Free Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 07 - Vague Images by Elaine Orr Page A

died when I was five.
    There’s a newer bulletin board for Hurricane Sandy photos . Arnie told me he’ll take most of those pictures down at some point, but for now it’s important for people to see them.
    The door opened, letting in a cool breeze and Lieutenant Tortino . Arnie asked if he wanted his usual, and Tortino gave him a sort of salute and walked to our booth. The lieutenant marched me off the boardwalk once during my junior year, for smoking a cigarette. Took me straight to Aunt Madge. He was on foot patrol–and trim. Now that he’s in is mid-fifties, he has a slight paunch and his hair has a lot of grey. I’ve met him many times since I moved back to Ocean Alley two years ago, but Sergeant Morehouse usually handles investigations, so I deal with him.
    Tortino sat without saying anything. I had told Lucas that Tortino had heard my suspicion that I’d seen Thomas Edward, so Lucas stretched his hand across the table . “I’m Lucas Householder. I lived in Ocean Alley for a year when I was ten.”
    Lucas took twenty minutes to quietly tell his story. Even then, he didn’t mention why he thought his family was in witness protection . He only said his mother had committed suicide and he was really worried about his sister. It would have taken less time but a couple of people stopped at the table to say hello to the lieutenant. I probably should have picked a different place, but Tortino created a good reason for being there. He said the police union was going to help do a fundraiser for Harvest for All. And then he’d look at his watch and the person would walk away.
    Tortino was thoughtful as he put sugar into his second cup of coffee . “It’s no problem to ask the officers to look for her. We don’t have to put up signs with her name. I can ask them to call me when they see her rather than approach her. We’ll say she has emotional issues or something.”
    “Not far off, probably,” Lucas said . “And then you’ll call me?”
    “Yes. It would be better if they approached her and asked her to come with them. She could be long gone before you get to where they saw her. But if you think she’d panic…”
    “She would,” Lucas leaned forward. “I know she’d try to leave, and if they made her come it would just attract attention.”
    “She’s not a criminal. We can’t make her do anything unless we think she’s a danger to herself or someone else. You have a photo, right?”
    Lucas took one from his wallet and Tortino promised to return it.
    “There’s something else,” I said, quietly.
    Lucas’ expression conveyed a great deal of stubbornness. “It’s not important.”
    “Yes, it is.”
    With reluctance, he looked back at Tortino. “I might be the person in the hoodie who was at the hospital when the lady was killed.”
     
    TO SAY THAT one sentence changed the tenor of the conversation would be an understatement of some magnitude. It also changed the location.
    I was on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the small waiting room of the police station, my foot propped on one of the other chairs. Lucas was in the locked area where officers sit . The only time the waiting area is remotely cheerful is around Christmas season, when local elementary children provide drawings of snow people, decorated trees, Menorahs, and Santa Claus.
    My mobile phone chirped and I looked at the caller ID and sighed . “Hello, George.”  My mind cursed all of his informants around town.
    “What are you doing at the police station?”
    “Waiting for one of the teen volunteers from Harvest for All. He said he needed to talk to the police about something but didn’t want to go alone.” Let him believe my lie.
    “Scoobie’s the one who works with them. How come he didn’t ask him?”
    “Scoobie’s at school or the hospital most of the time.”  So far the only true thing I’d said had to do with Scoobie’s whereabouts.
    “What’s up with the kid?” George asked.
    “Don’t know. Family stuff,