lee?
Naomi scrolled up with her thumb, ignoring the sticky residue on the case. More of the same: Leelee reaching out maybe once every week or so, always late, always short. Finch, replying in fits and starts, sometimes drunk, sometimes angry, sometimes both.
“You wanna tell me what this was about?” she asked, stabbing a finger at the first message. “Last time she texted, you said you were surprised. Why?”
“I dunno…” Finch hunched his shoulders, refusing to meet her eyes. “We hadn’t talked in a few days. She dumped me, remember? Wasn’t like her to hit me up after that.”
“Except she did,” Naomi pressed. “So what did you do? Did you call her?”
He shook his head, greasy hair swinging, jaw set stubborn. “No! I figured it was a butt-dial. Or maybe she was drunk and didn’t want to say whatever it was. I texted back, like you saw. She never responded.”
She let the silence stretch out between them, waiting to see if he’d get nervous enough to fill it himself.
He didn’t, but his foot started tapping against a pizza box wedged under the coffee table, so she counted it as a win.
“Did she ever mention someone bothering her at work? Or maybe following her?”
Finch scratched at the back of his neck, shirt riding up to show off a faded tattoo—a barbed wire ring that looked more like somebody’s doodle than actual ink. “Yeah, I guess. Sometimes she said guys at the casino were creeps. That’s why I used to go pick her up, you know? Walk her out to her car. She hated walking alone at night.”
“Which guys?”
He shrugged, mouth twisting. “I dunno. Some of the regulars were assholes. Couple of the pit bosses, too. But she never gave names. Said if she complained, she’d just get fired, so she kept her mouth shut. That’s how they do it at Lucky Feather.”
Naomi made a note of that. Every woman she’d talked to who worked at the casino said the same thing: keep your head down, don’t make trouble, and maybe you’ll keep your job. Classic garbage management.
“Anyone stand out? Anyone she mentioned more than once?”
He thought about it, eyes unfocused. “There was the developer guy, Craig something. He’d tip her stupid money. Like, hundreds. She said he wanted to sponsor her or something? But it sounded sketchy.”
“Craig Foster?” Naomi asked. It wasn’t the first time his name had come up in conjunction with a missing girl.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Did she ever meet up with him outside of work?”
Finch’s face shut down, all doors slamming at once. “You’d have to ask her. Or him. I don’t know shit about it, except it pissed me off when I heard.”
He was lying. Or at least, not telling the whole truth.
She let that ride for now.
“Where were you Tuesday night?” she asked. “Be specific.”
A flicker of panic, quick as a heartbeat. “Here,” he said instantly. “Home. I watched the game and passed out on the couch. Ask anyone. Ask my neighbor, Miss Kay. She called me after midnight to tell me to turn down my TV. She always does.”
Naomi nodded. “I will.”
Finch licked his lips, picking at a hole in the sofa cushion. “Look, I didn’t do anything to her. We fought, yeah, but I would never… you know. Hurt her.” The words had a desperate edge, like he was trying to convince himself more than her.
She scanned the room again, searching for anything out of place. But it was just more debris. Nothing that screamed “kidnapper.” Hell, the guy barely had the brain cells to keep himself together. He wasn’t escalating to murder.
But she didn’t rule him out. Not yet.
“Did you know she’d been feeling watched? That someone was following her home from work?”
Finch’s head snapped up. “What? No. She never said that. Not to me.”
“She told her mom. She told her boss. There’s a log of her complaints. But not you?”
