Page 70 of Missing White Woman

He handed it over. Ty smiled at me from my screen saver.

“Thanks,” I said, but he was already hurrying off. Nowhere near as friendly as he’d been on the ride over. But then his car was still double-parked—outside a police station. I’d hurry too.

Sneaking another glance at Ty’s pic, I put my cell into my pocket, then went up the station’s steps and through the door. Inside looked nothing like the police station in Baltimore, but it still had all the same ingredients. Most of the office was safely behind a door with a lock on it. The lobby was small, bookended by a counter on one side and some cheap-looking hard-backed chairs on the other. They were all occupied, holding a United Nations of folks. A lone older white guy in a uniform manned the counter.

He cradled an old-school landline phone in the crook of his neck, rolling his eyes at whatever the person on the other end was saying. He spoke loudly as I approached. “If you have the number, I suggest you use it.” And with that he hung up.

The phone immediately rang again. He acted like he didn’t hear it, opting instead to just stare at me. “Help you?” He hadn’t said it like he meant it.

“I can wait until you answer that.”

“You gonna be waiting a long time. Been ringing nonstop all day. Night too. Now, how can I help you, ma’am?”

“I’m looking for Detective Calloway.”

He rolled his eyes, like I’d called his mom a ho. “If this is about the Little Street case, then you need to leave and call the tip line.”

He rattled the number off so quick, it was clear he’d been saying it a lot. I waited for him to finish before I spoke again. “No, I don’t think you understand. I—”

“Have important info. Yeah, I know.” He motioned to the ringing phone. “They probably do too. And I’m gonna tell you the same thing I tell all them. Call the tip line.”

“I’m Breanna Wright.”

His expression didn’t change. I suppose I should’ve been happy I wasn’t a household name here.

I glanced behind me, at the people sitting in the lobby. None of them paid me any attention, but I still whispered when I spoke. “The witness in the Janelle Beckett murder.”

“Huh?”

“Can you just call Calloway? Give her my name. She’ll want to speak to me.”

“Right, because you’re a witness.”

I nodded. Finally, he got it.

But then he kept on. “Excuse me for being rude, but there have been a lot of witnesses.”

The phone stopped ringing and for a moment it was blissfully silent. Then it just started up again.

“Would I know Calloway’s name, though?” I said.

“Yep, because everyone does. I think someone put it on Twitter or TikTok or something. One of those.”

I was about to name-drop her partner, but he beat me to it. “They know Randle’s name too. And I’ll tell you what I also tell them: if you were a witness, you’d have Calloway’s direct line.”

I did. Well, Adore did. But there was no way she’d give it to me. “Can I just leave her a note?”

He put his hands up in mock surrender. “If that’ll get you out of here.” He pushed over a blank police report. “Use the back.”

@ABrushWithBillie TikTok

531 Following 3.1M Followers 9.2M Likes

The video starts with a flyer. #Justice4Janelle is up top with Candlelight Vigil right below it. Two photos are in the center: One is the familiar picture of Janelle Beckett in her space buns. The other is a professional glamour shot of a perfectly made-up Billie Regan. They’re equal size and side by side.

At the bottom: Join activist and influencer Billie Regan from A Brush With Billie in a special vigil to honor the life of Janelle Beckett.

It’s on for just long enough to read it before it’s replaced with the real live Billie Regan. She sits in front of the camera with no makeup. Her hair is in a loose topknot that looks like it hasn’t been touched in hours. It’s early, but she looks invigorated.

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