Free Pitfall by Cameron Bane Page B

peculiar? Or has she been the same as she always has?”
    “No, just pretty much good old Sarah. Nothing strange.”
    I kept drilling him. “Have you or anyone here noticed anything out of the ordinary these past few days? Before Sarah went missing?”
    He frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean has anyone approached you or your staff that you know of? Anyone who seemed hinky?” Besides you, that is. “Has anyone here been acting differently? Have there been deliveries from companies you’ve never heard of? Weird phone calls or faxes, anything like that?”
    “No to all of that.”
    “Is there anything else you can add to my understanding of her?”
    “Nope.”
    I pointed back out into the dining area. “What about Pat?” I took a shot at the gender. “Think she might know something?”
    “He.” Pat was a he? Good God. “And I doubt it. Pat’s only worked here since this morning. The owner needed somebody to replace Raven, and I mean like now.”
    “So there’s nothing more you can add.”
    “Nope. The girl was in here Friday for inventory at eight, took a lunch at eleven, and clocked out at three forty-five.” He spread his crab-like hands. “That’s all I can tell you.”
    I gave a slight shrug. “Not a problem. You’ve been a help, but I really do need to talk to the owner.”
    “Bill Harrison. Sure you can talk to him, but like I said, he won’t get in until three. But I’ll let him know you’re coming.” He took another sip of his coffee. “And good luck. I’d love to see you win this one instead of the cops.”
    I’ll just bet you would, Speed Racer.
    Leaving the restaurant, I shook my head in disgust. Talk about a useless trip. Earlier Harrison had given me both his phone numbers, and after trying them, each had gone straight to voicemail. Plus it hadn’t gotten any cooler out here. By that time it had to have been at least ninety-five degrees, and heading up. Another day of Cincinnati cooking under a slow broiler. Even Raven—and it was becoming easier to think of her that way—would have had a hard time saying anything good about this weather. Unless she wanted to talk about hell.
    I glanced up at the unforgiving whiteness. It was like staring into an immense inverted china bowl baking in a kiln. Yeah, wasn’t that sky something…
    And in a sudden rush that tore my heart open, my mind harked back to Megan.

Chapter Eight

M egan Nash and I first met eighteen years ago during my rookie year on the Cincinnati police force. I was in the state capitol that day, working on what had started out as a local internal affairs drug problem. The festering had escalated by degrees, finally leading to a ring that stretched all the way to the statehouse. Through a roundabout set of circumstances the district captain, as well as Sergeant VanDerBeek and I, were required by the state attorney general to give our depositions. We weren’t under suspicion, but one of the cops involved, a guy who’d been recruited by Sarge nine years earlier, was. That’s why Sarge was there. I’d had dealings with the officer too, and so was involved as well. 
    Between us city cops, our Madison County brethren, and the staties, the jurisdiction in the situation had turned into a real mess. Everybody concerned was scrapping over the guy—let’s call him Dirty Dan—like wolves around a deer carcass. It seemed to take forever. But a half-day of testimony later the ruling was made that it was state business after all. And that was fine with me; after four hours of giving my deposition to the assistant AG, even I was ready to confess. Anything to get out of that room.
    At twelve o’clock straight up the attorney general closed his folder and dismissed us. And that was that. The Cap, Sarge, and I had been given a full day off with pay to attend to this. Now here we were, done at noon.
    The other two decided to redeem the time, hanging around the AG’s office while they renewed old acquaintances, but to a