Page 11 of Collapse

“But he’s dead,” Evans said. “He was our best lead.”

“Our?”Ms. Byers broke in. “Are you seriously working with a cop? What would Gerard say?”

“Gerard is the one who told me to answer all of his damn questions,” Evans told her.

“Oh…so he’s tame then,” Ms. Byers said, looking hopeful.

“You know,” I said as Evans shook her head in answer to her friend’s question. “I really don’t like that term.”Tame?They all asked that like I was some mutt who had wandered in on their territory. I decided to ignore the comments, though. “Thomás is dead,” I said, continuing with what was important. “Did you hear anything before the crash?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. She did look confused and I didn’t suspect her of trying to keep secrets this time.

“Is she hurt?” I asked Ms. Byers. I assumed she had checked considering her occupation.

“Scrapes and bruises,” she said. “She seems to have passed out as the crash itself happened. She was a bit confused afterward, might have taken a bump on the head, but probably no concussion.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Evans said, voice with an indignant tone.

“Lack of food and sleep doesn’t help,” Ms. Byers went on, ignoring Evans. “Neither does her insistence that everything is fine.” She gave Evans a hard stare and then began looking through her fridge to find some food. “If you ask me,” she said, talking into the fridge, “working with the police is madness, but since you are…you should tell him about Andrea.”

“Did you see her again?” I asked, getting my hopes up as Evans nodded. At least she was alive. I listened to Evans’ recount of the meeting, which had happened shortly before I arrived. Andrea was drawn to her locket. What had her parents called it? A focus object? Something that held deep meaning for her. It had been her grandmother’s, something that could draw her to it. I felt insane for thinking these things. That wasn’t important now, though, and I forced myself to stay in the situation. Wondering about it happening at all was a waste of time now. Evans kept talking, her voice steady, but she looked worried. Something about Andrea had been off. She had seemed to be in a worse state than the first time we saw her. I was not surprised. She had been in captivity for a week now, and from what we understood, she was being drugged most of the time. Probably a measure by the kidnappers to keep her docile. The fewer problems she caused for them, the easier it was. In addition, they could keep her from doing…whatever it was called when she showed up other places. No wonder they kept her in a basement. She couldn’t give any proper information if she managed to contact anyone.

“A house by a beach somewhere?” I asked as Evans finished.

“That’s all I found out from her,” she said as Ms. Byers placed some reheated pizza slices on the table. I was starting to realize that Evans’ life mostly consisted of other people’s leftovers. No wonder she kept buying exactly what she wanted when she made the decisions herself.

“What about the dead guy’s thoughts?” Ms. Byers asked as she grabbed a slice and sat down across the table from me.

“I’m not sure,” Evans said. She made a frown as she thought about it and then shook her head. “No. Nothing helpful.” She got off the counter stool, drawn to the smell of the pizza.

“Are you sure?” I said, noting that she seemed to walk normal. No noticeable injury.

She nodded as she bit into the slice.

“What exactly did you hear?” I pressed.

She sighed and lowered the slice. “There was so much going on. I didn’t get a chance to listen properly.”

“But what did you hear?” I repeated.

“Every detail may help,” Ms. Byers joined in, much to my surprise. “You said so yourself to Andrea.”

“Fine,” Evans said, forgetting her food a moment. “It was something about rent.”

“Rent?” I asked.

She nodded and closed her eyes a moment, trying to recall whatever she had heard inside Thomás’ mind. She looked oddly peaceful like that. “Something about the landlady hopefully not being there, even though they had paid their rent.”

“They’re renting the place where they are keeping the woman they kidnapped?” Ms. Byers asked. “That’s risky.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Do you rent this place?”

Ms. Byers nodded.

“And how often is your landlord here?”

She shrugged. “Never. I pay my rent. Why would he come by?”

“Exactly, but there are landlords that provide a more hands-on service. Especially if their short-term tenants are considered guests. Do you have a computer?”

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