Anonymous Page 9

  She walked into the kitchen, put the coffeepot on, and then walked over and stared at her whiteboard. She was running out of leads. But she couldn’t get discouraged. Her next lead could be at the end of the next string she pulled. Her phone rang. She wondered who would be calling her before eight o’clock in the morning. She didn’t recognize the number.

  “Madison Kelly,” she answered.

  “Oh, hello. This is Ken Larrabee. We met last night at McGregor’s. With Tom?”

  “Oh. Hi!” That’s right, another job. God, she’d completely forgotten.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, no, this is great.” Madison walked over and poured herself a cup of coffee before it had finished brewing. “As I mentioned, I generally only work for insurance companies, although the fact is I’ve been branching out.” And another job would help restore the savings account.

  “Yeah, I heard from Tom about the investigation you’re doing and the notes left on your door.”

  Madison was surprised that Tom had shared that much. He was normally more circumspect. “Oh, yeah, it’s been kind of crazy,” Madison said. She wasn’t going to share more than that. “So how can I help you?”

  “Well, the thing is, I help out with the Rescue Mission in downtown. Do you know it?”

  Madison loved the Rescue Mission, and it was her charity of choice. She gave money whenever she could. In addition to a regular shelter, they had a shelter for mothers and children. Madison had taken clothes down there and seen mothers in business clothes lining up at five PM with their children to try to get a bed for the night. Madison had had some low times in her life, and she felt like there but for the grace of God go I.

  “Yes, of course I know it. That’s wonderful of you. What do you do for them?”

  She stood up and looked down into the garden. Ryan’s roommate was walking out the door with his surfboard, headed to the beach.

  “I just help out at night getting the beds ready for turnover and assigning them as the women and children arrive. I also keep the guys out; sometimes there can be issues of domestic violence and men coming to ‘get their women,’ so to speak.”

  “Oh, wow, I bet that can be bad. It must be great for them to have a cop volunteering like that. That is really nice of you. By the way, what kind of cop are you? San Diego Police Department? Sheriff?”

  Ken laughed. “I’m not a cop. I work in construction.”

  “Weird. I thought you were a cop. Maybe it’s just because I met you at McGregor’s. How did you meet Tom?”

  “Yeah, there are a lot of cops in there. In fact, we met at McGregor’s. Ages ago. He’s a character.”

  “That he is. So how can I help you at the Rescue Mission?”

  “I need your help with one of our clients.”

  “Oh, okay. What kind of help?”

  Madison walked with the phone over to the window and looked out into the alley. Still no strange cars or strange people. She walked to the window in the living room and looked out onto the garden. She saw Ryan looking up at her apartment from his bedroom at the back of his house. He didn’t see her at first because he was watching her kitchen window. He was squinting. Then his head turned slightly, and he saw her in the living room window. He backed up quickly into the shadows of his bedroom. That was weird, Madison thought.

  “A woman named Sylvia stays there at night with her three kids, who are in school during the day. She’s trying to get a job, and she has a final interview for one. But the interview is at three PM on Monday, right when she needs to pick up her kids from school. I’m not supposed to get that involved in people’s lives … but if you could pick up her kids, she could make this job interview.”

  This was hitting Madison right where she lived. Helping a mom pull herself out of a terrible situation … it didn’t matter that Madison was right in the middle of this huge investigation; she had to do it.

  “Wow. The Rescue Mission is my favorite. I’ve helped them before myself.”

  “Yeah, Tom mentioned that. That’s actually why I asked you. I want someone who is—well, frankly, female, so that Sylvia and the kids feel safe, but someone who could kick some ass if the husband showed up at the school. He hasn’t been around that I can see, but she’s always worried he’ll try to pick up the kids. He lost custody.”

  “Of course I’ll do it. But not as a job. I’m happy to help.”

  “Oh, I can pay you; it would be a job.”

  “No. I don’t need money that badly. I want to help.”

  Ken gave her all of the particulars for Monday. She put it on the calendar in her phone; since it was Friday, anything could happen between now and then, and she didn’t want to forget.

  They hung up, and she looked at the whiteboard to focus on the matter at hand. Today she would find out what Hank’s Dive and the people that worked there could tell her.

  * * *

  Madison found a parking space right in front of the restaurant, which was unusual for downtown San Diego. Although it was its own community, the Gaslamp District was still part of downtown. But it was late morning, and there was not as much activity in this corner of downtown at this time of day. There was an employee of Hank’s hosing down bar mats in the patio area as Madison walked in. No time like the present.

  “Hi. Can I ask you a question?”

  The guy was in his early twenties with a sleeve tattoo on one arm and a nose piercing. He had spacers in his ear lobes creating large holes.

  “Sure, what’s up?” He continued to hose down the mats.

  “Did you work here when that girl went missing? Samantha Erickson?”

  Suddenly Madison realized that, given the guy’s age and the fact that Samantha had gone missing four years ago, he probably didn’t know who she was.

  “Oh, I heard about her. No, man, I was in high school.”

  “Oh, cool,” Madison said. “Do you know of anyone that was working here then?”

  The guy turned off the hose and carried the bar mats inside. Madison followed him. He walked behind the bar and threw the mats down on the ground. He picked up a huge tub that Madison knew was used for carrying ice.

  “You could try Josie,” he said. “She was here then.”

  Josie was the name of the person helping Felicity. At least Madison had corroboration that Josie was in a position to know something.

  “Is she around today?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I can check the schedule. What’s your name?”

  “Madison Kelly.”

  “Cool. Give me a second.” He walked into the kitchen. Madison sat down on a barstool and looked around. It didn’t smell as bad as Su Casa, probably because of the airflow from the huge steel doors that were left open during operating hours. But it definitely smelled like a bar: stale beer and something musty. A girl walked out from the kitchen. She had really short hair and a tattooed sleeve to match the other guy’s. She was wearing a tank top and jeans, and Madison could see a tattoo of Elvis Presley on her chest. Madison then realized that her hair was cut in a similar fashion to Elvis’s: short on the sides, long on the top, and slicked back with hair gel or pomade. She was about a foot shorter than Madison and very fit.

  “Madison?”

  “Yes, hi, are you Josie?”

  The girl looked around but didn’t answer. She walked toward the sidewalk outside, looked up and down the street, and then came back in.

  “I can’t be seen talking to you,” she said. “Felicity told me about you. I’ll call you later. If anyone asks, I refused to talk to you. Okay?”

  Madison thought this sounded ominous and encouraging at the same time. She wasn’t about to argue. “Got it.”

  Josie walked back into the kitchen. Madison wasn’t sure what to do next. Just then, another waitress entered the patio from the sidewalk. She was average height, with dark hair and beautiful skin. As she approached, Madison spoke to her.

  “Hi, can I ask a question?”

  The girl
spoke with an accent. “Sure, what is it?”

  “Did you work here when that girl went missing? Samantha Erickson?”

  “Yes, I did.” The girl seemed wary. Madison loved her accent.

  “Are you from Brazil?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Your accent is beautiful. I like accents.” Madison wasn’t flattering her; she really did. “So did you work the night she was here?”

  “No, I didn’t.” She was unfolding an apron and putting it on. “I remember everybody talking about it the next week after it came out that she had been at our bar and was now missing. But we didn’t find out the next day or anything. So it wasn’t like we came in and everybody said, ‘Oh, a girl went missing yesterday.’ We didn’t find out for a week, and by then I didn’t know whether I had worked or not. But when the police questioned everyone, I checked the calendar and saw I hadn’t worked that night. Are you a cop or something?”

  Madison figured the police would have questioned those who had been at the bar the night Samantha went missing. That would have been a normal thing to do. What Madison didn’t know was why, four years later, someone connected to her disappearance had gotten so upset about Madison’s tweets. What had she gotten so close to that the police had not? If anything? All she could do was keep pulling strings.

  “No, I’m a private investigator. My name is Madison Kelly. I’m looking into the disappearance.” Madison put out her hand.

  “Sandra,” she said as she shook Madison’s hand. “I need to clock in. Can you give me a second?”

  Madison said no problem, and the girl walked into the kitchen. A man in a crisp polo shirt and dress slacks entered the patio from the street. He was in his midthirties. He had a huge build, no neck, and a shaved head that made him look like a cop. Actually, Madison thought as he sauntered toward her, this guy has a chip on his shoulder like the world owes him something that he’s been unable to collect.

  Wannabe cop, Madison decided.

  “Are you being helped?” he asked.

  Madison figured this was the manager, and as such her days were numbered when it came to talking to the staff. He didn’t seem the cooperative type. She was going to make it last as long as she could.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, and smiled big.

  “Okay … great.”

  Madison could tell he wanted to ask what she was doing there but couldn’t think of a way to cross that social barrier of none of your business. He paused and opened his mouth but then closed it again and walked into the kitchen.

  If he talks to Sandra about what I’m doing here I’m done, she thought. Employers were generally fussy about investigators talking to their employees. Even if it was perfectly legal for her to question people, employers ran the gamut from I don’t want to get sued and this seems like a way to get sued to I want to exert my power because I can. This guy seemed like the latter type. Either way, the end result was her getting run out of places quite often.

  The manager walked out of the kitchen and Madison knew she was done.

  “You can’t be here,” he said. Even though she was ready for the concept, his phrasing irritated Madison.

  “I can’t be … where? Planet Earth? The city of San Diego?”

  The manager snorted. Madison had met his kind many times before—big bruisers who were used to shoving their weight around but were not used to girls talking back to them.

  “You can’t be in my establishment.”

  “Oh! You’re the owner? That’s so cool! To own such a big place! Tell me, Jethro, how did you become such a success?” She had read his name tag and thought it was perfect: Jethro. My God, she thought. What a name.

  Madison knew she was waving red in front of a bull. But he had pissed her off. Also, no way he was the owner; he was an hourly-wage manager who wanted to shove his lack of importance around. There were so many things he could’ve said to her when he came out of the kitchen: “I’m sorry, the owner doesn’t like people talking to the employees without going through him first,” or “Can you let me know who you’re working for and why you want to talk to the employees?” She would have responded nicely to any one of those civilized communications.

  Jethro walked over until he was uncomfortably close to where Madison was sitting on the barstool. In fact, he was crowding her intentionally.

  “You need to leave.”

  “Back up and give me room to stand up and I will.”

  Jethro contemplated her request. He was not the kind of guy that took orders from women. Madison stared at him. He pushed his chest out further, decreasing the distance between them. Madison had to deal with guys like this every day on her job. Guys who thought they were allowed to push people around just because they were big and male. Guys who didn’t think Madison had a right to ask questions, to have a job that a guy should have, to exist on the planet without their permission.

  “If you were a man I would knock you on your ass right now,” he said.

  “If you were a man I’d be worried.”

  Jethro was so close that Madison could hear his sharp intake of breath. No, he was not used to girls talking to him like this. He was probably calculating the chances of getting fired for hitting someone at his work. His teeth clenched and the muscles in his jaw worked. Finally, he took three steps backward. Madison stood.

  “You have a good day now,” Madison said. She walked slowly through the patio out to the sidewalk and got in her car.

  * * *

  Madison drove her car toward the bar where Elissa had last been seen, Bourbon Baby. Her phone rang. She checked and saw that it was Ted calling her.

  “Hey, Ted.”

  “Hey, Madison, how’s it going?”

  “Oh, you know me. Just kicking ass and taking names.”

  “I know you,” Ted laughed. “Sounds like somebody just got what they deserved.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well listen, I just wanted to get back to you. I spoke to that other private investigator who gave you such a hard time before.”

  “Oh, yeah. How’d that go?”

  “Honestly, I don’t think he is up to anything when it comes to you. I reminded him of you, and he just said, ‘Man, she pissed me off.’ And I said, ‘Yeah, she has that effect on people.’ And then we talked about other things. It took him a minute to remember who you were. I really don’t think this is anything.”

  Madison trusted Ted as a private investigator. She knew he would have done his best to draw the guy out and see what his reaction was to hearing Madison’s name. She could cross that old PI off her whiteboard.

  “Thanks, Ted. I really appreciate it.”

  “You got it. Let me know if you need any help with any assignments. I’m not doing anything right now.”

  Madison turned into the lot where she had parked her car the other night. The same lot where Elissa had parked hers.

  “I will, Ted. Talk to you soon.”

  She locked her car and walked over to the bar.

  Bourbon Baby was a slightly more upscale establishment than Hank’s Dive. It had a small patio area behind an iron railing, so that customers were technically sitting on the sidewalk like at a French bistro. The chairs and tables were ironwork, sitting atop the red brick of the Gaslamp District. Madison walked inside and was hit with refreshing air conditioning. The bar was oak. A bartender was stocking glasses.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi there.” He was over six feet tall, with a strong jaw and long hair. “We’re not open until two PM. Can I help you with something?”

  “Yes, you can. Were you working here when that girl went missing? Elissa Alvarez?”

  The bartender stopped and looked at her. “I might have been. Who’s asking?”

  Madison laughed. His response was such a cliché, but he pulled it off. She felt like she was in a Raymond Chandler novel suddenly, leaning on the old-fashioned bar having witty repartee with the gruff-with-a-heart-of-gold bartender. Sh
e suddenly felt like ordering a whiskey. “My name is Madison Kelly. I’m a private investigator, and I’m looking into her disappearance.”

  He reached his hand across the bar. “Jackson. Pleased to meet you.”

  Madison shook his hand and sat on a barstool. “So, may I know if you were working here then?”

  “Yeah, actually I was. The police came with her credit card receipts, and I guess I served her that night. But I don’t remember her at all.”

  Madison appreciated not being thrown out on her ear like at the last bar.

  “Oh, wow, I lucked out to find you.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “I can’t really tell you anything else. She was just one of a million people here on a weekend a long time ago. A sea of faces. I wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a lineup.”

  He finished stocking a tray of glasses, and then took the empty glass rack and walked towards the kitchen. “Excuse me I’ll be right back.”

  Madison let her shoulders hunch forward and leaned her elbows on the bar. This seemed hopeless. She was picking over a scene that had already been picked over thoroughly by the police. Jackson came back from the kitchen with a new full glass rack. He started hanging glasses on the back of the bar.

  “What was the talk at the time about what happened? What did you guys all think?” Madison had found that sometimes people close to an incident had pretty solid opinions about what went down. They could be useful in finding a theory to work off of.