Free The Chelsea Girl Murders by Sparkle Hayter Page A

Don’t lay a guilt trip on me.”
    In Tamayo’s apartment, I offered him a seat at the kitchen table and a beer. I got one for me too, and sat down across from him.
    â€œYou got a name?”
    â€œNadia may have given you my code name …”
    â€œShe didn’t give you any name.”
    â€œRocky.”
    â€œRocky, would you feel better if we called the cops? You could file a missing persons report …”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’ll ruin everything,” he said. He took a Marlboro out of a slightly crumpled soft pack and said, “Do you have a match?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “And yes, I mind if you smoke.”
    â€œNo matches?” he said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOh damn,” he said, and muttered something, low, in some other language as he patted his pockets looking for a match. He was so nervous and fidgety. I had a feeling that his nic fit would end up being more annoying than his smoking, so I relented and said, “Wait … Nadia left some behind.”
    â€œNadia left matches? Nadia doesn’t smoke.”
    â€œShe was using them as a bookmark.”
    I found the book, Man Trap , on the loft bed and brought the matches to Rocky.
    As he lit the cigarette, I said, “Why will the cops ruin everything?”
    He exhaled his smoke but said nothing.
    â€œBecause of the arranged marriage thing, and her family making trouble?” I asked.
    â€œIt is a dangerous situation.”
    â€œYeah, I understand. I’ve heard about things like this, girls from closed cultures who marry against the family’s wishes and bring dishonor on the clan, et cetera, and their families hunt them down. Is this the case here?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    That was a problem. There’d been a lot of stories in the last few years about women running away to western countries, seeking asylum to avoid arranged marriages or charming cultural practices like genital mutilation, only to be deported and returned to their homelands. There, they were either married off against their will or, on occasion, killed by their responsible male relatives for bringing dishonor on them. The cops might just give Nadia away to Immigration, and I didn’t want to be responsible for that. On the other hand, a man was dead.
    â€œI still think you should call the cops. I can give you the name of a very understanding woman who will do her best to keep it on the QT,” I said. “A man has been murdered already. Murdered. There could be a connection. Maybe Nadia saw something and the killer or killers know that. I … I don’t want to alarm you, but what if they kidnapped her? Even if they didn’t, what if her family found her and grabbed her? The police might be able to help.”
    â€œToo much risk. I know in my heart Nadia is okay. She may have seen the police here after this person was killed, and decided to stay away until things calmed down,” he said.
    â€œMaybe you’re right,” I said. “She’s probably just hiding out until things cool down.”
    â€œBut where?” he asked. “You are quite sure you don’t know where she has gone?”
    â€œWe didn’t talk much. It’s an accident that we both ended up in Tamayo’s apartment at the same time. You see, my apartment burned down—”
    â€œDid she talk about me?”
    â€œNot much, but what she said was very flattering.”
    Love isn’t just blind, I thought, it’s been sniffing glue! Nadia saw him as a poetic, romantic, yearning, soulful man, whereas I saw a low-wattage half man with all the physical charm of John Gotti, Jr. Obviously, Nadia had projected some false romantic illusions onto this boy while in the grip of her hormones.
    â€œWhere were you while Nadia was here? Maybe she’s gone there, and you’re just missing each other.”
    â€œI slept in … a park.”
    â€œA