can’t believe it,” said Maurice Reed, the guy who ran the shelter. “Carolyn had totally straightened herself out.” He eased himself into a hard-backed chair. “She just wanted to help others who had been in her position. She’d been working here for eight months. She was…a beautiful human being.”
It was Reed who had reported her missing, his name on the missing persons report, though that did not clear him of suspicion. It was a well-known fact that killers often reported their crimes, particularly when they were close to the victim.
“Do her parents know?” he asked.
“Her parents are on their way from Cincinnati to claim the body,” said Terri.
Reed blinked a few times, and swallowed. It looked to me as if he was fighting tears.
“How did Carolyn come to the shelter?” Terri asked.
“Like most. She sort of just washed up, you know, broke and broken, at our door.” He sighed. “Nicky brought her in.”
“Nicky?”
“A former street hustler, but he’s cool now. He’ll be here in a little while if you want to talk to him.”
Terri didn’t soft-pedal her next question: “There were track marks on her arm. You know about that?”
“They had to be old ones. Carolyn was clean. I’m sure of it. She was here every day. I managed to get her on staff with a small salary I wheedled out of social services. She had to go for drug testing every week. I’m telling you, she was clean.” He exhaled a deep sigh. “Carolyn was great with people, particularly the girls who’d gone through the same stuff she had.”
A dozen micro-expressions—all of them sad—passed across the man’s face.
“You know where she lived?” Terri asked.
“I wouldn’t know that.”
“You said she was here every day,” said Terri. “And she never told you where she lived?”
Reed’s facial muscles went from sad to scared, mouth open, eyes wary, and I started to sketch him.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s just…what I do. I’m a sketch artist.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t think I could have—”
“No one said anything about you being a suspect, Mr. Reed. It’s what Rodriguez does to keep his hands busy.”
It worked. Reed got nervous.
“Now that I think about it,” he said. “She must have been at the Alfred Court, over on Sixteenth, between Eighth and Ninth. It’s the last of its kind, a rooming house. Pretty funky, but it serves its purpose.”
“You sound like you know it pretty well, Mr. Reed.”
“Well, we put some of the runaways up there; the state pays for it.”
“You ever been inside Carolyn’s room?”
Reed’s eyelids flickered and he looked away. “No.”
He was lying. But I’d pretty much surmised what was going on the minute we’d stepped into the shelter and met Reed, and I was sure Terri had too. It fit the profile. What we had been looking for that had made Carolyn Spivack a target. I roughed in a bit more of his face, though he kept looking down or turning away.
“It’s easy enough to check on that, Mr. Reed.” Terri needed to hear him say it, and I knew what was coming when she reached into her tote. She brought out a CS photo of the victim—a close-up of the young woman’s destroyed face—and held it in front of Reed.
“Jesus Christ!” Reed gasped and looked away. “Why the hell are you showing me that?”
“Mr. Reed.” Terri kept the photo right in front of him. “I need to know about your relationship to the victim. I need to know it now or I will assume you are hiding something.”
“No way. You have it all wrong. You don’t know what you’resaying.” He caught his breath and there were tears in his eyes. “Carolyn and I—we were—she was living with me.”
“So you were a couple.”
“It just sort of…happened, you know, after she came here.”
Terri lowered the photo. “Go on.”
Reed cadged a peek at my drawing and frowned. “I was so afraid she’d slipped up, gone back on drugs. Why she’d disappeared, I mean. I
It was Reed who had reported her missing, his name on the missing persons report, though that did not clear him of suspicion. It was a well-known fact that killers often reported their crimes, particularly when they were close to the victim.
“Do her parents know?” he asked.
“Her parents are on their way from Cincinnati to claim the body,” said Terri.
Reed blinked a few times, and swallowed. It looked to me as if he was fighting tears.
“How did Carolyn come to the shelter?” Terri asked.
“Like most. She sort of just washed up, you know, broke and broken, at our door.” He sighed. “Nicky brought her in.”
“Nicky?”
“A former street hustler, but he’s cool now. He’ll be here in a little while if you want to talk to him.”
Terri didn’t soft-pedal her next question: “There were track marks on her arm. You know about that?”
“They had to be old ones. Carolyn was clean. I’m sure of it. She was here every day. I managed to get her on staff with a small salary I wheedled out of social services. She had to go for drug testing every week. I’m telling you, she was clean.” He exhaled a deep sigh. “Carolyn was great with people, particularly the girls who’d gone through the same stuff she had.”
A dozen micro-expressions—all of them sad—passed across the man’s face.
“You know where she lived?” Terri asked.
“I wouldn’t know that.”
“You said she was here every day,” said Terri. “And she never told you where she lived?”
Reed’s facial muscles went from sad to scared, mouth open, eyes wary, and I started to sketch him.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s just…what I do. I’m a sketch artist.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t think I could have—”
“No one said anything about you being a suspect, Mr. Reed. It’s what Rodriguez does to keep his hands busy.”
It worked. Reed got nervous.
“Now that I think about it,” he said. “She must have been at the Alfred Court, over on Sixteenth, between Eighth and Ninth. It’s the last of its kind, a rooming house. Pretty funky, but it serves its purpose.”
“You sound like you know it pretty well, Mr. Reed.”
“Well, we put some of the runaways up there; the state pays for it.”
“You ever been inside Carolyn’s room?”
Reed’s eyelids flickered and he looked away. “No.”
He was lying. But I’d pretty much surmised what was going on the minute we’d stepped into the shelter and met Reed, and I was sure Terri had too. It fit the profile. What we had been looking for that had made Carolyn Spivack a target. I roughed in a bit more of his face, though he kept looking down or turning away.
“It’s easy enough to check on that, Mr. Reed.” Terri needed to hear him say it, and I knew what was coming when she reached into her tote. She brought out a CS photo of the victim—a close-up of the young woman’s destroyed face—and held it in front of Reed.
“Jesus Christ!” Reed gasped and looked away. “Why the hell are you showing me that?”
“Mr. Reed.” Terri kept the photo right in front of him. “I need to know about your relationship to the victim. I need to know it now or I will assume you are hiding something.”
“No way. You have it all wrong. You don’t know what you’resaying.” He caught his breath and there were tears in his eyes. “Carolyn and I—we were—she was living with me.”
“So you were a couple.”
“It just sort of…happened, you know, after she came here.”
Terri lowered the photo. “Go on.”
Reed cadged a peek at my drawing and frowned. “I was so afraid she’d slipped up, gone back on drugs. Why she’d disappeared, I mean. I
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