Easy Innocence

Chapter 31

GEORGIA MULLED things over as she drove home. Tom Walcher must have gone to the police after all. Or maybe it was Ramsey he'd complained to. He'd boasted of having connections; but she had no way of knowing how strong they were. Was there a relationship between the two men? Did the men have business connections? Did their spouses work together on Newfield school activities?

Or was Walcher just the kind of guy who liked to buddy up to cops? She'd run into cop-wannabes when she was on the force, guys who scanned police radio frequencies and showed up at crime scenes, sometimes even before the cops. Others hung out at cop bars and restaurants. You had to be careful with them. From time to time they might actually have valuable information, but there might be a quid pro quo when they surrendered it.

She wouldn't have figured Walcher for a wannabe, but, ultimately, it didn't matter which type he was. Or who he'd talked to. Parker was a pompous asshole, but he was right about one thing. It had been a mistake to impersonate a social worker. It wouldn't happen again.

She drove west on Old Orchard Road. A country club took up one side of the road; a cemetery the other. It was a gray day, and the air felt wet and raw. A few dispirited leaves still clung to tree branches, but they weren't able to muster much fire.

She reviewed what she knew about Derek Janowitz. Was he the one who spread fish guts in the hallway of her apartment? The descriptions matched. But was it his idea? Or could it have been his partner's? And how could she find out who that partner was? She needed to. Whoever it was could be the only remaining link to Sara Long.

She thought about going to Derek's apartment and trying to bully her way in to question his roommates. But they'd just endured a rough police interrogation; they'd slam the door in her face. The police had his PDA in any case. A better solution would be to get his cell phone records. She knew his number.

Some people might bicker about the ethics and legality of obtaining cell phone records without subpoenas. Frankly, before she was suspended, she might have, too. But if she was going to be a PI and work big cases, she couldn't be squeamish about her sources. The police had resources—indeed, access to them was one of the things she missed about being a cop. As a PI, she was a lone ranger, relying on contacts and connections to get what she needed.

Sure, there was a trade-off: tracking bad guys versus infringing—at least a little—on people's privacy. Still, for a couple of hundred dollars, she could get Derek Janowitz's cell phone records, and she would have a slew of new leads, any number of which might lead to his partner.

Back home, she called a PI who'd referred a case to her a few months ago. He gave her the name and number of someone in Florida. Five minutes later, after surrendering her credit card number, the number of the cell she wanted to trace, and the dates she needed, she was told they had a heavy backlog. The results would be emailed to her within seven business days.

She hung up the phone and looked around. It was on nights like these that she felt the weight of time and how untethered she was. She had no ties any more, emotional or otherwise. Her mother abandoned her when she was a child, leaving her with a father who ended up loving the bottle more than her. He'd died seven years ago. She was alone now. But she was free, white, and twenty-one, an expression her father liked to repeat between shots. She'd decided that freedom was an overrated concept.

She went around her apartment and lit candles. Although she didn't collect things anymore, she couldn't bring herself to throw out her candles. Some were scented, and she breathed in mint, coconut, and berry. When they were all lit, she lay down on her couch and watched their lights flicker. The candles helped chase away the void, providing clarity and definition. They reminded her that, like them, she'd once had fire and heat.