Page 47 of The Fragile Ones

“Very.”

“Did other kids make fun of you?”

“Some.”

“It that why you became a cop?”

“Maybe.”

Katie waited for the dialogue to cease, but she was fully entertained by the two’s interaction.

Sissy took a moment and then said, “Why are you here?”

“To talk to Mr. Rodriguez.”

“About?”

Katie interrupted. “I’m Detective Scott and this tall fellow is Deputy McGaven. We’re from Pine Valley Sheriff’s Department and we’re working on what happened to the Mayfield sisters.”

Sissy looked down. “Horrible. Those two little girls. Nuthin’ like that should happen to the innocent. So you’re from Pine Valley.”

“Yes,” said Katie.

“Good. They need your help here.”

“We wanted to talk to Rodriguez about his friend Whitney Mayfield, the girls’ father.”

Sissy made a sarcastic noise. “I never trusted him. He seemed shifty to me.”

“You knew him?” asked Katie.

“Everybody around here knew him. What do you want to know?”

“We’re trying to locate him,” said Katie.

“That I can’t help you with, I’m afraid. Have no idea where he is, or went, or is going…”

Katie leaned in to look inside Rodriguez’s apartment.

“Go in,” Sissy said. “He’s gone for good, so have a look around all you like. Nuthin’ wrong with that. I was going to have everything hauled away anyway. Take what you want.”

Katie looked at McGaven and then pushed the door open. “Why does it smell like bleach?” She covered her nose and then moved slowly inside.

“Cleaning up, I guess—at least that was decent of him. He lived like a pig,” said Sissy. “Horrible. He never took out the trash.” She shrugged in revulsion.

Katie looked around the small living room. The carpet had deep indentations where a couch, table, and chair had been removed—leaving the rest of the area dark and dirty.

“How long did he live here?” she asked.

“Almost eight years. And who knows where before that.”

Katie scrutinized the walls and saw that only some of the artwork had been taken, with a few cheap reproductions still hanging in place. There was a large built-in bookcase littered with a few old newspapers and magazines and the odd old VHS video and DVD left behind. Some were labelled as home recordings and others were reality TV shows and a few documentaries.

“Huh,” muttered McGaven, leaning closer to read the headings.

Katie looked at what he was scrutinizing. “What?”

“Did you read the titles?”