Last time, Owan and Roe met Detective O’Rourke, one of Owan’s police contacts, and talked him into letting them look over the crime scene.
It didn't take us long to get back to the office, and it was a good thing we'd decided to pop in for a minute. As we walked into the building, the super--who kept a little office space right inside the front door--waved us over to his open doorway.
"Hey, Mr. Wazelski," I said. "What's news?"
"There's a gal up waitin' for ya in your office." Wazelski squinted up at me with his one good eye. The man's scrunched up face sometimes made me question whether he might have some sidhe blood in his ancestry--cat sidhe, or goblin perhaps. It wasn't unheard of.
I tried not to wince. The man was only doing us a favor, but who knew who the dame was. I didn't keep anything valuable in the office, but Roe had her curator's kit tucked in a bottom drawer of her desk, and I didn't like the thought of anyone having a chance to poke around. "How long ago?"
"Ten-fifteen minutes." The man shrugged. "Ain't seen her come back down though."
I tipped him a few quarters in thanks and booked it for the elevators, muttering to Roe, "Let's hope she's a genuine client and not some kind of snoop."
Roe, I noticed, had tucked her hand into her inner jacket pocket, where I knew she kept her little revolver. I waited until the elevator door closed, then unbuttoned my own coat and unsnapped my underarm holster.
We rode up to the office in silence and approached the door as quietly as we could. I didn't slam the door open, but I whipped it open pretty quick, startling the girl sitting in the waiting area.
I stopped. It was no wonder Mr. Wazelski had noticed her, even if she hadn't spoken to him. It would've been hard to not notice this girl. She looked like she could be on the silver screen, not sittin' in our dingy office space in a demure gray suit, her gams crossed to show them off to their best advantage. Her hair was a perfect golden, falling in soft shimmering curls to her shoulders, and her pouty lips were painted a glossy shade of rose petal pink.
I knew exactly what she was doing, and it still caught me off guard enough that I stopped in the middle of the doorway.
Roe shouldered past me, giving me a raised eyebrow before smiling at the woman. "Hello! Sorry for your wait."
The woman stood, extending her hand to Roe. "No trouble." Her voice was low and throaty, tinged with a Jersey accent. She shuffled her feet back and forth, looking suddenly awkward.
I snapped myself out of my stupor and smiled reassuringly at her. "Yes, we apologize. This is Roe Gillam, and I'm Owan Craig." I shut the door and gestured her back to her seat. "What can we help you with, miss...?"
"Gladys. Gladys Connor."
I crossed to my desk, leaning on it as Miss Connor took her seat again. Roe sat down behind her own desk, grabbing a notepad and pen. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, wondering what she thought of our prospective client. Roe caught me watching and offered a smile that had the barest hint of a biting smirk at the corners of her mouth. I couldn't tell if she was mocking me, or if there was something she found amusing about Miss Connor.
Miss Connor twisted her gloves together in her hands. She still looked stunning, but the gesture made her seem much younger, almost childish.
"Would you like some coffee, miss?" I asked.
"Oh. Umm, no, no, I couldn't possibly be a bother." Miss Connor glanced between me and Roe.
"No trouble," Roe said, putting the notepad back down and standing again. She crossed the room to the hotplate and coffee percolator we had perched on a cupboard by the door. "You want any, Owan?"
I nearly raised an eyebrow at that. Roe and I were never formal with each other, but she tended to call me 'boss' or 'Mr. Craig' around others. Was Miss Connor making her jealous? I dismissed the thought immediately. Roe wasn't the jealous type. But something about this woman had gotten her back up. Best to proceed carefully. "While she's making the coffee, Miss Connor, would you mind tellin' me what brought you here today?" I reached over to Roe's desk and retrieved the notepad and pen, steadying it on one knee as I waited.
Miss Connor bit her lower lip, twisting her gloves together harder. If she didn't quit that, those gloves would be unwearable. "You can call me Gladys, Mr. Craig, that would be perfectly fine. I--" She hesitated, and once again I was struck by how young she seemed. She had the body and face of a confident, full-grown woman, but her nervous air reminded me of a kid trying to act like an adult.
"I--well, I've heard a bit about you, Mr. Craig, and you, Miss Gillam. So I thought--well, that you two might be best for this job." She took a deep breath. "I'm here about my brother. I'm his sole guardian--he's ten. We're twelve years apart. Our parents passed away a couple of years ago, and, well... Nick--that's my brother--he's had a rough time since then, especially since I've been trying to work and keep us both going. About a week ago, he..." Gladys looked down at her lap, biting her lower lip again. "He ran away, Mr. Craig."
I glanced up, meeting Roe's eyes over Gladys's bowed head. If the girl was acting, she was doing a fine job. Roe slightly lifted one shoulder--she didn't quite know what to make of this girl either, it seemed. But she still seemed hesitant, and I understood. Something was off about this girl, and her story seemed designed to tug at soft heartstrings.
Gladys looked up at me, her big baby blues soft and plaintive, half-filled with tears. Dammit, she was pouring it on thick.
Or, a voice in the back of my head murmured, she's telling the truth.
"So I guess you want me to find this kid brother of yours?" I said.
She nodded.
"Can I ask a quick question?" Roe asked, stepping up to Gladys's side and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Why haven't you gone to the police, Gladys?"
"I have," Gladys answered softly. "I went to them that first evening, when Nick wasn't home for dinner. He might act like he hates me some days, but he never misses meals. He's growin' so much..." She dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes, pulling in a deep breath. "I went to them again the next day. But I don't think the police really care about one little kid in this big city."
I struggled to keep from wincing. My experience was that there were plenty of officers who did care--but like she said, her brother was a little kid in a big city, and the cops had limited resources. I jotted down a note to check in with the guys I still knew on the force. "Okay. Tell me about your brother--where did he go to school? Who were his friends? Role models? Did he have any special hobbies, like trainwatching or baseball?"
As Gladys filled me in, Roe silently served out three cups of strong black coffee. As I took mine, I realized it was only about half-filled with coffee, and that Roe had used the liquid to paste a small piece of paper on the inside of the cup, out of Gladys's sight.
Glamoured jewelry.
Thank you for reading! If you’re enjoying The Case Files of Owan Craig and don’t want to wait to read it week by week, it is available in ebook or print form on Amazon!