Page 23 of Not a Word

“Yeah? She done something wrong? Because she’s good people,” Elaine said, turning every few seconds to check on her daughter, who was seated at a kid’s desk-and-chair set, making circles on a sheet of paper with an orange crayon.

“You know where she works?”

“Uh, she works at the walk-in clinic? The one on Proctor? She works the desk, runs the office, stuff like that?”

“Is there someone there named Jerry?” McCabe was thinking of the text she had seen on Leah’s phone, asking if she could work late Monday.

“That’d be Dr. Fielding,” she said. “Gerald Fielding. He runs the clinic.”

“And does she have a friend named Billy?”

“Billy?”

“Someone who has a young child.”

“That might be a cousin or somebody.”

It would be easy enough to find out, McCabe thought. Billy’s number was right there in her text exchanges with Leah.

“Does Leah live alone?”

“Just her.” She paused, then added, “Most of the time.”

McCabe tilted her head slightly, waiting for Elaine to expand on that.

“She’s had a couple of boyfriends, but no one permanent.”

“So, not married? No kids?”

“No, and no.” Elaine was getting impatient with the questioning. “Seriously, is she in some kind of trouble?”

“Just making some inquiries.”

Elaine gave her a dubious look, but said, “Not married, though there was a guy who lived there for a while. She kicked him out, thank god. There’s an older guy, too; he comes by occasionally. I mean it’s not like I’m hanging out by the window all day. I’ve got my hands full with work and looking after my daughter but we talk sometimes.”

“Are you and Leah close?”

“More or less. She bails me out if I can’t get home from work in time to meet Shana when she gets out of school. I work part-time at Walmart, which gives me a lot of flexibility, but it doesn’t always work out. We look out for each other. If she’s ordered something from Amazon and isn’t home I’ll grab it off the step before someone steals it. She babysits Shana when I’m in a jam. I’m on my own here.”

McCabe could identify.

She had her phone out, brought up a picture. “You said there was an older guy who comes by sometimes. This him?”

Elaine looked at a shot of Brent Chartwell that McCabe had taken from one of the photos in the house. “Yeah.”

“When did you first start seeing him around?”

Elaine had to think. “I’ve been living here for seven years and I don’t remember seeing him back when I first moved in. Year, year and a half, maybe two. More recent.”

“Ever talk to him?”

“Just hello or goodbye if I happen to be out front. He’s not a big talker. Not rude or anything, just comes and goes fast. Seems a little embarrassed when I spot him. Nice car. Got some old classic car too. Decent dresser. Definitely doesn’t buy his clothes where I work.”

“Leah tell you about him?”

Elaine shrugged. “She said she knew him from a long time ago, that they kind of reconnected. Bumped into each other or something, whatever. He’s a little older than her, but hey, I don’t judge.”

The detective took the photo album from her purse, opened it up so Elaine could see the pictures, turned a few pages for her to look at.