Bare It All
Page 83
Alice handled it like a pro. It amazed him the amount of details she remembered, and how accurately she relayed them again. So often, witnesses got confused or mixed up about the order of things. Excitement and adrenaline caused a lot of people to miss specifics of the surrounding area, time frame, location, sometimes even the appearance of an attacker.
Not Alice. At all times, she remained alert, soaking up details the same way a detective might. Now, in relating those details, she didn’t come across as phony or like she was making up anything. She shared what she could, and occasionally enhanced what Rowdy had seen while attempting to trail her.
The different perspectives from their accounts matched up.
When Peterson pulled out a folder, Reese realized that the lieutenant planned to show a photo of the murdered girl. He moved closer, sitting beside Alice, his hand on the back of her chair.
Alice must have realized what she’d see, because she braced herself. The subtle shifting of her shoulders, the tightness in her expression, might not have been obvious to the others, but Reese knew her. He saw the dread and the iron will that kept her in the seat.
“Is this the same tattoo?” Peterson laid the photo on the table, turned it and moved it forward.
On the other side of Alice, Rowdy’s expression hardened. He cursed low.
With sadness filling her features, Alice took her time studying the photograph. “When did she die?”
“Recently,” Reese said, not wanting to involve her with all the nitty-gritty. She’d already dealt with enough ugliness in her lifetime.
Alice lifted the photo to see the tattoo better. She drew in a shaky breath, blinked back tears.
Peterson said gently, “Take your time.”
“It’s similar.” Alice dug in her purse and found a tissue, then drew a steadying breath. She didn’t make a big deal of her tears, either to apologize for them or to seek sympathy. “Not exactly like Cheryl’s, but pretty close.”
“Same size?” Logan asked.
“Yes.” Alice touched her own forearm. “From here to here,” she said, indicating just above her wrist to just below her elbow. “About five or six inches long and less than three inches wide. It didn’t circle her arm. It was sort of contained in a narrow rectangle but without a frame.” She looked up at Peterson. “Cheryl’s was still red. I think she’d just had it done.”
Taking the photo back, Peterson returned it to the folder.
Logan said, “You’re sure you didn’t get a last name? Didn’t see where Cheryl was headed?”
“I didn’t want to pry.” Peeking over at Reese, Alice shrugged. “But I did give her a phone number that she could call in case of an emergency.”
Reese wanted to groan. “The police?” he asked hopefully. Or maybe the elusive Trace.
Alice shook her head. “She wanted nothing to do with the police.”
Indignant, Peterson dropped the folder on the tabletop and sat back in her chair.
“You could’ve given her my number,” Rowdy told Alice.
“Cheryl didn’t know you. And right then, she wasn’t feeling real comfortable with men.”
Already knowing the answer, Reese took Alice’s hand. “So, whose number did you give her?”
Wincing her apology, Alice whispered, “Mine.”
* * *
REESE FELT THE way she held on to him, almost like a lifeline. The entire situation left her far more stressed than others would know. “Your cell?”
She shook her head. “A cell phone, yes, but not my regular phone.” She skimmed the faces of Peterson and Logan before focusing on Reese. “I’m not an idiot, and I don’t take chances.”
“I know that.” Not dumb by any stretch, but too daring? Too bold? Absolutely.
“I keep extra cell phones for...emergencies.” Rushing beyond that, probably hoping it wouldn’t draw notice—ha!—she added, “I’ve been carrying the phone since then, but Cheryl hasn’t called, so I’m assuming she made it home okay.”
A cautious move, to give Cheryl a different number. But that didn’t excuse things. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
Looking him in the eye, not really making any excuses, Alice said, “If Cheryl had called, I would have told you.” She turned to face the others. “No one else has that particular number, so any call will be from Cheryl, or someone who got the number from her.”
Keeping the annoyance from his tone wasn’t easy, but Reese didn’t want Peterson or Logan to get the wrong idea. Or maybe the right idea: that he didn’t have control of the situation at all. “Anything else you haven’t mentioned?”
She nodded.
Great. “Now would be a good time then, don’t you think?”
“I told Cheryl we’d need a code of sorts in case anyone found her, or tried to coerce her in any way. The plan is that if someone is listening to her, she’s to tell me that everything is peachy.”
“Peachy?”
Alice shrugged. “It’s not an everyday phrase, but it’s not so obvious that others might understand. I told her if she said that, I’d know something was wrong, and I’d do everything in my power to help her.”
So, she had planned to stay involved? Frustration rushed through Reese. He scraped back his chair and stood. “Everything being what?” She was one small woman, untrained, too soft—
Alice rose to stand before him. “Everything being...you.”
Not Alice. At all times, she remained alert, soaking up details the same way a detective might. Now, in relating those details, she didn’t come across as phony or like she was making up anything. She shared what she could, and occasionally enhanced what Rowdy had seen while attempting to trail her.
The different perspectives from their accounts matched up.
When Peterson pulled out a folder, Reese realized that the lieutenant planned to show a photo of the murdered girl. He moved closer, sitting beside Alice, his hand on the back of her chair.
Alice must have realized what she’d see, because she braced herself. The subtle shifting of her shoulders, the tightness in her expression, might not have been obvious to the others, but Reese knew her. He saw the dread and the iron will that kept her in the seat.
“Is this the same tattoo?” Peterson laid the photo on the table, turned it and moved it forward.
On the other side of Alice, Rowdy’s expression hardened. He cursed low.
With sadness filling her features, Alice took her time studying the photograph. “When did she die?”
“Recently,” Reese said, not wanting to involve her with all the nitty-gritty. She’d already dealt with enough ugliness in her lifetime.
Alice lifted the photo to see the tattoo better. She drew in a shaky breath, blinked back tears.
Peterson said gently, “Take your time.”
“It’s similar.” Alice dug in her purse and found a tissue, then drew a steadying breath. She didn’t make a big deal of her tears, either to apologize for them or to seek sympathy. “Not exactly like Cheryl’s, but pretty close.”
“Same size?” Logan asked.
“Yes.” Alice touched her own forearm. “From here to here,” she said, indicating just above her wrist to just below her elbow. “About five or six inches long and less than three inches wide. It didn’t circle her arm. It was sort of contained in a narrow rectangle but without a frame.” She looked up at Peterson. “Cheryl’s was still red. I think she’d just had it done.”
Taking the photo back, Peterson returned it to the folder.
Logan said, “You’re sure you didn’t get a last name? Didn’t see where Cheryl was headed?”
“I didn’t want to pry.” Peeking over at Reese, Alice shrugged. “But I did give her a phone number that she could call in case of an emergency.”
Reese wanted to groan. “The police?” he asked hopefully. Or maybe the elusive Trace.
Alice shook her head. “She wanted nothing to do with the police.”
Indignant, Peterson dropped the folder on the tabletop and sat back in her chair.
“You could’ve given her my number,” Rowdy told Alice.
“Cheryl didn’t know you. And right then, she wasn’t feeling real comfortable with men.”
Already knowing the answer, Reese took Alice’s hand. “So, whose number did you give her?”
Wincing her apology, Alice whispered, “Mine.”
* * *
REESE FELT THE way she held on to him, almost like a lifeline. The entire situation left her far more stressed than others would know. “Your cell?”
She shook her head. “A cell phone, yes, but not my regular phone.” She skimmed the faces of Peterson and Logan before focusing on Reese. “I’m not an idiot, and I don’t take chances.”
“I know that.” Not dumb by any stretch, but too daring? Too bold? Absolutely.
“I keep extra cell phones for...emergencies.” Rushing beyond that, probably hoping it wouldn’t draw notice—ha!—she added, “I’ve been carrying the phone since then, but Cheryl hasn’t called, so I’m assuming she made it home okay.”
A cautious move, to give Cheryl a different number. But that didn’t excuse things. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
Looking him in the eye, not really making any excuses, Alice said, “If Cheryl had called, I would have told you.” She turned to face the others. “No one else has that particular number, so any call will be from Cheryl, or someone who got the number from her.”
Keeping the annoyance from his tone wasn’t easy, but Reese didn’t want Peterson or Logan to get the wrong idea. Or maybe the right idea: that he didn’t have control of the situation at all. “Anything else you haven’t mentioned?”
She nodded.
Great. “Now would be a good time then, don’t you think?”
“I told Cheryl we’d need a code of sorts in case anyone found her, or tried to coerce her in any way. The plan is that if someone is listening to her, she’s to tell me that everything is peachy.”
“Peachy?”
Alice shrugged. “It’s not an everyday phrase, but it’s not so obvious that others might understand. I told her if she said that, I’d know something was wrong, and I’d do everything in my power to help her.”
So, she had planned to stay involved? Frustration rushed through Reese. He scraped back his chair and stood. “Everything being what?” She was one small woman, untrained, too soft—
Alice rose to stand before him. “Everything being...you.”
