Nickel City Crossfire, Gary Ross [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

“Where did Brother Grace come from?”

“I’m not sure but I think the Southern Tier, maybe Jamestown. I heard him say something once about growing up not far from where they first put Scary Lucy.”

I bit back a smile. Home to Lucille Ball and the National Comedy Center, Jamestown, near the New York border with Pennsylvania, had made the national news a few years earlier because a toothy bronze statue looked more like a short-haired bride of Frankenstein than the city’s most famous daughter. Replaced by a more accurate rendering nicknamed Lovely Lucy, Scary Lucy was still on display in another part of the comedienne’s memorial park.

“Also, he knows what it’s like to hit bottom,” I said. “Any idea what he meant?”

“No.”

“Pastor Paul seems to depend on him for quite a bit.”

“Paul Pollard is old, declining, as you said. He’s likely in poor health, maybe showing signs of dementia. I think it’s safe to say at this point he needs all the help he can get.” Ileana shredded another corner of the napkin. “I don’t know how well organized his operation is, but if something happens to him, Sanctuary Nimbus will fall apart, figuratively and literally.”

“You don’t think Jeremiah Grace can step in and save the day? I mean, he has the name for that kind of work.”

“If that’s his real name.” She paused. “If he doesn’t turn it into a cult.”

“You don’t trust him. Or like him.”

“No.” Lips pressed tight, she inhaled deeply through her nose. “There’s something about him that’s off. Unnerving. Even creepy.”

“Maybe a little dangerous,” I said.

“Maybe a lot.”

“The way he treated Norm?”

“Yes. He almost seemed to enjoy the cruelty of it.”

I nodded. “Did you and Keisha ever talk about him?”

Ileana shrugged. “Only in passing. She thought he was kind of a jerk too.”

I drank more coffee and sat back, ready to trust her. “Now let’s talk about Keisha. You called the Salvation Army and she wasn’t there but Veronica saw her at several places.”

“If she told the truth.”

“There is that,” I said. “But for now let’s assume she did.”

“All right.”

“Let’s assume she saw Keisha at several shelters, where people would know her from Humanitas.”

“Some staff would know her but maybe not all the volunteers.”

I thought about that a moment. “What if she went to the Salvation Army and the other places not as Dr. Keisha Simpkins but as someone else?”

“I don’t understand.”

“In ratty old clothes, her face hidden from those she knows. Essentially, in disguise.”

Ileana wrinkled her brow. “Why would she do that?”

“Veronica’s life spiraled out of control but Keisha’s wasn’t there yet, at the point of no return. Would you agree?”

“Yes.”

“She had a drug overdose nobody thinks was her fault.” I resisted the urge to count off my points on my fingers. “Even if it was, she had rehab and a job to come back to. She has a home, family, friends—none of which say they have seen her. So why did she leave without her car and cell phone? Why would a woman with a solid support system drop off the grid and mingle among those served by shelters?” I leveled my gaze at Ileana, hoping she would remember what she had told me about the homeless when we were in her office. “Why would Keisha make herself invisible?”

Ileana’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened. “Because she doesn’t want to be seen.”

“Or found.”

“You mean somebody’s looking for her? Who?”

“Someone she believes will hurt her family and friends if she’s anywhere near them.”

“My God!” She sat up straighter. “Do you think Brother Grace has anything to do with this?”

“No idea. I just have a gut feeling he’s bad news for people he’s supposed to help.”

“If he knows somebody’s looking for Keisha, he’ll sell her out in a heartbeat?”

“Right.” Then I told her about the black Navigator, the attempted break-in at the Simpkins home, the absence of any evidence suggesting drug use or dealing on the part of either Keisha or Odell, Bianca’s certainty that Keisha was self-reliant, Carl’s belief someone had killed his son, and the threatening text on Keisha’s phone. Finally, I said I had a friend in the medical examiner’s office and showed her Mira’s last text, which I had read in my car before driving to the coffee shop:

No trax. No bruising on arm. 1 pinpoint where you said.

“What does that mean?”

“One needle mark means it’s murder,” I said. “Lack of bruising means the M.E. concluded Odell injected himself without being forced. That’s why I need your help, your eyes and ears—and maybe a couple of others to watch shelters and call me if they see Keisha. Maybe somebody in your outer office, if you feel you can trust them, but nobody else.”

“Cassidy and Yvonne,” she said. “I can trust them. Fareed has a wife and baby and probably can’t get out at night. I’ll set up a meeting with the girls tomorrow if you like.” When I nodded, she swallowed, fear taking root in her eyes.

“I don’t know yet which one was the intended victim,” I said, “but Keisha and Odell were together when these people caught up with them so each one got a needle in the arm, probably at gunpoint. Keisha survived. That makes her a witness on the run.”

15

I got home by ten-thirty and sat at the kitchen counter to research Sanctuary Nimbus.

Most of the information that popped up on my Lenovo confirmed what Ileana had told me about Pollard and Omicron Seven. There was no link to Keisha. I saved everything in a pdf. Then I logged into IntelliChexx to search for Jeremiah Grace. Three of the fifty-two hits were in New York, but only one address history included the right region: Jeremiah A. Grace, thirty-three, born and raised in Celoron, adjacent to Jamestown. Other addresses included two in Erie, PA, and three in Buffalo, but there was no listing for Bidwell Parkway or Sanctuary Nimbus. Never married. Sketchy credit history. Five speeding tickets but no current driver’s license. Not listed on any sex