“Oh, yeah, there’s quite a market in the Middle East and Asia for pretty young American redheads. A sheik or the boss of a drug cartel would have paid thousands of dollars for her. And we strongly suspect Bobby has been behind some of that.”
My stomach felt very cold. “Don’t be squeamish, Dave. It’s the new millennium. This is the world we’re left with.” She gave me that sardonic smile. “God is dead, remember?”
“Another thing people kept telling me was that Phaedra hated drugs,” I said. “So it doesn’t add up, if I was being told the truth, which would be a first.”
“Oh, poor Dave,” Lindsey said, teasing me. “He’s back with the cops, and everybody lies to him.”
“So that leaves us-where?” I asked. “Is Bobby Hamid the one behind these threats or not?”
“If he’s not, he’d probably know who is,” Lindsey said. “What, are you going to walk in and ask him?”
“I might want a couple of chocolate doughnuts.” I smiled.
“Be very careful, Dave. I think the city has changed a lot more than you realize. But for your professional perusal…” She handed me a sheaf of files on Townsend and Bobby Hamid.
“Now,” she said, “tell me about the Stokes case still being open.”
Chapter Sixteen
John Rogers was dozing in his hospital bed when we walked up, but he quickly roused himself and took Lindsey in.
“The deputies look a hell of a lot better than when I used to see ’em,” he muttered. I guess I was surprised he remembered me. He was still looking Lindsey over. “What the hell’s that gold thing in your nose?”
“This is Deputy Adams,” I said.
“Lindsey.”
“Sit, sit.” The big man waved his hands. “They told me yesterday this cancer in my prostate has gone too far. Sorry, miss. Anyway, they tell me there’s nothing they can do that won’t just kill me outright. I say, just keep me from the damned pain.”
“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t even realize-”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Wish I could see my son and daughter. Wish we hadn’t all gotten so far away from the old ways. Never mattered to me when I was younger. Hell, it’s all over. Red folks, white folks, black folks. The whole goddamned thing is falling apart.”
“John, we hate to bother you, but we had some more questions about the Creeper cases.”
“I saw the newspaper. You did okay.”
“I talked to Harrison Wolfe.”
John Rogers visibly stiffened. “My God, Mr. Wolfe is still alive?” I nodded. “I always wondered if he was really human.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, don’t matter. Mr. Wolfe always respected Indians. He was a friend of mine, as much as anybody ever was his friend.”
“He said the women killed by the Creeper were mutilated. True?”
Rogers looked at Lindsey and back at me. He nodded slowly.
“But Rebecca Stokes wasn’t?”
“As I remember it, she wasn’t. It wasn’t my call, but you know how the guys talk about cases.”
“So her murder wasn’t related?”
He sighed and splayed his big hands.
“Cops always talk, Officer Rogers,” Lindsey said softly. “What did you guys think?”