Speaking in Tongues

for the best.
    But after glancing at the files the detective merely scooted into the seat across from Matthews and shook his hand.
    They made small talk for a few moments—Matthews using his best government-speak. Stiff, awkward. If the fake files hadn’t fooled the cop the stilted language surely would have.
    The waitress came and they ordered. Matthews wasn’t surprised when the detective ordered milk with dinner. Matthews himself ordered a beer.
    He said, “I’m afraid we don’t have many leads. But from what you were telling me you think there’s a chance she was kidnapped?”
    “First I just thought she ran off. But there’s apparently a tape that shows somebody switching her car with this gray Mercedes around the time she vanished. And maybe hustling the girl into the trunk, unconscious.”
    “I see,” said Aaron Matthews, who felt fire burn right through him. His battleship gray 560 sat in the parking lot, fifty feet from them. Resplendent with its stolen license plates.
    A tape? Who’d taken it? He was furious for a moment but anger was a luxury he had no time for.
    “You’ve got this tape?”
    “Vanished into thin air. Long story.”
    “Oh.”
    “Don’t envy you that job,” the detective said. “Looking for missing kids all day long. Must be hard.”Revealing a sentimental side Matthews wouldn’t have guessed he had.
    Matthews said in a soft voice, “It’s where I feel I can make the most difference.” Their drinks came. They clinked glasses. Matthews spilled some beer on the table. Wiped it up sloppily with a cocktail napkin.
    “Detective—”
    “Call me ‘Konnie.’ Everybody else does.”
    “Okay, Konnie. I hate to ask but I don’t know this Collier and the question’s come up. Do you think there was anything between him and the girl?”
    “Naw. Not Tate. If anything, just the opposite.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Hell, I didn’t even know he had a daughter until we’d been working together awhile. It’s not that. I do think somebody ’napped her. No motive yet, though might be a case Tate’s working on. He’s decided this local real estate guy didn’t do it. But I’m not so sure. I also have some thoughts about the girl’s aunt—apparently she’s pretty jealous of her sister having a child.”
    Bett’s sister . . . How did Konnie know about her?
    “I ’statted some tire treads and got a list of a hundred and a half people bought that brand of tire in the past year. Could I give you the receipts”—he patted the briefcase—“have your people check ’em out?”
    “Be happy to. Have you done anything with them yet?”
    “Just run ’em through the outstanding warrants and arrests. Nothing showed up.”
    Planning for the kidnapping, Matthews had bought new tires for the car two months ago; he couldn’t affordto be slowed up by a flat. At least when he’d taken the car into General Tire he’d given a fake name and paid cash.
    “But then I got to thinking,” Konnie continued, “on the way over here, what I shoulda done—I shoulda looked at the receipts and found out who paid cash. Anybody who did, I figure it’d be a fake name. I mean, those tires cost big money. Nobody pays cash for something like that. So what your folks could do is check the tags and see if the name matches—on all the cash receipts. If they don’t then that’s our prime suspect.”
    Jesus in heaven. Matthews hadn’t swapped plates when he’d taken the car in to have the new tires mounted. The tag would reveal his real name and the address of his rental house in Prince William County. Which didn’t match the fake information he’d given the clerk at the tire store.
    “That’s a good idea,” Matthews said. “A proactive idea.” He sounded casual but he wanted to scream. A dark mood hovered over him.
    The food came and Konnie ate hungrily, hunched over his meal.
    Matthews picked at his. He’d have to act soon. He flagged the waitress down and ordered another beer.
    “You want to give me those receipts?” Matthews nodded at the briefcase.
    “Sure, but let’s go back to headquarters after. It’s right up the street here. You can fax ’em to your office.”
    “Okay.”
    The second beer came. Konnie glanced at it for a second, returned to his food.
    “This Tate Collier,” Matthews said slowly, savoring his microbrew. “Sounds like a good man.”
    “None better. Best fucking lawyer in the commonwealth. I get sick of these shits getting off on technicalities.