The Lost Witness Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Robert Ellis
she
found Howard Benson’s number. Benson had been a classmate at the academy and now worked in the Missing Persons Unit. Once they determined that the victim couldn’t be identified, Benson
had been her first call. But that was more than three hours ago and she hadn’t heard from him. After six rings, he finally picked up.
“Sorry, Lena, but you didn’t really give me much to go on.”
“I’ll have more tomorrow,” she said. “I was just hoping something in the database would jump out.”
“A white female in her twenties with blond hair goes missing in Southern California. I’ve got a lot of those. Nothing’s jumping out.”
Lena didn’t say anything. The number she had dialed wasn’t Benson’s cell phone. It was his office number, and he sounded moody and tired.
“Lena, I’m sorry. All I’m saying is that we need more.”
“What about limiting the search to the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours?”
“I tried that, but it’s still a long list. Lots of kids come to southern California. And a lot of them are runaway females with blond hair. Only they’re not living the dream.
They’re on the streets doing the nightmare.”
Lena thought it over as she accelerated up the freeway entrance and hit the 101 heading downtown. If Jane Doe was murdered last night, then it was too early. A Missing Persons Report
wouldn’t be filed for another day, if a report was filed at all.
“I’m jumping the gun on this, Howard. I know that. I was just hoping for a little luck.”
“We’ll talk after the autopsy. I’m sure we can narrow it down. Height, weight—something will turn up.”
“Thanks, Howard.”
She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and took a sip of coffee. It was hot and strong, and she needed it right now. She saw the long string of brake lights begin to glow through the
windshield. Then the traffic slowed down to a crawl and finally stopped. Benson had triggered an unwanted memory without knowing it. Lena had been a sixteen-year-old runaway, along with her younger
brother David. After their father died, they had fled Denver before the Department of Human Services could scoop them up and dump them into the system. They had spent six months living in their
father’s car before they earned enough money to rent a small place of their own. They had left their childhoods in Colorado, and never turned back.
She took another sip of coffee. As the traffic started moving again, the memory vanished but not the loneliness. It was such an oppressive loneliness. So final and far-reaching. She tried to
ignore it and to concentrate on the road.
The eight-mile drive downtown should have taken ten minutes, but turned into a grueling forty-five played out at ten miles an hour. By the time she found a spot to park in the LAPD garage and
jogged across the street to Parker Center, it was almost eleven and people were beginning to file out of the meeting room on the first floor.
She pushed her way through the crowd. As she entered the room, she spotted the chief and his adjutant getting up from their seats. By Lena’s count four of the five civilian commissioners
were still here, fielding informal questions from the press and the thirty to forty people who stayed. But it seemed as if an energetic man with gray hair was getting most of the attention tonight.
When he turned, Lena realized that it was Senator Alan West. West had been appointed to the commission by the mayor and approved in a unanimous vote by the City Council in an attempt to regain
public trust in the department. He was three years in on his first five-year term. Although there was talk that West might make another run at politics, Lena had read in the newspaper that he
thought his work overseeing the police department was just as important. While the chief handled day-to-day operations within the department, a civil rights attorney, a former mayor, two criminal
defense attorneys, and Senator Alan West defined
found Howard Benson’s number. Benson had been a classmate at the academy and now worked in the Missing Persons Unit. Once they determined that the victim couldn’t be identified, Benson
had been her first call. But that was more than three hours ago and she hadn’t heard from him. After six rings, he finally picked up.
“Sorry, Lena, but you didn’t really give me much to go on.”
“I’ll have more tomorrow,” she said. “I was just hoping something in the database would jump out.”
“A white female in her twenties with blond hair goes missing in Southern California. I’ve got a lot of those. Nothing’s jumping out.”
Lena didn’t say anything. The number she had dialed wasn’t Benson’s cell phone. It was his office number, and he sounded moody and tired.
“Lena, I’m sorry. All I’m saying is that we need more.”
“What about limiting the search to the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours?”
“I tried that, but it’s still a long list. Lots of kids come to southern California. And a lot of them are runaway females with blond hair. Only they’re not living the dream.
They’re on the streets doing the nightmare.”
Lena thought it over as she accelerated up the freeway entrance and hit the 101 heading downtown. If Jane Doe was murdered last night, then it was too early. A Missing Persons Report
wouldn’t be filed for another day, if a report was filed at all.
“I’m jumping the gun on this, Howard. I know that. I was just hoping for a little luck.”
“We’ll talk after the autopsy. I’m sure we can narrow it down. Height, weight—something will turn up.”
“Thanks, Howard.”
She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and took a sip of coffee. It was hot and strong, and she needed it right now. She saw the long string of brake lights begin to glow through the
windshield. Then the traffic slowed down to a crawl and finally stopped. Benson had triggered an unwanted memory without knowing it. Lena had been a sixteen-year-old runaway, along with her younger
brother David. After their father died, they had fled Denver before the Department of Human Services could scoop them up and dump them into the system. They had spent six months living in their
father’s car before they earned enough money to rent a small place of their own. They had left their childhoods in Colorado, and never turned back.
She took another sip of coffee. As the traffic started moving again, the memory vanished but not the loneliness. It was such an oppressive loneliness. So final and far-reaching. She tried to
ignore it and to concentrate on the road.
The eight-mile drive downtown should have taken ten minutes, but turned into a grueling forty-five played out at ten miles an hour. By the time she found a spot to park in the LAPD garage and
jogged across the street to Parker Center, it was almost eleven and people were beginning to file out of the meeting room on the first floor.
She pushed her way through the crowd. As she entered the room, she spotted the chief and his adjutant getting up from their seats. By Lena’s count four of the five civilian commissioners
were still here, fielding informal questions from the press and the thirty to forty people who stayed. But it seemed as if an energetic man with gray hair was getting most of the attention tonight.
When he turned, Lena realized that it was Senator Alan West. West had been appointed to the commission by the mayor and approved in a unanimous vote by the City Council in an attempt to regain
public trust in the department. He was three years in on his first five-year term. Although there was talk that West might make another run at politics, Lena had read in the newspaper that he
thought his work overseeing the police department was just as important. While the chief handled day-to-day operations within the department, a civil rights attorney, a former mayor, two criminal
defense attorneys, and Senator Alan West defined