Page 59 of Concealed in Death

She’d been in places like it—and worse—in her first eight years, so Eve could attest. It was absolute hell.

On three, she used the side of her fist to bang on the door of the Stubackers’ old apartment. It didn’t warrant any electronic security, just a peephole and a pair of grimy dead-bolt locks.

She caught the shadow at the peep, banged again. “NYPSD.” She held her badge up in plain sight. “Open the door.”

She heard the clunk and rusty slide of a riot bar, then a series of hard clicks before the door opened a few inches on a hefty security chain.

“What the hell do you want?”

What she could see of the woman’s face didn’t look promising. It still wore yesterday’s makeup, thoroughly smudged from sleep. Eve imagined the woman’s pillow resembled one of those strange abstract paintings she would never understand.

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“I don’t gotta talk to you unless you got a warrant. I know my rights.”

“We just have some questions about the former tenant of this apartment.”

Something sly came into the woman’s raccoon eyes. “You paying?”

“That depends on what you have to sell. Did you know the former tenant?”

“Sure. Worked with Tracy up at the club, VaVoom, back when we were dancers. So what?”

“Do you know where we can find her?”

“Haven’t seen her since she blew town. Been easy ten years back. I sublet this dump, fair and square. Got rent control on it.”

“Did you know her daughter?”

“The brat, yeah. Took off long before Tracy did. Had a mouth on her, the kid did, used to steal, too. Lift stuff in the dressing room at the club. Tracy tried to beat the wild outta her, but it didn’t take. Some kids’re born bad, and that’s that. Got so Tracy had to hide any booze or brew she might have around or the kid would drink it. Told me how she came home one night, found the kid pissed-face drunk, probably no more than ten, eleven years old, and she’s all over Tracy’s boyfriend. Tried to say he gave her the brew and got all over her. Kid lied every time she opened her mouth.”

“Tracy sounds like mother of the year,” Eve said coolly.

“She did the best with what she had. Kid was no good. One day Tracy comes into work with a busted lip and a shiner. Kid did it. And what happens? You people come and say Tracy abused the brat just because the kid had some bruises on her. A woman’s got to defend herself, and got a right to discipline her own.”

“Did Shelby ever come back, after she was taken out of the home?”

“Who—oh, right, that’s her name. Not that I know of, and Tracy would’ve told me. The kid was a freaking thorn in her side. They took her off, put her in some sort of group home, and that was the end of that. A few years later, Tracy took off with this guy. He played the ponies, hit pretty good on a trifecta or whatever the fuck. They took off, said they were going to live in Miami or somewhere. Never heard from her again. But I got rent control.”

“Lucky you. Did you know any of Shelby’s friends?”

“Why would I? Don’t know as she had any. Piece of work, that girl. If she comes around here like you, looking for her ma, I’ll tell her just what I think.”

Eve tried a few more questions, and realizing the well ran dry, passed the woman a twenty through the gap.

She tried a few more doors, but stepped back out with little more than she’d gone in with.

“What a horrible excuse for a human being.” Peabody dropped into the car, snapped her safety belt. “Not just the bitch on three, but the vic’s mother by all accounts. I just don’t get how a woman can treat her own kid that way. Knocking her around, neglecting her, and just walking away when...”

It struck her, obviously and visibly, so she cringed.

“Sorry. Sorry, Dallas.”

Eve shrugged. “At least I didn’t have about a dozen years with mine.”

“Sorry anyway.”

“The question is, if Shelby didn’t go back to her mother—the bitch of a wit could be wrong about that, so see if you can dig up any record of her being placed back here—why didn’t Jones and Jones file a Missing Persons on her?”