Page 86 of Our Elliana

About a block from the scene, the distinctive red and blue lights of police patrol units revolve over the façades of the brick-and-mortar buildings nearby. As we approach, I also detect Detective Ruiz standing next to an unmarked slate gray Dodge Charger. Andre is out front gesticulating at him like a madman.

“Elle departed with another woman, saying something about going to high school with her, but that was likely bullshit. She took Elle against her wishes, I know it in my bones.”

“That woman is her goddamn stalker,” Tristan bellows before he’s even fully outside of my truck, and Ruiz lasers in on him.

“Elliana was on the phone with us when she—Tanya—came in,” I pick up the narrative.

“Elle spoke her name?” the detective clarifies.

“Yeah,” Jackson yanks his head at the member of law enforcement, his mouth and cheek jerking in a tic I’ve only ever seen during his freak-out at the National Mall. “Tanya Brewer.”

“No, it was Baker,” Tristan corrects him, but neither is accurate.

I plant a hand on each of their shoulders, hoping to calm them down. Or maybe I’m hoping to calm myself down.

“Brubaker,” I tell the detective with confidence. “Her name is Tanya Brubaker.”

Ruiz runs the name and comes back with a woman’s image that he shows to Andre. Andre confirms that’s her despite the difference in hair. “I notice facial features since much of our jewelry is designed for piercings. That’s her. I guarantee it.”

“All right,” the detective says, “I need the three of you to give me the exact wording of your phone call, as precisely as you can recall it.”

In tandem, we give the most exhaustive statement we can to Ruiz. Afterward, he pivots to provide orders to a pair of uniformed officers. Another woman in plain clothes but with the bearing of a cop hustles over to the detective, and though I wouldn’t normally eavesdrop on purpose, this time I make an exception.

“Tanya Brubaker fell off the map about a year and a half ago. Some sort of psychological break. Reports say she hasn’t held steady employment since and may have been living among the homeless near the Falls Church area,” she’s speaking in a low voice, but I can still make out what she’s saying.

Falls Church is a suburb of D.C., so the travel time from here to there would be relatively negligible if traffic behaves. It hits me that one of the firefighters I know has a wife who works as a front-end administrator at a hospital there. Since we’re a part of the same ladder company, I have Kane and all my other coworkers programmed into my phone.

I go off to the side of the building and call him, not wanting to cause a commotion. I’m sure Ruiz wouldn’t be fond of me taking it upon myself to do my own reconnaissance.

“Hey Kane, didn’t you say your wife works at a hospital in Fall’s Church?”

THIRTY-SEVEN: The Card Nurse

JACKSON

“Peculiar method of starting a conversation.” The deep timbre of the voice emanating from Noah’s speakerphone bounces off the brick wall he hovers beside.

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