Chapter 14 Dinah
Dinah
Baby’s Coffee is full, as it always is. The eclectic family-owned spot is a combination grocery store and coffee shop, with a dark roast that manages to be both strong and smooth.
They also give free drinks to anyone in uniform, which is why I pass three badges on the way in.
I text Joe while in line and order an iced coffee with toasted marshmallow, cold foam, and two Splendas.
Freddie is sitting at a sunlit table by the window, his attention on his department-issued tablet. He’s wearing a hunter-green sweat suit, and looks up at my approach and smiles, showing off all those white teeth.
I take the seat opposite him. “Morning.”
“Okay, so I’ve been digging into the daughter.”
Not what I wanted to hear. He should be doing ride-alongs with his TO and case studies on cold files. Anything other than digging into this. I force a smile. “Good morning, Freddie. I’m good, thank you.”
He pauses. There’re already two empty coffee cups in front of him. “Hi. Good morning. You need me to wait until you get your coffee, or can I start?”
I smile despite myself. “Go ahead.”
“Okay, so we’re dealing with a smart girl. Dean’s list. Has worked a job since she was fourteen. Street and book smart, according to everything I’ve found.”
I’m not surprised, but I bite my tongue and nod. “Okay. What else?”
“No boyfriend, though she’s got a lot of admirers, if you know what I mean.” He raises his brows.
“No, I don’t know what you mean,” I drawl. “You’re saying she dated around?”
He shrugs. “Just my observation. She was a partier. Not hard core, but a girl with a busy social calendar.”
“Where are you getting that info? Her socials?”
“She had a warning citation for underage drinking at Venice Beach two years ago. I sent her pic over to a few cops I know who work the clubs and that scene. One said he’s seen her hanging out at the door to the EMD club, talking up the DJs, when he worked security there.”
The citation is something I should have turned up, but I didn’t want to do a search on her too early and hadn’t thought about running one in the last twenty-four hours, what with the autopsy and Izzy’s party and overall status of upheaval that my life was currently in.
He hunches over the pad and swipes his finger over the screen. “I was thinking we could stop by her job, talk to her coworkers. Get her peers’ opinions.”
I try not to sigh, but the exasperation still wheezes out of me. “Don’t you have other things to do? Is Ron still in the hospital?”
He grins. “Sick of me?”
Yes. “I don’t need help on this, Freddie. I got it.”
“Well, Ron’s still out of commission, so I’ve got nothing but time.” He rubs his palms together like that’s a good thing.
The barista calls my name and I immediately stand, grateful for the interruption. I take my time picking up my cup and stopping by the stand to get a straw and a napkin. I glance at Freddie; his knee is bouncing, his whole body wired and ready for action.
As soon as I retake my seat, he pounces back into the conversation.
“You pull up SMED on her?” His forehead is dotted with sweat, and I wonder how many shots of espresso he’s had.
I remove the lid and use the straw to stir the cold foam into the drink.
“District attorney hasn’t approved it yet.
” Probably because I just this morning submitted the request. SMED is an online database for law enforcement, one that monitors internet chatter and so-called private communications through different social media networks and chat rooms. It’s an enormous invasion of privacy, but one that’s afforded to law enforcement in cases where the individual is at serious risk.
“If the APB doesn’t find her by tomorrow, I’ll probably get it. ”
“If this is sex trafficking, tomorrow’s going to be too late.”
I watch as a girl at the table beside us takes a photo of her drink. “I don’t like trafficking for this. The mom is too messy. Jessica is either involved or oblivious. You still watching her cell activity?”
“Yeah. Pinging all over town.”
“I’ve left her two messages, but she hasn’t returned my calls.” I reattach the lid and pierce the straw through the top. “She could be on a bender.”
“Shitty thing to come home to—crime scene tape and a lock on the front door.”
“Better than finding your mom like that.”
My phone rings and I flinch at the sound, quickly silencing the device as I look at the screen. It’s the coroner’s office. I hold up a finger to Freddie. “I’ve got to take this. Give me a minute.”
I answer the call and press the phone to my ear, zigzagging quickly through the tables and out the side door. “Marino.”
“This is Dr. Pulle, with the coroner’s office.” Her voice is crisp. There isn’t any love lost between me and the older woman. She likes dead bodies a little too much, in my opinion. Then again, I’ve never met a coroner who didn’t give me the ick.
“Hi, Doc.” I stop in the shade of the awning. “You got something?”
“It’s about Reese Bishop, something that occurred to me after I wrapped the autopsy.”
“What’s that?”
Sheila Pulle is not an idiot, and I listen as she shares a bit of information that would make Freddie backflip with joy and spawn at least five new conspiracy theories.
I twist in place, making sure Freddie is still at our table.
He is, his attention on his phone, his tall frame slumped in his seat.
In his sweatshirt and pants, you’d never know he was a cop.
“I heard there’s an APB out on the daughter, so I thought it might be pertinent,” Dr. Pulle finishes.
“Yeah, absolutely.” I nod. “Thanks for the call. I appreciate it.”
“I can amend the autopsy report to include this.”
“No need. I’ll put a note in the file and dig into it on my end. Find out what I can about the daughter’s history. It might be nothing, but it might be something. You know how those things go.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
I end the call and take a moment to digest the information. Freddie looks up from his phone, and our gaze connects through the glass. I lift my chin and then gesture with my head, beckoning him outside. He stands and grabs my cup as a group of college girls pounce on our table.
He doesn’t need to know this. It might be the missing piece to this puzzle, but it would toss him a bone and he’s already overly attached to this case.
I need a different bone—one I can throw in the opposite direction.