Page 23 of Sinful Reality

Min?

“They didn’t have CCTV watching the fruit market back then,” he continues, completely unaware of the target I already see on his forehead. “Most folks used cash, not card. Cell phones weren’t like they are now, so no one is out there snapping pics of every Tom, Dick, and Harry like they do these days. Cars didn’t have dash cams, and asking the market stall cashier to remember someone who walked by isn’t gonna work out so well.”

“Who is the cashier?”

“Min—”

“Name, Pax!” She hunches over the phone and picks up a pen with her left hand. As in, the fucking arm with a needle in it. “Name and contact details.”

“They already spoke to her during the initial investigation.”

“So you won’t have a problem sharing her name with me.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He shuffles papers, his exasperation bringing a small smile to my lips and smoothing out the sharp edges of my temper. Because she annoys the shit out of him, too.That’s my girl.“Gloria Donohue. She sat for an interview in ‘98 and again in ‘99 when Diane’s body was dumped. In fact,everyonewas revisited in ‘99 after the bag wasdiscovered. But nothing changed, and then the investigation shifted to the next case, anyway.”

“What did the fruit lady have to say in her first interview?”

“Swear to Christ,” he spits through his anger, slamming a file box closed. “Hang on while I find it.”

“Good. And while you’re doing that, who’d you call after Diane’s mother?”

“No one! You,” he clarifies. “I was with her for the better part of an hour, Min. And then time ran out, and I had to update you. Are you forgetting that it’s after eight here?”

“No.” She glances at the clock no one has thought to change since her move more than a year ago. “Of course, I didn’t forget.”She did.“I just feel this is more important than banker’s hours. Fruit lady?”

“I’m looking. Jesus.” He flips page after page, licking the tip of his finger to get a grip on the next. “Here. Lemme just…” He grunts again and sets the box down. “Gloria Donohue. Thirty-two years old at the time. Two kids; one of each. She’d been married, but separated. Not yet divorced. She had her kids full-time. Father bolted about eighteen months earlier. Eleven-year-old son, six-year-old daughter. Notes Lowe left in the file say that she home-schooled her kids to better fit her work schedule since she had a few jobs to keep up after the husband left. Kids were well looked after, though, and school reports came out with decent grades. The girl, more than the boy. The uh…” Awkward, he clears his throat. “Yikes.”

“What?” Minka shoots tall on the couch. “What about the boy?”

“Lowe… he uh, he wrote something down,” he explains. “A word we don’t really use anymore.”

Silence hangs, even as Cato slowly wanders into the apartment, his hands dug deep into his pockets and his ears carefully trained on the call he’s been eavesdropping on since it began.

“What was the word?” Minka almost whispers. “What does it say?”

“Retarded. Not my word,” he rushes to explain. “I’m just reading what it says here. Nothing else really added to the file, just that she worked the stall most mornings before heading off to her next job. The owner of the stall was more interesting to Lowe.” He hums while he reads. I see it in my head, the way he pores over the documents andspeed-processes handwritten notes from two decades ago. “Andrew ‘Andy’ Stein. He was male, in the thirty-to-fifty-year age bracket, and he came with a history of DV and time spent behind bars. Lowe has his jacket in here and highlighted where he beat on his wife and neglected his daughter on a semi-regular basis. He busted the wife up pretty bad one time, so she ran off but left the kid behind. She came back and found her wildly underfed, though not violated… if you get what I mean. Mom snatched the kid up and went to the cops. Cops took him away since he already had a past, and she signed up for parenting classes and AA meetings, so the state wouldn’t take her daughter from her.”

“Where’s Mom and the kid now?”

“Living it up in Destin, by the looks of it. Daughter grew up to become an RN. Mom stayed clean and remarried a few years later.”

“And the dad? He did time, right? Though it’s obvious he was a free man when Diane disappeared since he owned the fruit stall and employed that other woman.”

“Yeah. According to Lowe, Andy found Jesus in prison, came out, and cleaned up his act. He was with his sponsor at the time of Diane’s disappearance, which is a pretty fuckin’ solid alibi to toss. He was cleared.”

“But alibis can be bought!” Finishing with her syringe, Minka sets the plastic down and peels the tape from her arm. “He fits the criteria, Pax. Have you pulled him in since Janiesa?”

“I would, except he died about seven years back.”

“Howaboutare we talking?” she snarls, yanking the needle from her arm and tossing the plastic tubing to the coffee table. “Do you haveexactdates? Because this almost sounds like he was taking little girls every year for seventeen years, perhaps to replace the daughter he lost, and then stopped after Elouise, because, ya know,he died?”

“He died three monthsbeforeshe went missing,” he counters, almost smugly. “And you’re forgetting he can’t have risen from the grave to abduct Janiesa. Andy was a close fit—Lowe zeroed in and hounded the man for years—but if it’s not right, it’s not right. You gotta cut that fish loose so your reel is ready for the next one.”

“Your analogies haven’t improved with age.” Minka tosses hertourniquet aside and flops back against the cushions. Because sheistired, and fuck, but I guarantee she’s hungry.

So, I get back to scooping food onto a plate.

Sighing, Minka reaches up and drags her ponytail over the back of the couch. “Definitely not fruit shop guy?”

---