Page 52 of Swerve
“Oh. I’m sorry,” she says.
Detective Helmer taps the screen of his phone and hands it to the young woman. “The photo is blurred, but this is surveillance video of a guy following the two girls who are missing.”
“Two?”
“Yes,” he says, tipping his head toward me. “Emory’s sister and her best friend.”
“That’s awful,” she says, as if it’s just occurred to her that horrible things like this really do happen.
Madison looks at the phone screen, then touches it and presses both fingers outward to enlarge the picture. She doesn’t say anything for a good bit, looking at the photo with a fixed expression. “It’s hard to be sure,” she says finally, “but I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Madison glances at the camera above the door we came in through. “And anyway, I’m fairly sure I’m not supposed to be talking about customers. Like that’s probably an invasion of privacy or something. I could get fired.”
My stomach drops at the letdown.
Helmer folds his arms across his chest, and I notice his jaw clench. I realize in that moment that he’s a man who’s used to getting what he wants, when he wants it. Madison must notice too because she says, “Well, because it involves a missing girl, maybe it’s okay. I think he’s been in here before.”
“Do you remember his name?” Helmer asks.
“No.”
“Can you get us a last name? Look him up by his credit card?”
“He paid cash.”
Helmer processes this, then says, “If you think of anything else about him, Madison, anything that might help us locate him, please call me.” He pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to her.
She reads it. “I thought you said you were a private guy. This says MPD.”
“I’m on hiatus,” he says. “You can reach me at that number though. Call me from your phone now so I’ll have yours.”
“Okay,” she says reluctantly, dialing the number on the card from her cell phone.
Helmer’s phone rings. He answers it, then clicks off and types her name in the contact.
“I really hope you find her,” Madison says.
“Thanks for your help,” he says.
I follow Helmer out of the store, waiting until we’re both in the Jeep before I say, “I don’t know whether to be hopeful or flattened.”
“It’s a start,” he says, one hand on the steering wheel, a set look on his face.
“What is it?” I ask, sensing he’s holding something back.
“Something tells me she wasn’t completely forthcoming.”
“Why? What makes you think that?”
He glances back at the storefront. “Sixth sense, I guess.”
“What would she be leaving out?”
“I don’t know.” He glances at his watch. “It’s eight-thirty. The store closes at nine. Let’s see what she does when she gets off work.”
“You mean follow her?”
“Probably a dead end. Let’s just make sure.”
~
