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“What did you do?” asked Whiskey.
“I told him to fuck off. I was going to the cops to tell him what they were doing to these kids. He handed me my money and told me to shut up. Twice, I came home and found that someone had been in my apartment. I never drink, you know that. I have bottled waters but noticed that the caps were loose.
“I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I knew Stephanie, and we’d been meeting for coffee and lunch on and off for a few months. She knew that I’d done nothing to Jamie and even vouched for me with the police. That’s why the charges were dropped, although Jamie didn’t know that.
“I was desperate. I called and asked if I could stay with her for a while, and she said it was perfect timing. She’d gotten her own apartment, moving out of Jamie’s.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re alright, brother,” said Callan, hugging him once again. “I was worried about you. What about a job?”
“Nothing yet, but I’ll get there.”
“Fuck that shit,” said Callan. “Come and work for me.”
“You! Again? You’d hire me?” asked Imron.
“Brother, you were the best fucking artist I’ve ever known. Yes, I’d hire you. It’s further out, but there are some apartments close that we could get you both into. In fact, I’ll bet we could get Stephanie a job at the salon and spa our business owns.”
“Really?” she squealed. “I’d love to get out of the city.”
“Then I think we have the place for you,” smiled Callan. There was a knock at the door, and Vince held up his hand, pushing everyone back. He looked through the peephole and frowned. Opening the door, there were two officers standing there.
“Officer. Can we help you?” asked Vince.
“We’re looking for Stephanie Moore.”
“I’m Stephanie Moore,” she said.
“Are you roommates with Jamie Connor?” he asked.
“I used to be. I moved out a few days ago and into this place. Why? Did she skip out on the rent again?”
“No. She’s dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“She was found floating downriver, almost to the Gulf,” said the officer. “Her fingernails were to the nub, caked with old brick or mud. We’re not sure yet.”
“Any physical injuries?” asked Whiskey.
“None that we could see other than her fingers and fingernails. They were broken and cracked, the skin torn and bloody. It almost looks like she clawed her way out of something. When was the last time you saw her?”
“A few days ago, as I said. She was mad at me because I’m friends with Imron. Jamie was very selfish and wanted her friends to only be friends with who she wanted them to be friends with. That’s just not me.”
“I see,” said the officer, nodding at her. “Did she have any enemies?”
“The list is long,” said Stephanie. “She made enemies wherever she went. She took money from a man to accuse Imron of rape. She claimed he groped and attacked her during a tattoo. It wasn’t true, and I knew it because she bragged about it.”
“I see,” frowned the officer. “Who was this man that she took the money from?”
“I don’t know his name. She just kept calling him a head-case. I have no idea what that means. She said he told her it was a social experiment and all on the up and up.”
“A social experiment?” frowned Callan. “That’s what that guy told you.” Imron nodded, afraid to say anything.
“Well, whatever it is, this woman is dead, and I can’t find anything that killed her other than perhaps drowning. There is a look of utter terror on her face like it was frozen in time. But again, that doesn’t tell me anything,” said the cop.
“Do you know how to reach her family?” asked the other officer.
“Yes,” said Stephanie. She opened her phone, writing down a name and number. “This is her father and mother. They’re in Mississippi. I know their relationship was strained, at best, but she gave their number to me as an emergency contact.”
