Chapter Six

Her car looked lived in, as in beyond the capabilities of a good vacuuming and a Christmas tree-shaped air freshener. In order for Marcus to sit in the back seat, Dawkins had to remove a massive black duffle bag and a rumpled pillow. There were grease-stained fast food wrappers all over the floor, and given the heft of the one near my feet on the passenger side, some still had rotting food inside. The SUV’s trunk was piled high with cardboard boxes that looked to be filled both with files and snack food. Most disturbingly, there was a crumpled pair of women’s cotton underpants on my seat, which I had to toss to the floor before I could sit down. They had definitely been worn. Gross.

“Everything okay?” I asked, trying to not grimace from the stench of petrified meat left in a locker room. My tongue was coated with the taste.

“I apologize for the mess. Haven’t had time to clean up,” she said this as if she’d simply left out some spare change and an old magazine. Marcus shot me a look as he lifted a sock from beside him that was stained with ketchup.

She started the car. It was February, and the wind was tossing decaying leaves in spirals outside the window. As soon as the engine turned over, the radio roared, jolting me with the blaring sound of smooth jazz. She lowered it, and I rubbed my hands in front of the gradually warming air vents.

“I know I said this, but I am sorry about your sister.” She gripped the steering wheel so tightly blue veins protruded from her dark skin. “The department, we should have done more. And I have to live with that, but I’m so glad you found her.” Her voice actually sounded regretful, and when she turned to me, the look in her glassy eyes, which were ringed with dark purple circles and deep wrinkles, almost had me feeling sorry for her. For Detective Dawkins. For the woman who was one of the primary reasons I flew to Italy by myself to find my sister. What happened to her?

“Charlotte told me you were taken off Keira’s case, before I found her. Why?” I asked.

“The sergeant thought that my judgment was clouded, that my theories weren’t reliant enough on hard facts.” She shrugged like there was nothing she could do. “She felt the case needed fresh eyes.”

“Well, those fresh eyes didn’t see much. Honestly, it felt like Boston PD didn’t want to see anything, and given everything we’ve learned about Department D, it’s possible…”

Dawkins nodded, as if following my accusations. “If Dresden Chemical was running a criminal enterprise in Boston for decades, it’s hard to imagine no one on the police force had any idea.”

Wow. My eyes widened. I glanced back at Marcus, whose face seemed equally shocked. This was the most honest answer we’d ever received from law enforcement.

“So now that I’ve confirmed something you suspected, about my own colleagues, I’d like you to confirm something.” Dawkins stared pointedly. “Are your parents alive?”

I could lie, but what was the point now? It was going to come out. It already was out. So I nodded, biting my lip but not saying a word.

“In Regina’s last video, she said they were in Rio. Was she right?”

I nodded again. “But that part about Georgia, that was the first we heard of it.”

“Me, too.”

“You’re looking for them?” My head cocked.

She shrugged. “Isn’t everyone?”

“I don’t think my parents would do anything to Regina. I know you probably disagree, but I just can’t go there, at least not yet.” I shook my head. “Do you think it’s possible Regina took off on her own?”

“Oh, I think she took off, but not on her own.” Dawkins pulled her phone out of her pocket, her thumb swiping the screen. When she turned it my way, a picture was displayed. Then she quickly showed it to Marcus. “I don’t know if your parents were involved, but I do know that Regina made some new friends while you were away.”

My jaw fell toward the grease-stained bag near my boots. Smiling wide was Regina with one arm slung around the shoulder of Sophia Urban and the other slung around Wyatt Burns, the Brookline Academy baseball star who threw a chicken wing at my head. “Sophia Urban was in Boston? With Regina? When?” I ripped the phone from Dawkins's fingers.

“Two weeks before she ran away.” She said the last words like they deserved air quotes.

“You think Sophia took Regina?”

I studied the photo. The background was entirely black, like the flash on the camera blew out everything else in view. I had no idea where they were, but I could clearly see their faces squished together like best buds. Sophia’s strawberry blond hair was ironed to perfection and her face was smug, while Wyatt wore the cocky grin of a jerk who thought the world should worship at his smelly cleats. Regina was as unfamiliar as her last video—her black hair chopped and spiked, her lips smeared with a matte eggplant shade, and her eyes thickly ringed with smoky shadow. I stared at these faces pressed together as though the photo were a puzzle in the back of a celebrity magazine asking me to find how many things were wrong in the image, only everything was wrong.

“I don’t know if Sophia took Regina, or if the two simply left together, but I know that Randolph Urban’s granddaughter took a strong interest in your friend not long after her first video popped up online.”

“Of course she did.” My teeth clipped my tongue. I tasted blood.

Sophia was too much of a coward to come after me directly, so she was using a grieving teenager with no idea what was really going on. That was why Regina’s latest video was filled with so many conspiracy theories about my parents; Sophia was putting those thoughts into Regina’s head. She was doing her grandfather’s bidding, or should I say my father’s bidding—trying to use Regina to get to me, to get to my parents.

“Any chance they’re still in Boston?” I asked.

“Doubt it.” Dawkins shook her head. “Aside from this photo on Wyatt’s social media, we wouldn’t have even known Sophia was here to begin with. She’s a person of interest in her grandfather’s case, and there’s a federal investigation of her as well. If anyone knew she was here, she would have been picked up.”

Sophia was once in possession of the counterfeit Arabic manual that tied my father to Julian’s demise, she likely aided and abetted her grandfather’s escape, and she publicly worked for Dresden, making it a pretty short leap to suspect she worked for Department D as well. Now she had Regina.

“So Sophia was here, out in the open, and no one had any idea?” Marcus asked.

“How is that possible?” I pressed. “You’re telling me that Wyatt Burns has better intel than the cops? And how the hell does he even fit in to any of this?”

I hated that kid. Every brain cell he had was invested in either hitting a ball or making people miserable. He belittled Marcus on his first day in our school, and he tried to humiliate me the first time I left my house after Keira’s memorial. Regina would never willingly hang out with him.

“From what I’ve gathered, he and Regina were dating before she disappeared,” Dawkins explained.

“No way!”

“Pendejo,” Marcus cursed, sharing my disdain.

“It’s all there.” Dawkins pointed to the phone I was clutching. “Wyatt documents every scoop of cereal.”

I swiped through his pictures. There were a disturbing number of selfies with Wyatt and Regina. In one they were kissing, mouths so open, I could see his thick tongue. My stomach rolled. Marcus plucked the phone from me to see it for himself.

“Ugh.” He groaned.

“I can’t believe this.” My face twisted, then suddenly all those years on a psychiatrist’s couch came back. I watched Keira date a lot of guys after our parents’ funeral. “She’s drowning in Tyson’s death. She’s looking for the most destructive guy she can find. Well, she found him.”

“Whatever the reason, he’s the best lead we’ve got tonight,” said Dawkins.

My eyes cut her way.

“According to Wyatt’s posts, the Brookline Academy baseball team will be having a party tonight at his home to kick off the spring season.” She snatched her phone back. “I’ve tried to talk to him about Regina, but his parents hired a lawyer, so he isn’t saying much. However, you’re a classmate and a sort-of celebrity, so you could probably get into the party…” Her voice trailed off.

“You want me to go?”

“I definitely can’t,” she reasoned.

A newfound respect for this woman swelled in my chest. She was actually being helpful, and in a manner that wasn’t perfectly following the procedural rule book.

“Don’t cops usually frown upon underage drinking?” I cocked my head, confused by her turnaround.

She scoffed. “Sometimes you gotta think of the greater good.” She put her phone back into her pocket, and moved her foot to the gas pedal, knocking a partially full soda can by her feet. She didn’t even reach to clean it up. “The catch is, you gotta tell me whatever Wyatt says.”

It was an order, albeit a reasonable one. I looked at Marcus, silently suggesting he was my partner in crime. He nodded in agreement.

“We will,” he answered for us.

Then she gestured to the door with her eyes, hinting it was time to leave. I wondered if she’d told any of this to Regina’s mom. Did she know about Sophia? About Wyatt?

Dawkins shifted the car into drive, seeming ready to pull away with or without me, so I opened the door. The icy air hit me with the scent of impending snow, clashing with the stench of rotting burgers inside. Marcus climbed out beside me, moving the lumpy pillow from the floor back to the seat.

The underwear, the pillow, the duffle bag. Dawkins was living in her car. But why? She had a job. She had a paycheck. Did something go wrong at home? I didn’t even know if she was married. And why was she suddenly so willing to work around the system? To agree that the police department might be corrupt? I thought cops protected one another at all costs?

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Sure.” She shrugged with an oblivious expression, playing it a bit too cool. If everything were fine, she’d acknowledge the food wrappers, the clutter, and her unwashed appearance. She’d offer an excuse or make a joke about it. (“My house was flooded!” or “You don’t even want to know what my partner did…”) Instead, she reminded me of Keira, like she didn’t care anymore.

“Thanks for the tip about Wyatt and for helping with Regina,” I said, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“It’s what needs to be done.” She started to inch away, like she really wanted me to close the car door.

Every warning bell in my head rang like a church on Sunday. Sure, there were many reasons someone might live out of a car. Maybe she’d been on a long stakeout? Maybe she left her husband, or wife? Maybe she lost money in gambling debts?

I didn’t know, but the knot in my gut screamed Department D.

“Did you show those pictures to Regina’s mom? Does your sergeant know you showed them to me?” I asked.

“Just call my cell after you speak with him.” She turned her eyes to the road and started rolling, forcing me to slam my door.

“Something’s wrong with her,” Marcus said, as we watched her peel out.

I nodded.

But because of her, we had a party to go to.