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For once she didn’t feel like arguing; let the old man get behind the wheel. As they drove out of the parking garage, she saw the city coming alive, pedestrians in long coats or thick jackets, some with hats, others with umbrellas, all hurrying along the wet pavement. A thin fog was drifting through the city streets, giving an ethereal glow to the scene.
Paterno turned at the light and Tanaka filled him in. “I talked to the Albuquerque Police after I got the phone records. Then I e-mailed the missing persons report to the officer I talked with.”
“So Albuquerque’s looking for her.”
“Yeah, but the thought is she’s already taken off. They’re checking motels and the bus station, airport, trains . . . the usual. But he did say a strange thing happened the other night and he wouldn’t have mentioned it, but it happened during the time we think Ivy was there. Only a few blocks from the bus station a man was attacked by a woman. Around two in the morning.”
“The guy was attacked by Ivy? She’s all of what? Five-two and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet?”
“That’s what he claimed. Said that she tried to rob him, maybe was strung out at the time, but she set his hair on fire. Turned him into a d
amned human torch.”
“What? She torched him?” Paterno glanced at her as he flipped on the wipers. “Jesus.”
“It’s an off-the-wall story. The guy’s suffering from second- and third-degree burns. Can barely speak. Barely hanging on. Lucky to be alive.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s why the detective I spoke with brought it up.” She was thinking about the information she’d received early this morning, still working things out in her own mind. “It might have nothing to do with anything. Maybe it was a junkie looking for a big score and she jumped him. The guy did have about four thousand bucks on him. In cash.”
“Huh.” Paterno’s eyes narrowed as he, along with the traffic ahead of him, slowed for a traffic light. “Lotta money.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But Paul Latham could have had money stashed in one of his safes.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“You think Ivy robbed her folks and took off.”
“Something scared her. Say she grabbed the cash and a knife in the kitchen, ran out the back door and lost the knife as she crossed the street before cutting through the park. That’s the way I see it. And there’s something more. The burn victim? The New Mexico cops ID-ed him.”
“Let me guess: He’s got a record.”
“In three states. Wynn P. Ellis, and that would be Junior, no less. There’s a senior in Reno where Junior hails from. The charges run the regular gamut: possession, resisting, burglary, and assault. Turns out there’s an existing warrant out for him, so his ass is grass. After the hospital, he’s going back to jail.”
“So you think his version of the attack scenario could be erroneous.”
“If I were a betting woman, I’d say yes.” She glanced out the side window, past the condensation on the glass, to stare up at a huge crane working at a construction site where another skyscraper would soon rise.
Paterno changed lanes, passing a slow-moving RV. “You think Ivy was involved in the murders?”
“Dunno. Maybe.” She thought about it. “Would she really be party to putting a gun to her mother’s head? Paul, her stepdaddy, maybe . . . That’s a different story. But Brindel? Doesn’t seem likely.”
“And yet Troy Boxer and his roommate are missing,” Paterno reminded her. “They could be meeting up with her.”
“Yeah, well. Then there’s that.” She rolled the idea around in her brain. Was Ivy a part of the double-homicides? A willing accomplice? Unwitting victim? Was she any part of it at all? “We’re looking into the bus schedule that night.”
“Ellis ID-ed her?”
“Yes and no. The woman who attacked him had shorter, darker hair and was heavier than Ivy, but she could have been disguised. They’ve already got a picture of Ivy, so they’re going to check with Ellis, but might not get anything concrete.”
They arrived at the rooming house, and with Aimes’s key, went into the living quarters assigned to Boxer and Stillwell. Both rooms were a mess with unmade beds and half-filled garbage cans, beer bottles in each, a pizza box in Stillwell’s. But in neither space did they find car keys, cell phone, computer, or any hand-held device. No indication of what had happened to them. They peered into the interiors of the two vehicles owned by the men, but saw nothing. “Cars are locked. We’ll need a warrant unless you have keys,” Paterno said to Aimes.
Aimes shook his head. “If they have spares, I don’t know where.”
“Okay,” Paterno said.
