Free Lie or Die: A Shelby Nichols Adventure by Colleen Helme Page B

questioned?”
    “Yes,” he said, surprised that I’d asked.
    “That’s where I want to start,” I said. “The first one on your list.”
    He nodded, and took us to an apartment on the second floor toward a young man who was leaning over the railing, watching our progress. He wore a white sleeveless t-shirt that showed off a tattoo, and puffed on a cigarette. He eyed me with distrust, thinking I looked like one of those caseworkers for the social services department. It reminded him of all the foster homes he’d landed in, and how alone he’d felt.
    He was barely eighteen and on his own, and he liked his independence. If they thought he had anything to do with that girl’s disappearance it would ruin what he’d tried to make of his life. This couldn’t be happening, but he supposed he should expect it. He understood that he fit the mold of a messed-up kid, and he was always getting blamed for things he didn’t do.
    Sure, he saw those little girls playing together. He liked watching people, especially children, because they were always laughing and having fun. But he’d never hurt them. Never. Children should be protected. But he didn’t think the cops would ever believe him. They had their minds made up, and it was hopeless to even try and reason with them.
    I glanced in his eyes, and saw the vulnerability before he covered it with a glare of defiance. “Hi,” I said, putting as much warmth in my voice as I could. “Is there someone…anyone that you’ve noticed around here…that would grab a little girl?”
    He took a step back, visibly shocked that I didn’t accuse him of the crime. He’d been so focused on himself that he didn’t think about who could have done it. Now his thoughts raced. “You know, there is this guy, he’s an older dude, and I’ve seen him talking to those girls now and then. He gives them candy.”
    “Where does he live?” I asked.
    “Just over there.” He pointed to an apartment that wasn’t anywhere close to the route Shayla would have taken to get home.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    I started toward the apartment, with Dimples and Wilcox trailing behind. Wilcox was amazed that I believed the kid, but if what he said was true...it was the only lead we had.
    “Let me talk to him,” Dimples said. His instincts told him we were on the right track, and he didn’t want me to get hurt if anything happened.
    “Okay,” I agreed. “But just remember that no matter what he says, if I say she’s in there, then you’ve got to believe me.”
    “I will,” he said. “Wilcox…follow my lead.”
    “Yes sir.” Wilcox was a bit confused, but didn’t question Dimples’ authority.
    We arrived at the door, and Dimples rang the doorbell. A man opened the door a crack. Seeing the uniform, he took off the chain, and opened it wider. His brows drew together in concern. “Can I help you?” he asked. He had expected the police to come, but not this fast.
    “Yes,” Dimples answered. “We’re asking everyone if they’ve seen a little girl. She’s about seven years old, and her name’s Shayla. She’s been missing for a couple of hours.”
    “Yes, I heard about that,” he said, his voice dripping with concern. “I can’t believe something like this would happen here. Can I help? I would be glad to knock on doors with you.” He was thinking that no one would suspect him if he joined in the search.
    “Where is she?” I shouted.
    “What are you talking about?” His thoughts turned to the closet in his bedroom.
    “She’s in the bedroom closet!” I shoved him out of the way, and rushed into the apartment, my heart in my throat. I couldn’t tell if he thought of her as dead or alive, and dread tightened my stomach.
    “Shelby, wait!” Dimples rushed in behind me, and I slowed to get my bearings. At the door I could hear the man straining against Wilcox’s hold, and yelling that we were trespassing.
    The bedroom opened on my right, and I flew inside, slamming the closet doors