days.
I threw on some clothes and headed for the lobby. Maybe I’d find a snack machine or something to hold me over. As I approached the door, I spied the old woman who’d checked me in the night before.
“Still here, huh?” she said as I walked in.
“Only for a little bit longer. I’ve got a few more leads to follow up on, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Oh you ain’t botherin’ me none. First time a cop’s done any actual police work here in a long time. You really think you gonna catch that ol’ girl here in these swamps?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to try. I got a lot riding on it.”
I kept moving as I spoke, trying to get to the snack machine and back to my room as quickly as possible. I wasn’t really in the mood to discuss the case in the motel lobby.
“You got any coffee?” I said.
“Over there.” She jerked her thumb toward and old-school coffeepot on a table in the corner.
“Ya know, captain, I may know something about that ol’ girl you lookin’ for.”
I turned too fast and nearly spilled my coffee. I gazed at the woman, trying to read her. What could she possibly know about Stacy?
“When they showed her picture on the news as a person of interest, I recognized her right off.”
“Well . . . yes, ma’am, I appreciate any information you can give me. But if her identity is all you can offer, we already know who she is.”
“Well, hell! I know you know who she is! What I’m talking ’bout is something you might not know.”
I walked over to the counter to listen. She reminded me of my grandmother. Maybe a few cards lighter upstairs, but all the same . . . She stood about five feet nothing and was skinny as a toothpick. Her gray hair hung in limp pigtails down both sides of her head. Her leathery face was aged way beyond her years, which I guesstimated to be seventy or so.
“You’ve got my full attention, Mrs. . . .”
“It’s Miss Romero,” she said.
I still wasn’t sure if she was pulling my leg or if she really had something concrete to share. But I’d come this far, and the coffee wasn’t half bad. Might as well hear her out.
“Before I stared workin’ here, I used to be a janitor at one of the high schools in New Orleans. Coupla years after her uncle’s place burned down, two men turned up dead ’bout the same fashion as these new murders you got now.”
“I understand. Why do you believe the cops hadn’t thought about that already?”
“They probably don’t know they connected, but I do. For one, they wasn’t here; they was in Alabama and few months apart. Real sloppy work.”
“And what makes you think Lisa was involved with those? If they were in Alabama, how would you even know about them?”
“I’ve said all I’m gonna say, unless you can do something for me.”
I hadn’t expected the shift in focus or the what-can-you-do-for-me card, but I was willing to play her game a little bit longer.
“Well, is there anything you had in mind? Anything you need? And I can only give you something if this information pans out.”
“Oh, it’ll pan out. I got a . . . let’s just say, a really good friend doin’ a nickel on a drug charge over some li’l ol’ Mary Jane. Think you can get him out anytime soon?”
“That’s quite the request, Miss Romero. How long has he been in?”
“A few months now. Three-time offender, too. I know that don’t help none, either.”
“It’ll take some time for me to pull it off, and I’ll need something really good from you.”
“Why does this case mean so much to you anyway? You all the way from Houston chasing this girl don’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”
One of the things I’d learned growing up was to never judge a book by its cover. Many of my esteemed colleagues probably wouldn’t have given this woman the time of day. But I was rolling the dice, and maybe, just maybe, she had something I could use. A lot of cops didn’t like to admit it but profiling was indeed a
I threw on some clothes and headed for the lobby. Maybe I’d find a snack machine or something to hold me over. As I approached the door, I spied the old woman who’d checked me in the night before.
“Still here, huh?” she said as I walked in.
“Only for a little bit longer. I’ve got a few more leads to follow up on, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Oh you ain’t botherin’ me none. First time a cop’s done any actual police work here in a long time. You really think you gonna catch that ol’ girl here in these swamps?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to try. I got a lot riding on it.”
I kept moving as I spoke, trying to get to the snack machine and back to my room as quickly as possible. I wasn’t really in the mood to discuss the case in the motel lobby.
“You got any coffee?” I said.
“Over there.” She jerked her thumb toward and old-school coffeepot on a table in the corner.
“Ya know, captain, I may know something about that ol’ girl you lookin’ for.”
I turned too fast and nearly spilled my coffee. I gazed at the woman, trying to read her. What could she possibly know about Stacy?
“When they showed her picture on the news as a person of interest, I recognized her right off.”
“Well . . . yes, ma’am, I appreciate any information you can give me. But if her identity is all you can offer, we already know who she is.”
“Well, hell! I know you know who she is! What I’m talking ’bout is something you might not know.”
I walked over to the counter to listen. She reminded me of my grandmother. Maybe a few cards lighter upstairs, but all the same . . . She stood about five feet nothing and was skinny as a toothpick. Her gray hair hung in limp pigtails down both sides of her head. Her leathery face was aged way beyond her years, which I guesstimated to be seventy or so.
“You’ve got my full attention, Mrs. . . .”
“It’s Miss Romero,” she said.
I still wasn’t sure if she was pulling my leg or if she really had something concrete to share. But I’d come this far, and the coffee wasn’t half bad. Might as well hear her out.
“Before I stared workin’ here, I used to be a janitor at one of the high schools in New Orleans. Coupla years after her uncle’s place burned down, two men turned up dead ’bout the same fashion as these new murders you got now.”
“I understand. Why do you believe the cops hadn’t thought about that already?”
“They probably don’t know they connected, but I do. For one, they wasn’t here; they was in Alabama and few months apart. Real sloppy work.”
“And what makes you think Lisa was involved with those? If they were in Alabama, how would you even know about them?”
“I’ve said all I’m gonna say, unless you can do something for me.”
I hadn’t expected the shift in focus or the what-can-you-do-for-me card, but I was willing to play her game a little bit longer.
“Well, is there anything you had in mind? Anything you need? And I can only give you something if this information pans out.”
“Oh, it’ll pan out. I got a . . . let’s just say, a really good friend doin’ a nickel on a drug charge over some li’l ol’ Mary Jane. Think you can get him out anytime soon?”
“That’s quite the request, Miss Romero. How long has he been in?”
“A few months now. Three-time offender, too. I know that don’t help none, either.”
“It’ll take some time for me to pull it off, and I’ll need something really good from you.”
“Why does this case mean so much to you anyway? You all the way from Houston chasing this girl don’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”
One of the things I’d learned growing up was to never judge a book by its cover. Many of my esteemed colleagues probably wouldn’t have given this woman the time of day. But I was rolling the dice, and maybe, just maybe, she had something I could use. A lot of cops didn’t like to admit it but profiling was indeed a
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