Chapter Four

 

It's not that he likes driving, because he doesn't. But when Josh Mitchell slips into his car, it feels like freedom hits him all of a sudden. He waits until the door closes, and then gives himself another moment to look around.

Then his fist comes down hard on the wheel. It makes his hand hurt, but he hits it again.

"Fuck!"

He shouldn't be letting it get to him like this. He'll have himself under control again by the time that he slips the car into drive, but letting the steam off just for an instant, he hopes, will give him time later to figure out how the fuck he's going to keep himself in check for the rest of this investigation.

There aren't many possibilities. Outside of her famous ex-boyfriend, she doesn't seem to have many acquaintances, which makes the list of possible suspects very short.

In fact, there aren't more than three or four right now. Every one of them is upsetting. The one thing that concerns him the most, though, is the idea that the child is hurt.

Because without Mitch Queen in the picture, there's no money to be had here.

He takes a breath, squeezes the wheel hard. The heel of his palm hurts where he hit the wheel with it, and squeezing down just makes it hurt more. As he lets his hands loosen, though, he reclaims his control.

He can't let himself get distracted. There's too many possibilities, and the case is still fresh enough that there's time for things to change. Time for new ideas to form. Ideas he hasn't even thought of yet.

He takes a breath. No use in getting his cage rattled before he even knows all the details, right? Right.

So he'll keep control of himself. Somehow. In spite of the fact that it feels like it's impossible to do so.

He puts his hand down on the shifter and slides it from 'P' to 'D' and takes his foot off the brake. The car starts moving forward, and he's got himself under control again.

He rolls the window down. The wind that had been gusting hard earlier that morning seems to have thankfully abated for a moment. There's a beat-up Chevy Impala that waits by the exit, and he can about make Anna Witt out through the tinted windows. He waves out at her before turning around.

It's easy to follow her, even though he knows the area she meant. He's passed by the apartment building a dozen times, at least. So he had a pretty fair idea of where she meant, but it's still useful, just in case he got the location wrong.

There are a few different buildings. She pulls up in front of one and cuts the engine; he pulls up beside her and steps out to meet her on the curb.

"You ready to go inside?"

She smiles at him nervously. "Sure."

He tries to reassure her with his expression, but it's easy to see from Anna's reaction that she's not an easily-reassured woman. She smiles back as best as she can, though, which is progress.

She flips the keys in her hand and fits one of them into the outside door, uses it to pull the door open. Josh takes it from her and holds it open. The door is heavier than it looks, steel and not hung in a way that makes it easier to open.

He stops it from falling closed too hard behind them before he follows her to the door.

"Which apartment is your parents' room?"

She points across. "They, uh. Don't seem to be home right now, though. Their car's gone."

He files that information away for later. It probably doesn't mean anything at all, but his opinion on that could change in an instant. Every detail counts, again.

Anna gets the door unlocked and puts her keys back into her purse. She steps back like she expects him to open the door, so he does, slipping his shoes off as he steps inside and setting them inside the door. It's easier to be safe than sorry.

Then, after that, he takes a look around.

The place isn't large, and it's set up like a long hallway that leads back to the bedroom, a little room next to it that must have been the lavatory.

"Do you mind if I take a look around?"

She seems surprised to hear him ask the question, and then shakes her head. "No, go ahead."

He nods and starts walking. The floor is carpeted, but it's kept clean. For a new mother, the place is kept in fairly good shape.

"I'm sorry about the mess," she says, as if she were reading his thoughts.

"This is a pretty nice place, actually," he says. There's a little bit of mess, sure. But that's completely to be expected, with a new baby. Especially as a single parent.

"I try," she says. She hasn't moved from the door. He hears the noise of the deadbolt sliding shut, even though he's standing there with a gun on his hip.

There's nothing on the table. Very little on the walls. A few pots and pans in the sink. The front room is furnished like a home decoration magazine, too little stuff for a real person to live in the space.

"The bedroom's back here?"

"Uh, yeah," she says. Still not moving from right by the door. It puts Josh a little on edge. Whatever's got her nervous, it's pretty extreme. Then again, there's a lot to put a woman in her position on edge.

Never mind the stranger in her home, with a missing baby girl and the only people she knows being her parents and the son of one of the single wealthiest people in the state. Who wouldn't be a little on-edge? He doesn't let it affect his opinions.

It's not until he steps inside the bedroom that she starts moving. She walks up to the entrance of the bedroom, but she doesn't go in. He keeps her on the edge of his attention, which is hard. It's too easy to slip into thinking about her. Worrying about her. Worrying about her daughter.

He's not going to do any good for anyone if he doesn't stay objective and keep his mind open to whatever little evidence there is. He keeps his hands in his pockets just in case.

The sheets on the bed haven't been made. They're twisted and piled in a way that suggests that the bed might not have been made for a while.

The crib is right by the bed. Not quite close enough for someone sleeping in it to reach out and touch it, but almost. A dresser in the corner has a pile of unfolded clothes on the top.

Like she said, there's a sheet on the crib pad. It's got the remnants of a spot where the baby might have burped up on it, and in spite of cleaning it didn't quite come out.

"This is how you found it? You didn't change anything?"

"No, sir."

"Did you move anything at all?"

Her eyebrows press together and her eyes close long enough that it couldn't have been a blink. "Um. No, sir. Just, uh. The door. And I got some clothes on."

He takes a moment to regard the clothes that she's wearing. She's lost most of the baby weight already, which is pretty impressive. The clothes might have been fashionable, but they've got a light spot where the baby spit on them and she didn't clean it fast enough.

"Do you know when your parents are going to be home? I'll need to talk to them. And do you know how to get in touch with Mr. Queen?"

She stiffens visibly. "Mitch? Why?"

"I need to talk to him, and you would know his schedule."

She takes a deep breath. "I can give you his cell number, but he told me not to call it."

Josh's jaw tightens. "Okay, give me that."