Skin Game Read online

  “What makes you think that?”

  He joined her by the dresser. “The roommate’s bedroom is intact. Four cabinets on the far end of the kitchen are unopened. They stopped. The only reason to stop looking is when you find what you’re looking for.”

  She kept looking. Touching things lightly with the gloved hand as she passed. The jewelry box was opened, the contents strewn on the dresser. “Her diamond cross is here.”

  “Something of value left behind. So it’s not a robbery, for sure.”

  She headed to the closet. Something shiny caught her eye from the far end tucked behind the winter coats no longer needed in the Vegas heat. Sequins. Lots of sequins.

  “Chris is not a sequin kind of girl. More of a jeans and football jersey kind of girl.” Erica pulled the garments out. Three of them. They each consisted of little more than a scrap or two of brightly sparkling fabric and there was a huge, feathered headdress hanging upside down from a strange-shaped hanger. “Are these showgirl costumes?”

  “They could be. But my guess would more likely be stripper costumes. I think I remember hearing of a place that uses the showgirl theme for all its dancers.” He didn’t look at her or the garments as he spoke. His jaw was tight. Jim didn’t like the idea of Chris in one of these outfits any more than Erica did.

  “One of these is huge.” She fingered the bottoms and held them up. “Three or four sizes too big for Chris.”

  He lifted his brows. “Nice catch. What about the other two?”

  She dropped that one at her feet, adding to the mess, and checked the others. “These would probably fit. Do they mean anything?”

  “I don’t know. But it gives us another place to look.”

  Jim noticed her hands were shaking. She was having a hard time getting air into her lungs. She swayed like a tree in the wind.

  She was falling. And he had no way to stop it.

  “Korey.”

  10

  She fainted. Dead out in his arms. He’d managed to catch her but was not happy about laying her out on the floor with all the evidence, or on the bed with the shredded blanket and pillows. He carried her out to the walkway and down to one of the lounge chairs by the pool. There was a woman with a child at the other end. The mother eyed him.

  “Fainted. You have any water?”

  Typical mother, her scrutiny quickly turned to concern. She rushed over with the water. Her daughter followed a few feet behind, still leery of the big stranger and the unconscious woman. Until she got close. “Look, Mama. She looks just like Miss Chris.” The child reached out and touched Erica’s cut.

  The woman pulled her child’s hand away. Jim shook Erica lightly and tapped her cheek. “Erica. Wake up, sweetie.” The endearment came out before he could stop it. Fucking stop that. He grinned at the little girl. Tapped Erica’s cheek again.

  “Is she Chris’s sister?” the woman asked.

  “Yes.” He opened the bottled water the woman had contributed and poured some on his hand and flung the drops into Erica’s face. She peeked at him under heavy lids, then jerked awake. She was shaking and pale.

  “When was the last time you ate anything?”

  She sat up, rubbed her cut and bruised forehead. “In Boston. Before I got on the plane, I guess.” She took the bottle and took a drink.

  “We need to get you some food.” He turned to the woman. “Thanks for the water.”

  She smiled. “Anything for Chris. I have some Goldfish over there. I could make you a sandwich.”

  He didn’t want to linger too much, but … She sent the child for the snacks. The little blonde happily skipped to the far end of the pool where their belongings were sitting under a bright red umbrella.

  “When was the last time you saw Chris?” he asked the woman.

  “Last week. She occasionally watches Beth for me. She’s such a doll.”

  Erica sat up. “Did you see anyone hanging around her apartment in the last few days? Anyone that didn’t belong?” He would have asked the question a little more subtly.

  “No. Not that I can think of. Is Chris okay?”

  Beth trotted up. “I seen a man I never seen before. A funny one.”

  “You’re Beth?” Erica leaned forward. The girl nodded, handed her a little opened baggie of Goldfish. Erica thanked her and made a big show of eating some of what was no doubt the young girl’s afternoon snack. They made a small bond there. He kept his mouth shut. If he needed to intervene, he would. Interviewing kids could be hard. Rapport and trust were important. Erica had it with this girl right off the bat.

  “What man did you see?”

  She looked to her mom, who looked a little hesitant.

  “Chris is my baby sister. I’m looking for her. I could really use your help. My name is Erica Floyd.”

  “You look just alike her,” the little girl chirped. “’Cept she’s skinnier.”

  The mother smiled. A little embarrassed.

  “Always has been.” Erica took another drink. “And her hair is a little lighter. And she liked dolls more than me.” Her color was getting better. Jim was trying to be small and unobtrusive as he sat behind Erica on the lawn chair. If he got up, his size might intimidate the little girl, and Erica seemed to be doing just fine.

  “She plays with my dolls all the time!” The child was practically bouncing.

  “I bet she does.” She took another bite of the crackers and offered Beth a few. She happily took them. “Now. What was funny about the man?”

  She nodded and finished chewing. Good manners and thoughtful. Jim was getting more confident of this witness testimony by the minute. “He had a bruised face just like you”—she grinned sheepishly—“and big yellow shoes.”

  “Good.” Erica praised her. “Was he bigger than Mr. Bean here?”

  She eyed him and put her thumb to her mouth. Tilted her head. “No. Not big-big like him. Big-tall. ’Cept skinnier.”

  Not Banks.

  “Was he really thin, like the Pink Panther?” Jim asked.

  The girl giggled. “Not that thin. No one’s that thin!” She looked at Jim again. “Just not like Brutus either.”

  Her mom looked surprised at her answers. “When did you see this man, pumpkin?” Jim was surprised at her answers. He’d interviewed adult witnesses who were nowhere near this precise.

  She put her hands behind her back and looked up at the nearest palm tree and wiggled one foot. Thoughtful. “After Big Bird.”

  “So you know what day you saw him?” Erica asked. Jim still hadn’t moved from the chair. She leaned back, her shoulder pressed against his chest. He wanted to get up and step away, but that might ruin the girl’s run. He held still, felt Erica’s warm, distracting body.

  “Yellow day. That’s why I remembered his big yellow shoes. Brought to you by the color yellow and the number seven.” She held up seven pudgy little fingers.

  The mother shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t watch them that closely. I’m usually doing my own homework at the time. I’m in graduate school. That’s why Chris watches her for me occasionally.”

  “Something we can probably find out.” The woman seemed to shrink back a bit at his statement. He was a big, scruffy man. He smiled at the girl. “You’ve done a really good job, Beth. Can I ask you one?” She didn’t smile back him, but she nodded. “Did he have a friend with him?”

  Again, she looked up. Thought. And then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Thank you very much.” Erica sat up and her weight left his chest. He was relieved. He wondered if she realized she’d even been there.

  “We should get you something to eat,” he said. She seemed to get his meaning. It was time to go. She wrapped up, giving her card to the woman. Praising Beth.

  Time to change tactics.

  Jim came out of the drugstore in the strip
mall behind his neighborhood and tossed a bag into the backseat. “Sorry. Kid behind the counter was slow.”

  “I thought for a minute I was going through the fence.”

  “Good. You remember the plan.” She’s probably going to need it.

  He pulled the car around the block and up next to the townhouse. He got out and she grabbed the bags between her feet on the floorboard.

  “Don’t spill that.”

  She gave him a sneer. “Maybe I should. It stinks.” But she cradled the two white paper bags loaded with greasy things wrapped in even more white wax paper. He’d stopped at a local joint and ordered for the both of them. He was sure it wasn’t her normal fare, but she needed protein and calories.

  As soon as the door to his townhouse opened, Annie wrapped around his legs. She screeched up at him.

  “Relax. I got it.” He pulled a box from the drugstore bag. Cat food. She meowed happily if not a little sternly. Nearly tripping over the anxious cat, he made his way to the kitchen and poured a heaping pile into an empty bowl. He added water to the meal and she sat contentedly eating. Erica moved past them. The little hellcat did take a moment to give Erica the dick-eye as she took a seat at the table. He rubbed her head.

  “Far neater here than the office,” Erica chirped. “A little more like the man I remember. No dust. No clutter.” She inspected the furniture. “Yet the space lacks any intimacy. Beige carpet, a nondescript brown couch, and a leather recliner. Pretty bland, Jim Bean.”

  She was right, and the blinds were all pulled down and closed tight, allowing no natural light in at all.

  “Not one piece of artwork. No pictures.”

  “Just a place. The furniture was here when I moved in. Except the bed.”

  She sat at the little table as he pulled the first of the greasy bundles out of the bag and placed it in front of himself. Next were two gigantic orders of fries. Then he handed her the last bit of white waxed paper from the bag.

  She opened it with a bit of a sneer on her face. A tidy little grilled chicken sandwich sat there. She lifted the top of the wheat bun to find avocado, sprouts, and pickles. Her mouth fell open.

  “If you’d rather have the triple cardiac with bacon”—he shrugged—“we can switch.”

  “It’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s perfect. You remember. Maybe Jim Bean isn’t such an asshole after all.”

  “Don’t go thinking things like that. I just got the dieter special. Women always get that.” He took a huge bite and stuffed several fries in his mouth.

  She took another drink. “Have you lived here the whole time? Since Ohio?”

  He stopped chewing. Meaning … Have you been here since your life fell apart? Since we broke up? He wanted to make a fist. Not think about it. Count to ten like the anger-management classes had taught him. Ten … nine … eight. “Most of it.”

  Before she could counter with anything else about his life, he stood and walked to the hall toward the office. Away from her. Seven … six … five …

  He grabbed his laptop off his desk and marched back toward the kitchen and her. Four … three … two … He stopped. She was chewing. Trying to look apologetic. He took a deep breath. One …

  He plopped the computer on the table and opened it. Still standing, he took another colossal bite of the burger, went to the fridge, and grabbed a beer. Better than counting all afternoon. “Want one?”

  She glanced at the clock on the stove behind him. He knew it read four thirty p.m. “No. Thank you. Water?”

  He opened the narrow pantry and pulled out an off-brand bottle of water. Annie jumped from the floor to the table to the counter just behind him. He tossed Erica the bottle and turned his attention to the cat. “Better, baby girl?” Yes. He was baby-talking the cat. He could feel Erica’s gaze on his back as he petted Annie. “Her is a pretty girl.” He gave her a final head pat and slid back into his chair and went to work on his computer search. Erica tried to hide her smile when he looked up, but she failed miserably.

  He glared at her over his laptop screen. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Erica ate a few more of the fries and swallowed down half the water. She looked better. Her face glowed from her mirth.

  After he hit the search icon, he took another bite, leaving only a small bit of the Triple Cardiac burger in his fingers. “Can you tell me how to get …”

  She waited for him to finish. He didn’t. He just looked at her as he typed a few more characters into the laptop to narrow his search.

  “To get what?”

  “You really are tired.” So he sang, “Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?” It was off-key. He typed a bit more. “I would have thought we’d all remember that one.”

  He looked up and saw her grinning that big I know you grin. It made him frown.

  “You can’t hate me forever.” Her eyes squeezed shut like the words were out before she had a chance to think through where this conversation would lead. Places she didn’t want to go. That was for sure.

  He didn’t blink, didn’t hesitate. “Oh. Yes, I can.”

  She sat there. He gave her a brutal accusing stare. He wasn’t going to back down. It might not even be true, but it was better for his mental state if he believed it.

  “Fine.” She stood up and went to where the cat had perched on the back of the couch. She tried to pet his little Annie, but she hissed and ran away.

  He chuckled. He liked that cat more and more.

  He tried to ignore her as she made her way around the room. Picking up, inspecting, and putting down what little there was in the way of decorations in the room: a beer-bottle-sized vase from a Native American artist. Local made. It had the Southwest vibe to it. She thumbed through a book on the end table.

  He pulled out his reading glasses. He looked up. Caught her eye. “Something to say?”

  “Nope.”

  She peeked through the closed blinds facing the front of the townhouse.

  “This past Monday was brought to you by the number seven and the color yellow.”

  She turned her attention back to him. “How did you find that?”

  “Satellite network database.”

  She paused and went to look at the screen. “How did you even know they had satellite TV ?”

  “I saw the dish on the building.”

  “Nice. And you trust Beth’s memory?”

  He looked up at her. She had bent down to see the database. Their faces were close.

  “For a ten-year-old … she carefully thought about the questions and related her answers back to something that mattered in her world. Doesn’t get much better than that as far as witnesses go.”

  “The girl was probably closer to seven.”

  He shrugged. “Either way. We know the cops checked before the weekend and this tall skinny guy with big yellow shoes came Monday.”

  He turned to say something, leaned her way a little. He could smell the spicy sandwich on her lips. She was close enough he could kiss her with the slightest little effort. Just a tiny move.

  Hate was a funny thing. He could hate her all he wanted but he still harbored some desire, some care for the woman, or he wouldn’t be doing this. Not for the fact that Chris was someone he knew, if he was helping her. Fuck.

  “How does that help us know where Chris is?”

  He was not happy at his momentary step back into humanity. Not at all.

  “Jim?” She stood there all smug at his loss of concentration. Dammit.

  He thought hard about what she’d just asked. It took him a minute to clarify his thoughts. “It’s just another piece.” He Googled the address for the Social Services office. He needed to stay on track. “We have to paint a picture of what she was doing before she went missing and what’s happened since. We need to talk to the chick in her office. The one who told the roommat
e that Chris had been out.”

  “It’s almost five.”

  “She’s a social worker. Too many cases, not enough time. And if Chris is not working her stack, this girl will be left to do even more.” He slapped the laptop closed. “We probably have at least an hour or two before she heads home. It’s the life of the civil servant.”

  When he got to the SUV he motioned Erica to the backseat. She frowned. “Am I banished?”

  “No.” He opened the driver’s door so she could see the array of equipment in his work truck. He snapped the laptop into the cradle connected to the console.

  “You really use all this? Looks like a cop car in here.”

  No sooner were the words out than a cop car pulled up. Not a LVMPD patrol car, but the dark blue unmarked cars detectives drive. The window lowered as the car stopped next to Jim.

  Miller.

  “Heading somewhere, Bean?”

  “Evening ride down the Strip.” No one went down the Strip intentionally unless they were a cab driver or a tourist.

  “We need to talk.”

  Erica was in the SUV. She didn’t move. Smart girl.

  “Talk.”

  “Inside.”

  “I’m in a hurry, Miller. Places to go.”

  Miller put the car in park. He intended to stay. “You’re suspected of murder. I suggest we go inside.”

  Well, shit.

  11

  At least the SWAT team hadn’t showed up this time. But there sat Erica. And the cops were accusing him of something he hadn’t done. This was getting a little too routine.

  Miller calmly followed him and Erica back into the side entrance of the townhouse. He led him into the kitchen. All three of them sat around Jim’s little kitchen table. It felt much more crowded than it had earlier when it was just him and Erica.

  Miller took out a notepad and addressed Erica. “You look amazingly like Chris Floyd. You wouldn’t happen to be related to our missing girl, would you?”

  She drew her brow, appraising him. Jim saw her fists ball. She then glanced to Jim. He gave her nothing to go on, wanted to see how she reacted to Detective Miller. “Your missing girl? Who exactly are you?”