Free Milk and Honey by Faye Kellerman

“Your partner’s on the line.”
    Decker picked up the phone and said, “What’s up?”
    “I got a call from Delferno,” Marge said. “One of his pals says Sally looks like one of his kids. Mother’s from Sacramento. She should be down maybe one, two in the morning. Kid was grabbed by Dad about six months ago.”
    “How old would her kid be?”
    “About two and a half.”
    “Sally’s not two and a half.”
    “Delferno faxed me the picture of the missing kid—kid’s name is Heather Miller. She’s supposed to be small for her age, and there’s a strong resemblance.”
    “Okay,” Decker said. “I just hope Mama doesn’t go into a major depression if it’s not hers.”
    “Well, that’s a chance she’s willing to take.”
    “I’ll be at the station in a couple of hours,” Decker said. “Would you call Sophi Rawlings for me?”
    “Already did, Pete. Where’re you going now?”
    “Gonna cruise for sugar.”
    Marge said, “Wear gloves.”
     
    It was nearly midnight, but Sunset Boulevard was still teeming with bugs. Decker found three streetwalkers idling at a corner gas station next to a Mideastern vender selling huge stuffed animals at ridiculously low prices. The toys were imports, and no doubt didn’t meet American safety standards. A month ago a batch had been seized at Foothill, all the teddy bears and doggies stuffed with flammable rags that combusted spontaneously in hot weather.
    Decker parked on a side street and approached the streetwalkers. The first whore might have been a plump, freckled-faced farm girl, except she was wearing fakeleopard-skin hot pants, a matching halter, and knee-high black boots. The other two were black. One had dyed her hair platinum blond and painted her clawish fingernails high-gloss black. The other girl had a short Afro, a fur choker around her neck, and seven earrings in each ear. As Decker neared, the one with the earrings nudged the one with the claws, and the trio began to disperse. Decker sprinted to them and yelled, “Wait!” The girls stopped. Fingernails spoke up:
    “We’re goin’.”
    “I suppose you ladies have some ID on you.”
    The girls began to reach into their purses.
    Decker said, “Don’t bother. I believe you. I’m a very trusting fellow.”
    The girls eyed each other. A black-and-white pulled up at the corner. Decker showed his badge and waved the cruiser away.
    “Say what, Detective,” said Fingernails. She was gazing at her feet. Her spiked heels gave her at least six inches of height. A wonder she didn’t need a balancing rod to walk.
    “What’s your name, honey?” Decker asked.
    “Anything you want,” Fingernails answered. The other hookers laughed.
    Decker’s eyes bore into hers. “What’s your name?” he asked again.
    “Amanda.”
    Decker stared at her for another minute. He asked, “And how long have you and your girlfriends worked the area?”
    “You gonna bust us, or what?” asked the plump white girl.
    Decker said, “That all depends.”
    “On what?” asked Amanda.
    Decker said, “On if you cooperate.”
    “Watchu want?” Amanda asked.
    Decker smiled.
    Amanda said, “C’mon. I’ll do you in the back alley.”
    “Do what?”
    “Do what you want,” Amanda said.
    “What do I want?” Decker said.
    Amanda’s eyes clouded. “I ain’t saying no more.”
    “I’m not here for badge pussy, Amanda,” Decker said.
    “Then what do you want?” asked the white one.
    “A little help.”
    The girls were silent.
    Decker said, “Question number one: Any of you know a lady named Myra Steele?”
    More silence.
    “Aw, c’mon, girls,” Decker said. “Where’s your sense of civic duty? Besides, the longer I hang around, the more I drive away your business.”
    “Why you hassling us?” said the one with the earrings.
    “’Cause you guys are the first streetwalkers I saw,” Decker said. “And I love leopard skin.” He eyed the white girl. “What’s your name?”
    “Chrissie,” she