Page 110 of Devoted in Death

“Oh yeah. Mother hadn’t seen or heard from her in nearly a year, and she shows up, baby in tow, last June. Spun a story about falling for some guy, thinking they were going to get married, then he took off when she got knocked up, left her flat and with two black eyes. Lots of drama.”

“Yeah, she’s the smart one,” Eve mused.

“Claimed she realized how she needed family, how little Darra deserved a good start. Maybe she’d go back to school, get a good job, if they’d let them stay—that’s the mother and stepfather.”

“She knows what tune to play.”

“Played it like a virtuoso. Less than two weeks in, she’s gone, so are valuables and cash, and the baby’s still here. Not a word since, and they’re not covering, Dallas. They’re both scared we’re going to take the baby from them. They talked to a lawyer just last week, trying to see if they could legally adopt so the daughter can’t come back and take the kid. They’re nice people, doing the best they know how.

“And FYI? Ella-Loo was driving the Bobcat.”

“Did she have any friends there, anybody she might’ve told the truth to?”

“Carmichael’s getting that data. The mother doesn’t think there’s anyone Ella-Loo hadn’t pissed off before she left the first time around, but we’ll make some contacts before we head out to the next stop.”

“Who’s driving?”

His face went grim. “Just let me warn you. Don’t do bets with Carmichael. You might as well draw to an inside straight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Just to play it safe, talk to the locals, see about getting access to their ’links in case the daughter’s contacted them.”

“They already offered, but we’ll breeze by the local badges, see what we can suss out.”

“Good work. Keep it moving. Tag me from the next stop.”

She’d barely clicked off when she got an incoming from Baxter.

“We got two hits, boss, bang-bang. Nothing, nothing, nothing, then two. Pawnshop and pizza joint, both on Hudson. Pawnshop between West Houston and King, pizzeria between Charlton and Vandam.”

Her attention went straight to the map. “Fucking A.”

“After some friendly persuasion, the pawnshop ID’d James. He was in twice last week. Pizza place nailed both of them. Takeout, two visits. We’re going to try this Chinese place, and there’s a souvenir shop one block over.”

“Do that. I’m sending some uniforms to canvass, try some of the residences, the other businesses. If they spent time walking around that area, we can narrow the field. This is good, Baxter. What did they pawn?”

“A wrist unit, sports model, and a second, dress type. Decent ones, both men’s styles. A tablet—wiped clean—a keyboard, musical type, an entertainment screen, an antique vase, a silver Saint Christopher’s medal. Nothing shows up on stolen.”

“Bring the tablet in. EDD will see how wiped is wiped. Send me pictures and descriptions of all. I’ll check them against the vics. Did James go into the pawnshop and the pizza joint the same days?”

“First time, yeah, but about six hours apart, from what we’re getting. Second time, different days.”

“Okay. Keep me in.”

“You bet. Ah, hey, I haven’t heard anything from Trueheart. Have you—”

“It’s too soon. Focus.”

She cut him off, went back to the map.

She recalculated, using the two hits. You go for takeaway, she thought, you go close to home. If you were driving, it didn’t matter so much, but...

Too much time between visits on the first hits. Six hours? No, he drove to the pawnshop, possibly, but then they went back to the same area to pick up food. And back again, same area twice more.

Because it was easy and quick.

She cut six blocks north and three blocks east off her map, let that stew while she pulled up the data Baxter sent and ran it with anything reported missing from the victims.

Tablet, she noted, wrist units—but nothing matching the pawned wrist units.

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