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Is that a hint of pride in his tone?
My shoulders roll back, and I cock my head to one side. “What? Like it’s hard?” I joke, channeling Elle Woods fromLegally Blonde.
He must get the reference because that spark of a grin morphs into a wide smile, accompanied by a deep chuckle that makes my nipples stiffen to peaks.
Then I remember his Netflix history was brimming with rom-coms. Of course he got the reference.
“What did your program find?”
“In the first reel taken from the dance floor, we see a bachelorette party in the background. See there.” I point at the group of women, all wearing matching bridesmaid attire, complete with penis headpieces. Keeping it classy.
“And then?”
“Although our trio of selfie show ponies didn’t get us an image of the guys who took Lettie, I suspected these ladies might.”
His head bobs in time with the next song on the playlist— Dean Martin’s “Sway”— but he’s laser-focused on the case. “That’s a leap. Why them and not all the other people in the club? For that matter, why not simply hack into the club’s security footage?”
“It’s adorable how you doubt my methods. Bachelorette parties are documented ad nauseam, which is stupid as hell if you ask me. But for some daft reason, when you get that many drunk women together, the phones snap pics left and right. They even take pictures with the male strippers. Baffling. Not sure why they’d want photographic evidence, but whatever. We all have our quirks.”
“And what about the bar footage?”
“I’m surprised you would suggest hacking the security system of a private business.”
He rears back like he’s shocked that I’d suggest he’s a boy scout do-gooder when he clearly is.
“Anyway, Cal, you’re not going to believe this, but…gasp… the surveillance system was not functioning that night.Nothingwas recorded.” I put my hand to my chest, feigning shock and disappointment. “I know. Iknow.I almost didn’t believe it myself.”
“What? The entire night?”
“The mafia will do anything to protect the ones who feed them girls at the rate these guys are. Including paying off a club owner or employee to disable the cameras when they’re about to make a grab. For all we know, she wasn’t the only one they took that night.”
“Holy shit.”
“This is big business, Klein. The stream of girls coming into the ring is as important to these fuckers as cash flow is for a bank.”
The silent shake of his head telegraphs his feelings on the matter, as does the tight set of his jaw.
Moving us along, I explain how I reviewed a series of bachelorette party-related hashtags and looked for Facebook check-ins at the bar and nearby restaurants in the vicinity, then scanned other social media sites similarly.
And that’s how I found them.
Thanks to hashtagone dick chick.
“This particular group of ladies, clad in all the finest penis-themed attire, started at Chili’s Bar and Grill before hitting up an all-male revue. They ended by dancing the night away at the Stumbling Sea Turtle.”
“And they were recording everything?”
“Luckily for us and Lettie, they documented everything for posterity or potential blackmail material. Jury is still out on which. But thank goodness they did. I’m about to show you the moment she was abducted.”
On the screen, I advance the video clip to the time stamp I noted earlier and zoom in. “And there they are. Two chivalrous fuckers helping Lettie off the stool and leading her toward the door. No one stops them. No one even looks twice.”
Cal points at a different part of the screen. “And there’s our witness, inching toward the door behind them. So she didn’t lie about seeing her leave.”
Too bad Kimberly or her friends didn’t intervene. That moment right there could have saved that poor girl.
My gut twists at the sight of Lettie’s foot slipping before she leaves the corner of the frame.
“Time stamp for the video matches the approximate time she recalled seeing them shove her into a car. So everything she said tracks. These are the two men who took her. I doubt they still have her, but I’d bet anything they know where she is.”
