In Death 23 - Born in Death

countdown. Couple more weeks, I guess. I told her I’d do this. I’m asking you to let me keep my word.”
    “This would be Mavis Freestone, music sensation?”
    “It would.”
    “I got an eighteen-year-old daughter who’s a major fan.”
    Eve felt the tension in her shoulders ease. “She might like backstage passes next time Mavis performs in the city. Or anywhere, for that matter, if you wouldn’t mind her being transported by a private shuttle.”
    “I’d be her hero for life, but that sounds suspiciously like a bribe.”
    Now Eve grinned. “And a damn good one. I had booze or sports lined up if I needed them. I appreciate this, Smith.”
    “I’ve got friends, too, and I don’t like to let them down. Here’s what I’d need. You’d copy me on every report, every statement, every note you make. I’m apprised of every step of your investigation as you make it. I’ll keep my own file on her here, and if I feel at any point I need to step in, or assign someone to step in—to work with you, or to take over—I don’t want to hear the squawk.”
    “You won’t. I owe you one.”
    “Find them—the woman and the baby—and we’ll call it even.” Smith dug up a card. “I don’t have anything current that mirrors this one, but I’ll do a search, see if there’s anything in the city that reflects a like crime.”
    “Appreciate it. All of it.”
    “The missing’s who matters, not who runs the show from here. My home ’link, pocket ’link numbers are on the back. Day or night.”
    Eve took the card, offered her hand.
    Back in her office she found Roarke at her desk working on her comp. He glanced up at her, lifted his brows in question.
    “I’m clear. I got lucky.”
    “That’s good then. I got started on your background checks. Do you want to work here or at home?”
    “Neither, not yet. Right now we’re going to see a man about a bus.”
    The bus driver’s name was Braunstein, and he was about two hundred pounds of hard fat in a New York Giants football jersey. He was fifty-two, married, and was spending his Saturday evening watching a post-season game on-screen with his brother-in-law and son while his wife, his sister, and niece took in some—in his words—“girlie vids” at a local theater.
    His irritation at having his viewing interrupted was obvious, until Eve mentioned Tandy’s name.
    “London Bridge? That’s what I call her. Sure I know her. Rides with me most every night. Always has her fare card ready, lots don’t. Got a nice smile. She sits right behind me. Somebody takes that seat, I make ’em get up, give it to her. Her delicate condition and all.
    “She gave me a nice tin of cookies for the holidays. Made them herself. She got trouble?”
    “I don’t know that yet. Did she ride with you Thursday evening?”
    “Thursday.” He scratched his chin, which badly needed a shave. “Nope. Funny now you mention it, ’cause I remember her saying, ‘See you tomorrow, Mr. B,’ when she got off at her stop on Wednesday. She calls me ‘Mr. B.’ I remember because she was carting this box wrapped in funny paper with a big-ass bow on it.”
    He glanced around as both of his companions erupted with rage at a call on the field. “Offside, my rosy red ass,” one of them shouted.
    “Goddamn refs,” Braunstien muttered. “’Scuze the language. Anyway, I asked her about it—the box—when she got on, and she said how she had a baby shower on the weekend. Listen, that little girl get hurtor something? I told her she ought to take the maternity leave, close as she was. She okay? She and the baby okay?”
    “I hope so. On the bus, you ever notice anyone paying too much attention to her? Hanging too close, keeping an eye? Anything like that?”
    “No, and I woulda.” He scratched his prominent belly. “I kinda looked out for her during the run, you know? Got some regulars, and some of them might strike up a conversation with her the way people do when a woman’s carrying a bun. You know, ‘How you feeling?’ ‘When are you due?’ ‘Pick out any names,’ that kind of thing. But nobody bothered her. I wouldn’a let them.”
    “How about people who got off at her stop?”
    “Sure, there’d be some. Regulars and otherwise. Never noticed anybody looking funny, though. Someone hurt that girl? Come on, I feel like her uncle or something. She hurt?”
    “I don’t know. No one’s seen her, as far as we can tell, since Thursday, at around six