Free The Dead Room by Heather Graham Page A

talking.”
    â€œHonestly, I really do just want to talk, but I’ll make it worth your while.”
    She tensed suddenly, started to straighten. “You’re fucking vice, aren’t you? I haven’t said a thing. You can’t run me in.”
    She started to walk away, heels clicking sharply on the pavement.
    He hopped quickly out of the car. “I swear to God, I’m not vice. And I will make it worth your while. You’re, uh, Didi Dancer, right?” Man, what a ridiculous name.
    She paused, then turned back, staring at him across the sidewalk.
    â€œWho are you? What are you?” she asked suspiciously.
    â€œI’m a private investigator. And I just need some help. I’m looking for a missing girl. Genevieve O’Brien.”
    A strange look washed over her face. Something containing caring and humanity.
    Her voice still husky, she asked, “That pretty social worker?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI talked to the cops, you know.”
    â€œWill you talk to me?”
    She hesitated. “All right,” she said at last. “If you’ll take me for a ride. That’s a cool car.”
    â€œThanks.”
    She crawled into the passenger seat, ran her hands over the soft leather, then looked at him.
    â€œWhere did you want to go?” he asked her.
    â€œJust drive. Hey, let’s take the FDR.”
    â€œAll right.”
    He drove for several minutes, navigating the city streets to reach the highway, before she started to talk. “The police quizzed a lot of us about the missing hookers, you know. Strange. Well, not so strange. It was like it was all by rote. Questions they had to ask. They think we chose this life, that we deserve whatever happens to us.” She shook her head, staring out the window. Then she looked back at him. “Can I smoke in here?” she asked him.
    â€œIf you can help me, you can light up a cigar,” he told her.
    She smiled, staring at him. “You are one handsome dude, you know? I should have known right off you weren’t looking for a fuck. No, that’s not true. You’d be amazed at the really good-looking young guys who just want sex without any emotional bullshit. Or kinky things, or sometimes not even all that kinky. Just things their wives won’t do.” She frowned. “You really aren’t vice, right?”
    â€œI swear, I’m not vice. I’ll show you my ID.”
    â€œOh, honey, anyone can fake ID,” she said with a laugh. Then she sobered. “I wish I could help you.”
    â€œTry.”
    â€œOkay.” She opened her window and lit a cigarette. Exhaling, she began. “Genevieve. The cops asked about her, too. Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl.” She inhaled deeply, just air. At that moment she didn’t even seem to realize she had a lit cigarette. “I have a daughter. They took her away. She’s in foster care. Genevieve came to see me. I gave her a hard time at first. The girl looks like she ought to be posing for Vogue or something like that. And I heard from some of the other girls that she’s really rich, too…but she was the real deal. She really wanted to help me. Us. I even got her together with some of the other girls one time. She was so sweet. She wanted to know about our dreams, can you imagine that? Like, did we plan on doing what we’re doing forever? Was it just to pull in some money? She wanted to help us get real jobs that paid enough to survive here. Enough to get legit. To get our kids back,” she said softly.
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw her?” Joe asked.
    â€œAbout a month ago.”
    Right around when she disappeared?
    â€œDid she visit you? Were you at a restaurant…on the street, what and where?” Joe pursued quietly.
    â€œWe were right where you picked me up tonight,” she told him. “She knew where to find me.”
    â€œWhy was she looking for