Page 3 of Roughing
“I’m a retired Portland homicide detective. A divorce and a lazy ex who took half of my retirement forced me back into the workforce. Bronson offered the job running his new office in Portland, so here I am.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I chose to say nothing for once.
“I believe in justice for the victims and their families,” she continued, displaying more passion than I’d seen so far.
“So do I.” At least we had common ground.
“So when do you want to start?” The way she said it, I suspected she’d be thrilled if I chose to never start.
“When do you need me?”
“Whenever.” She waved one hand in the air as if my presence didn’t mean shit.
“I’m ready today.”
“Answer one thing. Why do you really want to do this?” I sensed her question was some kind of test.
I considered my answer carefully, not sure how much to tell her. Since she already assumed I was an idiot, I took the direct route. “I had a cousin who went missing a decade ago. They found her body in a shack outside Portland. They never found the killer.”
“What was your cousin’s name?”
“Destiny Ross, the same last name as mine.”
“I remember that case. I wasn’t the lead, but I’m aware of the circumstances.”
I waited for her to offer more information, but she didn’t.
“I also have an abusive ex who’s stalking me. I know how difficult and tragic these situations are, and I want to help women battling similar problems.”
She leaned back and took another gulp of coffee, studying me carefully. “You have a stalker?”
I didn’t want to get into any details of my suspicions regarding my ex, Gordon, and my fear he was the man currently terrorizing women in Portland. They’d found two bodies and four other women had gone missing under similar circumstances, all last seen in the same general vicinity. While the police hadn’t officially declared that Portland had a serial killer, most of the news outlets had already dubbed him the Rose City Killer in reference to Portland’s nickname.
When Gordon and I were together, he’d disappeared at odd hours of the night and refused to tell me where he’d gone. At first, I’d assumed he was cheating on me, but I started to see more red flags. He frequented the areas where these women had last been seen. He even knew some of them. Lastly and most important, I’d pinpointed him in the area for at least two of the disappearances. Regardless, all I had to go on was a hunch with no solid evidence.
I nodded in response to Carla’s question and offered no additional information. We didn’t trust each other, and I wasn’t giving away any more than she was.
“I’m about to interview a client about her missing daughter. You’re welcome to tag along.” By her tone, I wasn’t welcome, but she felt obligated.
“I’d love to.”
“When we’re done, you can start on the filing.”
“Okay,” I said with forced cheerfulness, wondering what I’d gotten myself into and knowing I had no choice but to follow through. My brother had put his reputation on the line by recommending me, and I wouldn’t let him down. Of all my family members, he’d always been there for me.
We drove to one of the less desirable areas of Portland in the same general location as the Rainbow Unicorn Studio, an art studio that provided homeless artists a place to practice their craft. Over the past couple years, my besties and I’d volunteered to work with the homeless who frequent the Uni, as we fondly called it.
Since the Gone Missing office was only a few miles from this area, we were there in minutes, for which I was grateful. Carla spoke very little, and I sensed the tension in the air. I’d hoped she’d fill me in on the client, but she did nothing of the sort.
As she maneuvered the car into a tight parking spot two blocks from the Uni, I couldn’t hold my silence any longer. “Does your client live in this neighborhood?”
“Oh, God, no.” Carla shook her head adamantly, seeming mortified. I waited for further explanation. She didn’t give it.
Exasperated, I decided being pushy was the only way I’d drag anything out of this woman. “Then why are we here?”
Carla sighed dramatically as if my question was too stupid for words. “This is the last place her daughter was seen.”
I didn’t respond, but followed her lead, unhooked my seat belt, and got out of the car. Did I dare voice my suspicion that my stalker ex might be the serial killer everyone was looking for? I had no proof, nothing to go on, only suspicions.
