Detective Evans surveyed the chaos. Three police cars and a fire truck sat parked in the middle of Seventh Street, their flashing lights strobing the entire area. A wrecker was trying to maneuver into place as a crowd continued to mill around the accident. The SUV had yet to be moved, and its crumpled front end remained smashed against the side of the Hotel Monaco. The smell of burning oil hovered in the air. As if to make things worse, a fire alarm had gone off in the hotel, sending hundreds of people pouring into the street. The alarm had finally ended, but much of the crowd had yet to go away, many of them coming over to this side of the building to check out the accident. And to top things off, it was turning colder and the snow was picking up.
“Like I mentioned on the radio,” said Officer Jake Roberts, a twenty-something traffic cop with two years under his belt, “one witness swore that he saw two kids—one with bright red hair and a polka dot jacket—jump out of the car and take off down the sidewalk.” The officer gestured in the direction of F Street.
Detective Evans glanced toward the sidewalk. “Anyone else see them?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” replied the officer. “But you know how it is with things like this—lots of smoke and confusion. No one’s really sure what they saw or what happened.”
The detective nodded. “Notify the other units to be on the alert for a girl with red hair wearing a red jacket with white polka dots. She’s probably with a blond boy in a blue jacket. If she’s trying to get home, she’ll head toward Dupont Circle.”
“Got it,” replied the officer.
Detective Evans walked back to the car where Mary Sullivan stood waiting.
“Well?” asked Mary.
“They were definitely here,” said the detective. “They were last seen heading north toward F Street.”
“What are we waiting for?” said Mary. “Let’s go after them.”
“You should really go home and wait there,” said the detective. “They might be heading in that direction.”
“My sister’s going to my house,” said Mary. “She’ll be there in case Camille shows up or calls.”
“Listen,” Detective Evans tried again, “I really think you should—”
Mary Sullivan cut off the detective before she could finish her sentence. “My daughter is somewhere in this city, and I will not go home until I find her. Understood?”
Detective Evans did understand. She would have done the same thing if it had been her child. “Understood,” she replied. “Let’s go find them.”
Detective Evans and Mary Sullivan were turning to get into the detective’s car when a short man dressed in a suit stepped in front of them. “Are you in charge?” he demanded in a high-pitched voice.
Evans pointed at a police officer assisting the tow-truck driver. “Actually,” she said, “the officer in charge of the accident scene is—”
“That police officer is just a kid!” screamed the man, whose face had turned a bright crimson. “He barely looks like he shaves. I demand to speak to someone in authority! I want someone who can make decisions! I WANT ANSWERS!”
The man looked as if the blood vessels in his temples were going to explode at any moment.
The detective sighed. “Okay,” she said, “you’re speaking to someone in authority, so calm down. I’m Detective Evans—what seems to be the problem?”
“Problem?” said the man as he waved his arms around wildly. “Are you blind? All of this is the problem. I’m James Appleton, manager of the Hotel Monaco, and this is completely, totally unacceptable. All of this noise and the lights—you’re absolutely ruining the night for my guests!”
“I can’t control where a wreck happens,” explained the detective. “As you can see, we’re trying to get it cleared as quickly as possible. And the fire alarm in your hotel wasn’t helping, you know.”
“It’s those two kids!” screamed Appleton hysterically. “I just know it. They probably had something to do with that wreck. They’ve already destroyed my lobby, and now they’ve—”
“Kids?” It was Mary Sullivan. She was standing next to the passenger-side door of the detective’s car. “Did you say ‘kids’?”
James Appleton pointed across the car at Mary. “I was not speaking to you,” he said.
Uh-oh, thought Detective Evans. Big mistake.
Mary marched around the car and seized Appleton by the collar of his jacket with both of her hands. “Did . . . you . . . say . . . ‘kids’?” she repeated slowly. Her voice was almost a growl.
Appleton cut his eyes toward the detective. “I suggest you answer her question,” Evans said.
“I . . . uh . . . two k-kids,” he stammered. “They came into my hotel, barred the door . . . and now the fire alarm. I just know it’s them.”
“Was there a girl?” Mary asked.
Appleton nodded. “Redhead.”
Mary pushed the small man away and pointed at the detective. “I’m heading to the hotel,” she said.