This chapter is dedicated to Ruth.

NOTE: Any opinions depicted in this chapter are for fictional purposes only and do not in any way reflect my views on the subject.

Chapter 17

Willie the baby bodyguard was looking apprehensive by the time she got home. Lilly surveyed him from the door and sighed wearily. I wonder what's happened now. Maybe he stepped on a roach?

Her mind flew back to the afternoon and its happenings. What a long day it had been, in spite of the monstrous unheard-of 3-hour nap. Poor Vera and Scotty had gone on one hell of a wild-goose chase trying to locate this Morgan Newton guy. As appeared to be suspect-fashion nowadays, he was nowhere to be found. He'd been to work as usual, but after releasing him at half past four, Kemp had no idea where he'd disappeared to. His beat-up trailer sat shabbily at the address indicated—empty. Second job? No one knew. Girlfriend? No idea. His neighbors kept to themselves and none of them had a clue as to where to find him.

Lilly—along with everyone else—was pretty sure he'd bolted. Hell—even she'd do it if she were a kidnapper or murderer in the same situation. Nothing easier than putting two and two together during their sojourn at Kemp's this morning, if he'd been within eavesdropping distance. Weird thing was, he didn't seem the runaway type. Making the phone call, forging the letter was all confrontational behavior. If he was prepared to fight and scare them off before, why not now? Why up and leave all of a sudden?

Maybe he just got so spooked at the bloodcurdling sight of my hangover face, he's decided he's not up to scaring anyone anymore, she reflected wryly.

Something didn't add up. She only wished she were smart enough and awake enough to figure out what it was.

"Er… Detective Rush?" stammered Willie the Baby Bodyguard, his knees practically knocking against each other as he approached her.

Grow up, kid, she felt like hissing. I really don't have time for this. But of course she didn't. That'd be unfair; the kid was doing the best he could. Besides, he had taken care of her cats the night before, and that ought to count for something. "Yes?" she patiently replied, forcing a smile.

"I found this. On the front stoop. It's got your name on it."

A sinister shiver made its cold, prickly way down Lilly's spine as her hands reached for the innocent little slip with the words LILLY RUSH scribbled across it. It looked for all the world like a regular piece of paper—could've been ripped out of any notepad in the country. No smudges or identifying marks that she could see, but—

"Damn!" she exclaimed, letting it flutter to the floor. "You touch this with your bare hands, Williams?"

Willie's blue eyes went round. "Yes, ma'am."

"Oh well. Nothing we can do about it now. Gimme that napkin over there. Prints." I should have thought of that before, she berated herself. Talk about destroying evidence.

With the utmost care she unfolded the note, steeling herself for the insulting words or threats that might lie beyond. Much to her surprise, only one line came out—and this written in a neat female hand.

I need to see you. Meet me in front of the Free Library at 1. Come alone.

Lilly meant to tell the others about her little rendezvous first thing in the morning. Really she did. But by the time she got to headquarters, new things had turned up and taken top priority. Two officers had been posted at the trailer park where Morgan Newton lived, and neither of them saw him come home. But when he showed up for work at 9 o'clock sharp, the uniforms yawning in Kemp's office quickly roused themselves, seized him and brought him in.

He was nothing like Lilly had pictured—a huge burly flaxen-haired individual, almost an albino, with pink cheeks, a silvery goatee and a the most bewitching pair of harmless-looking sky blue eyes. The closest thing to a 30-something Santa Claus she could ever hope to find. Resisting arrest seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind as he followed the two officers into the main room, gazing around curiously. But as soon as he saw Lilly his demeanor changed.

"You!" he cried out, leaping toward her with his enormous beefy hands held out.

Lilly was so startled she actually took a step back, but the suspect had barely advanced a yard before he found himself tackled from all sides—by his two escorts, Stillman, Vera, Scotty—and just about anyone else available.

"Don't think so, buddy," Stillman told him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Vera demanded, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt. "You wanna find yourself in a jail cell, smart guy?"

"I just wanted to ask her something," the giant mumbled, looking a little dazed at everyone's reaction.

Sure you did, Lilly thought, her heart still beating so furiously it made her hands tremble. She did her best to keep her face grim, inexpressive. It was the only way to avoid showing fear. Because fear it was, this sick jumpy feeling of dread—little as she would have liked to admit it.

So far this suspect was not getting in her good graces. I'm gonna kick his ass in the interrogation room, she vowed.

But Stillman promptly quenched her thirst for revenge by catching her on her way into the interrogation room. "You watch," he ordered flatly.

"But, boss—"

"No buts. Dammit, Lil—you saw what happened back there. You're staying behind that glass. And that's final."

Still seething, she drew up a chair. There were few things she hated more in this world than being singled out—how come they never told Scotty to stay away from the bad guys? Not to mention she'd love to be the one to make this perp crack. Who the hell did he think he was, bullying her? It was thanks to him her home life had been disrupted. And she couldn't even begin to express her rage at what he'd done to the Baileys…

"What's this about?" Morgan Newton groused sulkily.

"We already told you. Memory problems, Newton?" Vera jibed.

"I know you said it was about Erica Bailey. But I got nothing to do with that." He was clearly nervous, one eyelid twitching a little and his mouth taking on a tight sort of grimace. "I ain't seen her in years."

"But you did know her."

"Yeah… she may have come to the garage once or twice."

Vera strolled around the table to his side, causing him to stiffen up visibly. "From what I heard, you two were real close."

"Real close. Like pen pal close," Jeffries added helpfully.

Tiny beads of sweat appeared on Newton's forehead. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do." Not bothering to waste anymore time, Vera plunked Erica Bailey's letter down in front of him. The suspect's baby blues nearly started out of his head. "What do you have to say about this?"

"What about it?"

"This is a letter Erica Bailey wrote to her children 10 years ago, just before she disappeared. Shall I read it to you?" Jeffries offered pleasantly.

"No—no, that's okay." Newton wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He was practically peeing in his pants and Lilly was glad of it. Take that, you bully.

"Sounds like you've read it before," mused Vera. "You wouldn't have happened to help write it, would you?"

Morgan Newton stared at the floor.

"I bet you thought no one would notice you'd added that little part in the end," Jeffries put in. "Such a good job you did there, Newton. Handwriting's almost the same. You even had the husband fooled."

"That wasn't my idea," Morgan grumbled, still not looking at them.

"Oh? Whose idea was it then?"

"Hers."

"So you did know her." Jeffries came down on him like a ton of bricks. "And real well, by the sounds of this letter. Where is she, Newton? What did you do with her?"

For the first time Morgan Newton raised his head, looking them square in the eye and then staring at the two-way mirror as if he could see Lilly on the other side. His eerie Santa-gone-evil glare made her flesh crawl.

"I ain't done nothin' to Erica," he stated. "I haven't seen her in ten years. You gotta believe me."

"Kinda hard to believe that," Vera reasoned. "Unless you're some kind of letter-writing good Samaritan who goes around finishing other people's mail. I mean, come on—why forge a woman's handwriting on a good-bye note directed to her children, unless you had something to do with her disappearance?"

Finally Morgan Newton sighed. "Okay, we were together. I'll give you that much."

"What did you do to her, Newton? Where is she?"

"I dunno where she is. I never laid a hand on her," mumbled Morgan defensively. "She was the one who wouldn't go with me. I offered."

Lilly could see it happening before her. Young Erica Bailey as she was in the Polaroid they'd rescued—blonde and laughing as she wheeled her little girl past Kemp's garage. So disappointed in her husband—so in love with this bulky, pale, round-cheeked mechanic. Or so the round-cheeked mechanic thought. He'd proposed taking her away from her bleak reality, anywhere she wanted. Her little ones could go with her. "No," she'd said. She wanted a clean break—no husband, no children. She needed to be free—home life was throttling her. The kids would be better off with their father until she decided to settle down again. Till then, there was no reason for them to think she was abandoning them, because she wasn't. They'd all be a big happy family again as soon as she got back on her feet. A letter would clear that up just perfect.

"She wasn't a cold hearted bitch," Newton explained. "She loved her kids and even liked her husband a little, she just couldn't stand to be with them right then. So we made our plans. She wasn't ditching her kids—she could come visit them any time. She just didn't want them living with her. But when we came to that part she broke down, begged me to write it for her. So I did. But only 'cause she wanted me to."

Long live mommy of the year, Lilly thought, rolling her eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn't think Newton was lying—not about this. His face seemed to shine when he spoke of her, as if in spite of everything, he loved her still. Of course that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't the murderer. His speech had succeeded in making her less sympathetic for the victim, though. Focus, Rush. Keep it professional.

"That's all very interesting," Vera interrupted. "But you still haven't told us where she is."

Newton swore he didn't know. The night they wrote the letter was the last time he had seen her. "I woulda followed her to the end of the world if she'd asked me to," he finished resentfully. "But she decided to take off on her own instead. Never saw her after that."

"You think she could've been seeing someone else?"

For a moment the suspect was silent. Then he answered disgustedly, "You know? Wouldn't put it past her. Married women are all a bunch of whores. I bin out with a couple more since her, and they've always had at least 2 on the side. Nothing makes them happy. But they like to keep a dignified front. Hypocrites."

At 12:45 pm Lilly left headquarters, gun safely in its holster, all five senses sharp. She knew what she was doing—going alone to meet this mystery woman—was somewhat foolhardy. But the boys had their hands full with Newton, writing down his statement, getting prints and DNA and calligraphy samples. This was something she couldn't really waste their time with. Besides—if Newton was the perp in question, and he was in custody, what was there to worry about?

Still not going without my gun.

The sky was overcast, a mass of gray swirling clouds. The air was warmer than other days—smelled like rain. It shot down streets and alleys in fierceful gusts, blasting into Lilly's coat and hair as she made her way down to Vine Street where the Free Library was. Public place was good—they couldn't very well expect to hurt her surrounded by hundreds of people.

The clock was just striking one as she came to the aforesaid building, studying her surroundings with a careful eye, impatient at the wind that kept blowing her bangs in her face. It was going to be damn hard to find anyone if she couldn't see. And she desperately needed to be the one to find, not be found. Being found always put you at a definite disadvantage.

A small head with long yellow hair appeared suddenly in front of her, slowly going up the steps leading to the library. Lilly stood transfixed, staring at her as if in a dream.

Long blonde hair, blue eyes—a young and pretty woman, with a smile she knew. Someone she'd seen, not too long ago. In a Polaroid.

Erica Bailey?