ago, and I hadn't paid close attention.

  It was a typical inner city neighborhood. The Quick Stop represented a boundary. On one side of the Quick Stop were small apartment buildings intermixed with the turn-of-the-last-century homes from this part of town. Across the street -- and the direction Rachel had gone -- were businesses. Cleaners, coffee shops, an auto garage, a used clothing consignment shop, and the other sorts of businesses one might expect in any inner city neighborhood. I knew if I walked further, eventually I'd run into more residential housing. But I was pretty sure that hadn't been Rachel's destination.

  But I drove around slowly, getting a feel for every street within four blocks of the Quick Stop. Then I found some street parking. I climbed from the car, leaving most of what I'd found so far, bringing only my notebook and two photos of Rachel.

  I wish I had a good picture of her as she'd been dressed that evening, but the best I could do was offer a verbal description.

  I stepped onto the street, looking both ways and considering my choices. She'd had to make a decision at the corner, but it wasn't covered by the video from the Quick Stop. I looked around, wondering if any of the other businesses would have more exterior surveillance. There was the bank -- which is where my previous case had been -- but nothing else looked likely. I turned right and headed to the bank.

  * * * *

  "Detective St. Claire!" The words were issued warmly. The bank manager stepped around her desk to offer me a handshake. My investigation had been very good for the bank, uncovering an ongoing fraud scheme by one of the loan managers. The neighborhood bank had lost some money, but it could have been a great deal worse if I'd been led astray.

  It was nice to have been the hero.

  "Ms. Givens," I said, offering my own warmth. I had liked her. Unlike many people who are the victims of fraud, she didn't blame the police for not preventing it. She hadn't blamed me for the time the investigation had taken. Instead, she had been quite effusive in her praise.

  "Sit, sit," she said with a gesture. We took our seats, and she leaned forward, folding her arms on her desk. "How have things been in white collar?"

  "Good," I said. "How's the family?"

  "They're great," she said. "Jason has taken a real shine to robotics. Tara is in the fall musical at school. And Kiki loves college."

  "She's a sophomore this year?"

  "Yes. She got straight A's last year, but she admits this year is harder for her, and she's already told us to expect a few B's." She laughed. "She's learning to manage expectations."

  "Well, still," I replied. "That's good."

  We stared at each other for a moment, our smiles fading.

  "Well, you didn't come here for small talk. What can I do for you?"

  I decided to play it straight. She deserved honesty. "I have a sticky situation," I said. "A friend called me to try to light a fire under a missing persons investigation." I gave a bare summary. "I was wondering if you would review your outside security footage during a 15-minute window six weeks ago and see if she passed in front of the bank."

  "Why, Detective St. Claire, are you poaching on someone else's case?"

  "Frankly, yes, and I'm going to get called on the carpet for it. This is an unofficial request."

  "Well then, perhaps you should call me Alexis, and I'll call you Teigan. Do you need to see the tapes yourself, or would it suffice if I were to look."

  "Alexis, if you would look, I would be deeply grateful. I shouldn't ask, but..."

  "But you're worried about this girl, and you're not one to let something like this go. And perhaps I can help you find her. Whatever I give you won't be admissible in court. You're going to need to go through official channels."

  "Right now, I'm just hoping to find her. I presume if, during a review of your security tapes, you find direct evidence of foul play, you would report it appropriately. But if all you can tell me is she walked past, that narrows down which direction she went."

  "Give me what you have, and I'll see what I can do."

  I gave her the photos I had of Rachel as well as the times I had for her leaving the Quick Stop. "But there is no promise their equipment had the right times, so you'll need to look a little wider than that."

  "I'll start there then, if I don't find anything, scan an hour before and after. I can scan quickly but slow down if I see something worth a closer look."

  "Thank you, Alexis."

  * * * *

  I cooled my heels; it was a half hour later when Alexis invited me back into her office. She closed the door then handed me a photo. It was a still of a woman in front of the bank. She had glanced up towards the security camera, and it was a good shot of her face.

  "That's her," I said.

  "I'm going to show you something," she said. "Come around here. It's short." She had a thumb drive. She inserted it into her computer, did some clicking, and then a video played. It was
short, only about twenty seconds. I saw Rachel come on screen. She looked around, including looking up at the video camera, and then she began to cross the street.

  "Alexis," I said when the video ended. "Thank you."

  "We have a second video," she said. "It's not good enough to identify people, but it can provide a little more information." She did some clicking and a second video played. Again, I saw a woman move into the screen. I wouldn't have been able to identify Rachel if I hadn't seen the first video. This video was taken from a camera I guessed to be on the roof of the bank and was wide angle. It showed the entire street including the fronts of some of the businesses across the street.

  In the video, Rachel came to a stop, looked around, then stepped to the curb, paused for traffic, then ran across the street. She disappeared into a building across the street from the bank entrance.

  "I skimmed ahead," Alexis added. "I didn't see her leave. But I didn't want to make you wait. I'll look more carefully and call you if I see anything else. Teigan, I can't give you these. If you need them, you need to officially ask for them."

  "I understand, Alexis. Thank you so much."

  "Will this help you find her?"

  "It's a breadcrumb," I said. "We'll see. What's across the street?"

  "A rather seedy nightclub. It's been open for a few years. Normally, such a club might be bad for the bank, but it's actually clean outside, and no one loiters around the front. But a lot of men use the ATM here at the bank before heading over."

  "And if they don't have an account here..."

  "We make two-fifty each. It's not much, but it adds up."

  Club

  I was not impressed with Sergeant McCullum or Officer Janes. I was not impressed with them at all. So far, everything I'd found had been easy. All right, maybe they wouldn't have had such an easy time getting the security footage from the bank, but they hadn't even tried.

  No, I wasn't impressed at all.

  I left the bank, crossed the street, and checked out the entrance of the club. There was a single, black door with the name, "Club Vixen" stenciled on it. There was nothing that overtly made notice this was a nightclub at all, much less the sort of nightclub Alexis had implied.

  If this were truly a club, and not a front for something else, they could profit by a more obvious entrance. I wondered how they reached their potential clientele.

  At the thought this might be a cover for something nefarious, I called in. I didn't have a partner, but I did have a couple of officers who reported to me. I called one. "I'm following a lead," I said. "A place called Club Vixen. If you don't hear from me in an hour, bring a team and come politely ask about me."

  "Sure thing, Detective."

  I entered the club.

  Inside, it was dark, and I took a minute to let my eyes grow accustomed. Once I could see, I was somewhat surprised. It was a lot nicer on the inside than it was on the outside.

  It wasn't a big club; one might call it intimate. There was a long bar along the right. Along the left were several booths, and they had curtains one could draw closed. I'd never seen that before. In the middle was a catwalk, ringed by chairs. Surrounding that were tables. The club looked like it could maybe support seventy-five patrons before it grew a little cozy, more if they stood.

  It was the middle of the day, however. There was no entertainment. A bored-looking bartender was doing bartender things. There were three people eating lunch at the bar and a small group in one of the booths.

  I stepped up to the near end of the bar and waited for the bartender. He made me for a cop right away. "Don't tell me. You'll have a water. That will be twenty bucks."

  I smiled and set my badge down on the bar top. "Do you ever work evenings?"

  "Twenty bucks for water or five for a coke," he said.

  "Seriously?" I asked. "And I bet I have to buy the water to get you to answer a simple question or two?"

  "Answers are extra," he said.

  "I'll take a coke."

  "Five bucks, officer."

  "It's detective," I said. I pulled out a five. I got my coke. He got the five, which disappeared into the till. By the time he glanced back at my way, I had a twenty sitting on the top of the bar. He stared at it for a moment then moved back.

  "That's the best you can do?"

  "There's a reward involved."

  "For information leading to the arrest and conviction?"

  I took one of Rachel's photographs and turned it to face him. "Have you ever seen this girl?"

  He glanced at it. "I can't say I have. We get a lot in here."

  "She might have been in maybe six weeks ago."

  "Six weeks? You're asking about a chick from six weeks ago? I can barely remember chicks from six minutes ago." But then he looked me up and down thoroughly. "I might remember you a little longer than that."

  I was surprised. He wasn't tacky about it. It was said matter-of-factly.

  "Look again," I said. "She may have had an impact."

  He actually made a show of looking at the picture. "She's cute. Is this some sort of costume?"

  "No."

  "Cause she'd be popular in here, dressed like that." He set the photo down then looked me up and down again. "You might, be, too. Thursdays are ladies' nights."

  Inwardly, I groaned. She would have been here the same night as a bunch of other women, and thus far less likely to leave an impression.

  "Would you have been working the ladies' night shift, six weeks ago?"

  "I can't say as how I remember. I've worked ladies' nights, but I can't remember if I was here last Thursday, much less six weeks ago."

  "I wouldn't suppose you could check the old schedules and see who was working-"

  He cut me off. "For that, you'd have to ask the manager, and I already know what she'd say."

  "Oh?"

  "Got a warrant?"

  "Interfering with a police investigation-"

  He held his hands up. "Don't shoot the messenger, Detective. We get a lot of girls in here. I'm sorry. Enjoy your Coke."

  He slipped away, ostensibly to see to the needs of the other patrons. But a minute later, I saw him on the telephone located near the till, and twice he looked over at me, although he tried to conceal it.

  I decided to wait around and see what happened. I finished the Coke then checked my messages.

  I didn't see her approach. Suddenly there was a voice practically purring in my ear. "Hello, Detective." It was the most sensual bedroom voice I had ever heard, and I shuddered before looking up.

  Standing beside me, very close beside me, was the woman to fit that voice. She was the most stunning woman I'd ever seen. I immediately wanted her. But I also knew there was no way I'd ever have her.

  She was... expensive. Very expensive. She was wearing a well-tailored business suit, white silk blouse, and a tie, loosely tied around her neck. When I looked down, I saw shapely legs, glad in panty hose, and a pair of Manolo Blahniks.

  Her body was a real killer. When I finally tore my gaze back upwards, I saw long, auburn hair, sparkles at her ears, and more sparkles around her neck. I glanced at her hands. No rings, but she wore an expensive tennis bracelet.

  "Do you like what you see, Detective?" she asked with a smile of her bright red lips.

  "I bet you don't hear the word 'no' very often."

  She paused an instant than laughed loudly. "Oh, I like you already. Gary suggested you might like to speak with me."

  "Did he?" I asked. "So you're the club manager."

  "Not exactly. I'm the club owner. The manager doesn't arrive until later, but I was in. I guess I got lucky." She looked me up and down pointedly and smiled again. It was a leer more than a smile. I found myself blushing under her intense gaze, an incredibly unfamiliar reaction for me. "Come. We can talk in my office."

  She stepped away. I left a tip for Gary. The woman waited until she was sure I was following, then she turned and sashayed her way through the club.

  No, this woman di
d not simply walk. She sashayed. I imagined at times it might be more of a prance, however. I also thought perhaps she was real good at a stalk.

  I wouldn't mind if she stalked me.

  I didn't follow her; I followed her scintillating ass, and if anyone was watching, I'm sure I wasn't even subtle about it.

  "Snap out of it," I managed to tell myself. "You're a professional."

  Professional or not, this woman had my number, and we'd barely met. She was the embodiment of sexy, and my body was responding to her.

  She led me to a corridor at the back of the club. We went past the restrooms, turned left, and then came to a door marked, "Private."

  Her office was surprising. I was expecting something small and dingy. Instead, it was almost sumptuous. There was a desk, of course, with a comfortable chair along with two more guest chairs. But there was also a small conference table on one side and a sofa and two easy chairs to the other. Everything was tidy, and the furniture looked expensive.

  The woman moved to stand beside her desk before turning to me. She smiled again, and I found myself returning the smile. She held out her hand. "I am Evaline Marsh. This is my establishment."

  "Detective St. Claire," I said. I pulled out my badge and flashed it to her, then accepted the handshake. She gestured to one of the chairs near her desk, taking the one on the other side.

  "Do you have a card, Detective?"

  "A card?"

  "Yes. A business card with your name, title, and the department you work for."

  "Of course." I retrieved a card from a small case I carried and handed it to her. She took it almost reverently then studied it.

  "Detective Teigan St. Claire," she read. "White Collar Division. Very interesting." She set the card aside, well out of my range. "May I see your badge again, Detective St. Claire?"

  I showed her the badge again. She held her hand for it, and so I let her take it. She studied it carefully before handing it back. "Thank you. What may I do for you?"

  I slipped two of the photos of Rachel onto her desk, aimed at her. "I am looking for this woman. Her name is Rachel Spencer. I wonder if you've seen her."

  Ms. Marsh looked at each photo carefully before setting them down, folding her hands over them, and looking up at me.