property.”
“What did they find?”
“Nothing. Nobody’s paid taxes on the place in years.”
“And this is good news why?”
“I’m getting there. Paul reached out to a guy at L & I, and the guy said that once a month, for the last five months, he’s gotten an anonymous call about this address. He said the same caller went on and on about how the building should be torn down.”
The Philadelphia Department of Licenses and Inspections was responsible for the enforcement of the city’s building code. It was also empowered to demolish vacant buildings that posed a threat to public safety.
“Do we have any information on the caller?” Jessica asked.
Byrne handed her the fax. “We do. The guy at L & I had caller ID. After the fifth call he wrote the number down.”
Jessica read it. The phone number was registered to a Laura A. Somerville. The address was on Locust Street. From the street number it looked to be in West Philadelphia.
Jessica glanced up the stairs, at the CSU officers who were beginning the slow, arduous task of sifting through what had to be years of trash. She wondered what might be up there, what crimes might be concealed, asking for closure.
She’d be back. Somehow, she was sure of it.
The two detectives signed off the crime- scene log, and headed to West Philly.
SEVEN
T WO MONTHS EAR LI E R
E
ve ordered a cheeseburger and fries at the Midtown IV Restaurant, a 24- hour place on Chestnut, catching glances and lewd looks from the night boys. The air in the room was a mixture of summer sweat, coffee, frying onions. Eve glanced at her watch. It was 2:20. The place was packed. She spun on her stool, considered the crowd. A young couple, early twenties, sat on the same side of a nearby booth. In your twenties you sat on the same side, Eve thought. In your thirties, you sat on opposite sides, but still talked. In your forties and beyond, you brought a newspaper.
At 2:40 a shadow appeared to her right. Eve turned. The girl was about fifteen, still carrying a layer of baby fat. She had an angelic face, street- hardened eyes. She wore faded jeans, a faux- leather jacket with a fake fur collar, and bright white New Balance sneakers, about an hour out of the box.
“Hey,” Eve said.
The girl scrutinized her. “Hey.”
“Are you Cassandra?”
The girl glanced around. She racked her shoulders, sniffled.
“Yeah.”
“Nice to meet you.” Eve had gotten Cassandra’s name from a street
kid named Carlito. The word was that Cassandra had been abducted.
Eve had dropped a pair of twenties and the word was passed. “Yeah. Um. You too.”
“Want to get a booth?” Eve asked.
The girl shook her head. “I’m not going to be here that long.” “Okay. Are you hungry?”
Another shake of the head, this time with hesitation. She was hun
gry, but too proud to take a handout.
“Okay.” Eve stared at the girl for a few silent moments, the girl
stared back, neither of them knowing how to start.
A few seconds later Cassandra slipped onto the stool next to Eve,
and began.
Cassandra told her the whole story. More than once Eve got goose flesh. The story was not unlike her own. Different era, different shadows. Same horrors. As the girl talked, Eve stole glances at Cassandra’s hands. They were alternately trembling and formed into tight fists.
For the past two months Eve had felt she was getting nearer the truth, but it had always been in her head. Now it was in her heart.
“Can you point out the house to me?” Eve asked.
The girl seemed to shrink away from her. She shook her head. “No. Sorry. I can’t do that. I can tell you just about where it is, but I can’t show you.”
“Why not?”
The girl hesitated. She put her hands in her jacket pockets. Eve wondered what she had in there. “I just . . . can’t, that’s all. I can’t.”
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Eve said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of now.”
The girl issued a humorless laugh. “I don’t
“What did they find?”
“Nothing. Nobody’s paid taxes on the place in years.”
“And this is good news why?”
“I’m getting there. Paul reached out to a guy at L & I, and the guy said that once a month, for the last five months, he’s gotten an anonymous call about this address. He said the same caller went on and on about how the building should be torn down.”
The Philadelphia Department of Licenses and Inspections was responsible for the enforcement of the city’s building code. It was also empowered to demolish vacant buildings that posed a threat to public safety.
“Do we have any information on the caller?” Jessica asked.
Byrne handed her the fax. “We do. The guy at L & I had caller ID. After the fifth call he wrote the number down.”
Jessica read it. The phone number was registered to a Laura A. Somerville. The address was on Locust Street. From the street number it looked to be in West Philadelphia.
Jessica glanced up the stairs, at the CSU officers who were beginning the slow, arduous task of sifting through what had to be years of trash. She wondered what might be up there, what crimes might be concealed, asking for closure.
She’d be back. Somehow, she was sure of it.
The two detectives signed off the crime- scene log, and headed to West Philly.
SEVEN
T WO MONTHS EAR LI E R
E
ve ordered a cheeseburger and fries at the Midtown IV Restaurant, a 24- hour place on Chestnut, catching glances and lewd looks from the night boys. The air in the room was a mixture of summer sweat, coffee, frying onions. Eve glanced at her watch. It was 2:20. The place was packed. She spun on her stool, considered the crowd. A young couple, early twenties, sat on the same side of a nearby booth. In your twenties you sat on the same side, Eve thought. In your thirties, you sat on opposite sides, but still talked. In your forties and beyond, you brought a newspaper.
At 2:40 a shadow appeared to her right. Eve turned. The girl was about fifteen, still carrying a layer of baby fat. She had an angelic face, street- hardened eyes. She wore faded jeans, a faux- leather jacket with a fake fur collar, and bright white New Balance sneakers, about an hour out of the box.
“Hey,” Eve said.
The girl scrutinized her. “Hey.”
“Are you Cassandra?”
The girl glanced around. She racked her shoulders, sniffled.
“Yeah.”
“Nice to meet you.” Eve had gotten Cassandra’s name from a street
kid named Carlito. The word was that Cassandra had been abducted.
Eve had dropped a pair of twenties and the word was passed. “Yeah. Um. You too.”
“Want to get a booth?” Eve asked.
The girl shook her head. “I’m not going to be here that long.” “Okay. Are you hungry?”
Another shake of the head, this time with hesitation. She was hun
gry, but too proud to take a handout.
“Okay.” Eve stared at the girl for a few silent moments, the girl
stared back, neither of them knowing how to start.
A few seconds later Cassandra slipped onto the stool next to Eve,
and began.
Cassandra told her the whole story. More than once Eve got goose flesh. The story was not unlike her own. Different era, different shadows. Same horrors. As the girl talked, Eve stole glances at Cassandra’s hands. They were alternately trembling and formed into tight fists.
For the past two months Eve had felt she was getting nearer the truth, but it had always been in her head. Now it was in her heart.
“Can you point out the house to me?” Eve asked.
The girl seemed to shrink away from her. She shook her head. “No. Sorry. I can’t do that. I can tell you just about where it is, but I can’t show you.”
“Why not?”
The girl hesitated. She put her hands in her jacket pockets. Eve wondered what she had in there. “I just . . . can’t, that’s all. I can’t.”
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Eve said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of now.”
The girl issued a humorless laugh. “I don’t
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