Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [53]
“Hi,” he said, “thanks for coming in.”
“Look, we just want to help you catch her killer, okay?” the girl said, as though he had challenged her in some way.
“Okay,” Lee answered, not reacting to her belligerent tone. “We appreciate that.”
“Here’s the deal,” she said, leaning forward. Lee tried not to look at the dark line where her breasts met under the lacy shirt. “You don’t ask who we are, and we tell you everything we can. Deal?”
Lee glanced at Chuck, who nodded.
“Deal.” Their desire to remain anonymous meant they were probably runaways. Petty thieves too, maybe, drug users possibly—but mostly they were just scared kids.
“Okay,” the girl said. Her voice was husky, smoky as her kohl-lined eyes—whether from too many cigarettes or drugs, he couldn’t tell.
“You have to understand our culture,” the girl said. “We stick together, right?”
“I can appreciate that,” Lee replied. “I’ll be grateful for anything you can tell us.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and looked at her companions, who sat watching her. “She turned up about a month ago at a rave in an abandoned building on Avenue C. Told us her name was Pamela. No last name, just Pamela. Then she turned up one night at CBGB around midnight. Wasn’t that it, Scott?” she said to the larger boy.
CBGB (Country, Blue Grass, and Blues) was a legendary music club on the Bowery, home to many punk and heavy metal bands in its thirty-year history. Lee’s apartment on East Seventh Street was just around the corner.
The larger boy shrugged uncomfortably, as if trying to loosen something from his shoulder. “Yeah, around then.” His voice shook and jumped a little, as though it had only just broken. Lee wondered how old he was.
“How was she dressed? What did she say?” Chuck asked, but his eagerness made the girl more wary. She flicked a strand of black hair from her face.
“She was dressed like a nice girl—middle class, all that. I don’t think she’s from around here.”
“What makes you say that?” Butts asked.
“Her accent—it was different. I don’t know how, but different.”
The smaller of the boys spoke. “New England. She was from New England.”
Both Chuck and Lee turned to study him. He didn’t really seem like he belonged with the other two. There was also an air about him, a thoughtful, refined quality, as though he were a scholar moonlighting among truckers.
“You sure about that?” Lee asked.
“Freddy’s good with accents and stuff like that,” the girl said.
“New England,” he repeated. “I have cousins up there. I recognize the accent.”
“Okay,” Butts said. “New England’s a pretty big place. Can you narrow it down, give us a state, at least?”
Freddy frowned. “Uh, New Hampshire—Maine, maybe. Not sure about that.”
“What else can you tell us about her?” said Chuck.
The girl bit her lip. “Well, she didn’t do drugs or anything, right, Scott?”
“Yeah,” he said, looking at his shoes. “Went to a rave with us but wouldn’t drop any E. Said she’d heard of kids dying after taking it.”
“E?” said Lee. “What’s that?”
“Ecstasy,” said Butts. “It’s a big rave drug.”
“She ever mention friends, family, anything back home?” Chuck asked.
The three kids looked at each other, as if they were trying to decide how much to reveal.
“She said one time that her folks didn’t understand her,” the girl said. “But hey, take a number, right?”
“So she didn’t give any specifics?” said Butts.
Scott replied without taking his eyes off the girl. “Told me one time her dad was mean, and mom was a wimp.”
“No mention of friends or towns or last name?” Lee asked.
Freddy shook his head. “I got the feeling she didn’t want to be found…like she was hiding out.”
“For sure,” the girl said. “She was hiding out. I asked one time what it was like where she came from, and she said she didn’t want to talk about