Undone (Will Trent 3)

"Did you feed him?"

"Yeah," she said. "I fed him what was in the cabinets, changed his diaper. I did that with my own kids, you know? Like I said, they let you keep them for a while before they're turned over. I learned all about feeding and that kind of shit. I took pretty good care of him."

"Why did you leave him?" Will asked. "You were arrested on the street."

"My pimp didn't know about this—I was off the books, just having a good time. He tracked me down and told me to get back to work, so I did."

"How did you get back upstairs to take care of the baby?"

She jerked her hand up and down. "I tossed off Simkov. He's all right."

"Why didn't you tell me when you called that first night that there was a baby involved?"

"I figured I'd take care of him when I got out," she admitted. "I was doing a good job, right? I mean, I was doing good by him, keeping him fed and changing his little diapers. He's a sweet little boy. You seen him, right? You know he's sweet."

That sweet little boy was dehydrated and hours from dying when Will had seen him. "How did you know Simkov?"

She shrugged. "Otik's a longtime customer, you know?" She gestured toward the street. "Met him here on Millionaire's Row."

"I wouldn't exactly call him a stand-up guy."

"He did me a favor letting me go up there. I made some good cash. I kept the kid safe. What else you want from me?"

"Did Angie know about the baby?"

She coughed, the sound coming from deep in her chest. When she spit onto the sidewalk, Will felt his stomach roll. "You're gonna have to ask her about that."

Lola swung her purse over her shoulder and headed back toward her group.

Will took out his cell phone as he walked toward his car. The thing was on its last leg, but it still managed to make the call.

"Hello?" Faith said.

Will didn't want to talk about what had happened this afternoon, so he didn't give her an opening. "I talked to Lola." He ran down what the prostitute had told him. "Simkov called her in to help her make some extra cash. I'm sure he took his share off the top."

"Maybe that's something we can use," Faith answered. "Amanda wants me to talk to Simkov tomorrow. We'll see if his story matches up."

"What did you find on him?"

"Not much. He lives in the apartment building on the bottom floor. He's supposed to be on the desk from eight until six, but there's been problems with that lately."

"I guess that's why they gave him his two-week notice."

"His criminal report came up clean. His bank account's all right, considering he gets free rent." Faith paused, and he could hear her turning the pages in her notebook. "We found some porn in his apartment, but nothing young or kinky. His phone's clean."

"Sounded to me like he'd let anybody into the building for the right amount of cash. Did Anna Lindsey give you anything?"

She told him about her fruitless conversation with the woman. "I don't know why she won't talk. Maybe she's scared."

"Maybe she thinks if she puts it out of her mind, doesn't talk about it, then it'll go away."

"I suppose that works if you've got the emotional maturity of a six-year-old."

Will tried not to take her words personally.

Faith told him, "We looked at the front door logs from the apartment building. There was a cable guy and a couple of delivery people. I talked to all of them as well as the building maintenance guy. They're checking out. Clean records, solid alibis."

Will got into his car. "What about neighbors?"

"No one seems to know anything, and these people are too rich to talk to the police."

Will had met the type before. They didn't want to get involved and they didn't want their names in the papers. "Did any of them know Anna?"

"Same as with the others—anyone who knew her didn't like her."

"What about forensics?"

"Should be back in the morning."

"What about the computers?"

"Nothing, and the warrants aren't in for the bank yet, so we don't have access to Olivia Tanner's cell phone, BlackBerry, or her computer at work."

"Our bad guy is smarter at this than we are."

"I know," she admitted. "Everything is starting to feel like a dead end."

There was a lull in the conversation. Will searched for something to fill it, but Faith beat him to the punch.

"So, Amanda and I are going to interview the doorman at eight in the morning, then I've got an appointment I need to go to. It's out in Snellville."

Will couldn't think what anyone would be doing in Snellville.

"I figure it'll take an hour or so. Hopefully, we'll have an ID on Jake Berman by then. We need to talk to Rick Sigler, too. I keep letting him slip through the cracks."

"He's white, early forties."

"Amanda made the same point. She sent someone around to talk to Sigler earlier today. He was at home with his wife."

Will groaned. "Did he deny even being at the scene?"

"Apparently, he tried to. He wouldn't even acknowledge he was with Jake Berman, which makes it seem more and more like a hookup." Faith sighed. "Amanda's got a tail on Sigler, but his background is clean. No aliases, no multiple addresses, born and raised in Georgia. He's got K-through-twelve school records in Conyers. There's no indication that he's ever been to Michigan, let alone lived there."

"We're only stuck on this brother thing because Pauline McGhee told her son to watch out for his uncle."

"True, but what else do we have to follow? If we hit any more brick walls, we're both going to start getting concussions."

Will waited a few seconds. "What kind of appointment?"

"It's a personal thing."

"All right."

Neither of them seemed to have anything to say after that. Why was it so easy for Will to spill his guts to Sara Linton, but he could barely manage to have a normal conversation with any other women in his life—especially his partner?

Faith offered, "I'll talk about my thing if you'll talk about yours."

He laughed. "I think we need to start from the beginning. With the case, I mean."

She agreed. "The best way to see if you've missed something is to retrace your steps."

"When you get back from your appointment, we'll go to the Coldfields, talk to Rick Sigler at his work so he's not freaking out in front of his wife, then go over all the witnesses—anybody who's even remotely connected to this thing. Fellow employees, maintenance men who've been to the house, tech support, anybody they've had contact with."

"Couldn't hurt," she agreed. There was another lull. Again, she filled it. "Are you all right?"

Will had pulled up in front of his house. He put the car in park, wishing that a bolt of lightning would just come down from the sky and kill him dead.

Angie's car was blocking the driveway.

"Will?"

"Yeah," he managed. "I'll see you in the morning."