After heading to the task force headquarters with Colt and the dogs, a drive that took nearly two hours in rush hour traffic, she arranged to use an unmarked Tahoe in exchange for their rental SUV. She’d elicited a promise from a fellow officer to return the vehicle to the rental agency with apologies.
Thankfully, the dogs shared the specialized compartment in the official SUV companionably.
Dev, the lead trainer for the task force, stopped by the motor pool just as they were about to head out. “I take it Haven and Rusk get along?”
Understanding his surprise that both dogs, who could be fierce in their own right, would tolerate the same enclosed space, she said, “If they were both male, or both female, it would be a different story.”
“Too true,” he said.
“How’s the search for a new trainer going?” she asked.
“I have several candidates we’re interviewing,” Dev replied. “It’s a hard decision.”
She didn’t envy him finding his replacement.
He gave her a wave and walked away. “Take care.”
They left the task force building and made their way to the Gospel Mission Recovery Center on the far side of town. Once again, Maren was content to let Colt take the wheel. She had no problems with him in control of the vehicle. It gave her the opportunity to keep an eye out for danger while contemplating questions she wanted to ask Vinnie about Opal. If Vinnie was indeed at the shelter. She prayed he would be.
Colt parked the vehicle in the center’s vast parking lot, and they released the dogs from the back compartment. They each leashed up their respective K-9 and kept them close as they approached the large, rectangular brick building.
Inside the lobby, they showed their badges and asked to speak with the woman who canvassed the houseless encampment near the highway underpass.
A few minutes later, a woman in her mid-fifties approached. “Hello, I understand you’re looking for me?”
“Yes. I’m Officer Maren Anderson and this is DEA Agent Colt Dawson,” Maren said. “And you are?”
“Cindy Gregson,” she said. “I’m the director. How can I help?”
“You brought in a homeless man from the underpass camp,” Colt said. “His name is Vinnie Homer. We’d like to speak with him.”
Maren held her breath, hoping the man was still in residence.
“I wasn’t aware that Vinnie was in trouble with the law,” Cindy said, carefully.
“He was a witness to an apparent drowning,” Colt said. “We have some follow-up questions.”
Empathy crossed Cindy’s features. “He told me about that poor young woman.” She gestured for them to follow her. “He was quite broken up. I think that’s what finally allowed him to seek help. He’s been sober for the last few months.”
Cindy led them down the hallway, past several rooms with two sets of bunk beds lining both walls. She stopped at the doorway of a room at the far end and stayed in the hallway but called out, “Vinnie, may we enter?”
Maren exchanged an interested glance with Colt. Apparently, Cindy was showing respect for Vinnie and his roommate’s space. Maren could appreciate that.
“Sure, come on in,” a thin, nasal voice came from inside the room.
Maren filed into the small space behind Cindy. The room was tidy with only one of the bunk beds occupied. A pudgy man in his late twenties sat on the edge of the bottom bunk. He had blond, curly hair that shifted over his brow as he lifted his head. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Maren.
He stood up abruptly, bonking his head on the top bunk. He sat back down and rubbed his scalp. “What’s happening here?”
“These officers have some questions for you regarding the girl who drowned,” Cindy said, gently.
Vinnie’s eyes met Maren’s. “You shouldn’t be here. What if he finds out? You’re posing as a cop?”
Cindy’s dark eyes grew round as she stared at Maren. “What is he talking about?”
Colt held up a hand. “It’s all right. Vinnie is mistaken. This is Maren Anderson. Opal’s sister.”
Vinnie visibly deflated with a noisy exhale. “Right. She mentioned a sister. But she didn’t say you look alike. I don’t understand.”
