Page 38 of Out of Control

Anything to get out of doing chores, Lukie, I could practically hear Dani’s voice as she teased me when I was a teenager.

I was doing all this so I could find out what happened to her. How she died. Maybe if I was lucky I’d find her body so we could put her to rest, but the real, achievable goal was to stop other families from going through the same mess I did.

I took a deep breath and removed my laptop from the briefcase again, opening it up and turning it back on.

I took another deep breath while I waited for my email to load. Still nothing back from the difference surveillance feeds. I took a third deep breath before settling in to do the mountain of paperwork that piled up while I was following Athena around.

I kept busy catching up on the brainless work for a few hours, though I obsessively checked my email every few minutes.

Almost as if the two men were in league with each other, both emails appeared in my inbox, timed within two minutes of each other just as my office started to darken. I flipped on my desk lamp and opened the one from Mark’s guy in vice first, Nando Crevallo, the one who was investigating Lombardi for his own, separate case.

Blake,

Sorry for the delay. I’ve had other work to keep me busy and away from my desk, but here’s the batch of photos from when Lombardi was released from prison on Monday night. If nothing else maybe we can identify her and get some new charges filed against him. I haven’t had a chance to finish processing the photos from the rest of the week so far, but I’ll get them to you ASAP once they’re done. This should get you started.

-Det. Fernando Crevallo, Vice

“About fucking time,” I grumbled, downloading the files. I tapped my fingers impatiently on the desk while the computer scanned for viruses—you could never be too careful when working with sensitive documents—and then finally opened the folder and began clicking through the pictures.

I could see Leo Lombardi through a window. He was in a grungy, shitty apartment wearing one of those annoyingly bright silk shirts, blue this time, texting on his phone. I wondered why this photo was included. There was no point in knowing he was texting in his apartment unless we could see the text, know what was being said. I clicked over to the next photo.

A close up of his phone screen. There. That was better, except it showed he was just on a dating app, trying to hook up. I shuddered, wondering what kind of woman would see his profile picture and agree to a date. I clicked through.

Now Leo was standing, walking to his front door. I checked the timestamp on the photo. About an hour had passed since the last photo. Someone must have responded and was desperate enough to want to come over right away.

The next series of photos were opportunity shots, the photographer enabling the “spray and pray” technique, taking dozens of pictures, hoping one of them would work out. The door half open, fully open, etc. Leo’s body blocked his date, but I could catch a hint of legs and a bright blue dress. How cute, they matched.

The next set of photos showed the woman wrapped up in Lombardi’s arms, making out. I rolled my eyes. Why would I care about this? It felt like I was looking at shitty porn, especially as I could see Leo’s hand gripping her ass, fingers reaching under her trashy short skirt to some very inappropriate places. I clicked to the next picture in disgust.

Her hand was on his chest, head inclined toward the tiny, dirty kitchen. Big deal. My finger was on the mouse pad, ready to click to the next picture when I noticed it. My eyes snapped back to the woman’s face.

It was Athena. This woman was Athena and this must have been her short date with Lombardi, but it was clearly going a lot differently than she’d said.

I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. I could hardly breathe. Did I want to see the rest of the pictures? I glanced at the corner ofthe screen. There were only a few more. How bad could it get? I needed to do my job. I could focus on Lombardi, ignore her. He was my quarry, not her. She might have really bad taste in men—may have lied to me again—but her lie wasn’t a potential felony, just in poor taste. I needed to see what he was doing that made the Detective Crevallo think these photos might be able to bring additional charges against Lombardi.

They moved over to the couch, Athena with a glass of water. Gross. I personally wouldn’t want to eat or drink anything out of that kitchen, but that was just me. Obviously she didn’t care about any of that.

I hurried through the next couple photos: them making out on the sofa, Lombardi’s body suddenly the only one visible over the top of the couch, Athena clearly laying down under him. Thank god I couldn’t see the details of what was going on from their waists down.

But then the next picture caught Athena’s arm mid-swing, that same glass of water in her hand, aiming for Lombardi’s head. Oh shit. What the hell was going on?

Lombardi sitting upright, looking shocked. Athena sitting upright, one arm across her chest covering where the dress was clearly pulled haphazardly across her body—I tried not to stare at the curves of her breasts or imagine what all her fingers were covering—the other arm mid swing again, this time letting her fist fly toward his face. I remembered that shiner he was sporting the following afternoon at the station and felt a sense of triumph.

My girl knocked his fucking ass out.

Not that she was my girl. It was just a sense of pride. And she clearly did knock him out, because the following picture only had Athena sitting up on the couch. Another showed her standing, smoothing down her dress. Another with her hands on those same tits, adjusting herself in the dress, another with those delicate fingers on the strap of the dress, pulling it back up her smooth, tanned shoulder. I gulped. This really was starting to feel like porn.

I checked the screen again, only one more picture. I clicked forward, but the last picture just showed her leaving the building. Why was that important?

Oh.The timestamp for the photo of her leaving was seventeen minutes after the previous one. What was she doing in there for seventeen minutes?

Why was she there in the first place? If she didn’t want to hook up with him why did she even show up, dressed to kill? If she wasn’t down to fuck, why did she let him kiss her and touch her like that? What happened that made her change her mind and clock him?

What the hell was she doing for the remaining seventeen minutes before she left?

What I saw in the photos was a shock. It hit deep, feeling a lot like betrayal even if I had no official reason to feel that way, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t illegal to meet someone to hook up, change your mind, and put them in their place when they didn’t want to take no for an answer. I was pissed, but I was never planning on seeing Athena again so her actions shouldn’t—didn’t—matter to me. I would just emailCrevallo back and tell him who Athena was so he could follow up about Leo Lombardi’s assault on her.

It took a lot of effort, but I stayed on task.

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