212 by Alafair Burke

Author:Alafair Burke
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-04-16T16:00:00+00:00

Stacy Schecter stared at the pages and pages of phone records that the good-looking black detective had spread in a layer across the laminate tabletop. She’d initially been skeptical of this enterprise. She did not want to think she was the common link.

But a lot had happened since the blond detective suddenly ran off. Now her partner had more than just Miranda’s cell phone and the records of whatever phone number they were so curious about. Now they had her phone records, too. Going way back.

And as she focused on the section of the itemized list of phone calls from May 27 of last spring, the detectives’ theory was hard to deny. And by the look on this detective’s face, he wanted her to make the connections faster than her thoughts were moving right now.

Stacy could feel a chain forming in her brain, but it was as if she didn’t really want the sections to come together. She didn’t want to believe that the choices she’d made were going to put her in the middle of whatever this was turning out to be.

Her choices. As if she’d had many.

Whether out of decisions of her own making, or simply random fate, she was actually here, now, in a police interrogation room, staring at these records and putting together the pieces.

It was all about May 27.

That was the day that someone had called Stacy’s cell phone from a landline at an apartment on Fourteenth Street. It was the phone number that Stacy hadn’t recognized.

But now that she was reviewing the records of her own cell phone for that day, she saw the significance of the date. On May 27, two hours before she had received a call from that mysterious number, she had also received a call from the woman she’d known as Miranda. Now both of the women who had called her were dead.

Obviously there was a connection, but she just couldn’t remember. Four months was a long time.

“Look at the other numbers on the list,” the detective urged. “Who else were you in touch with that day? It might help jog your memory.”

“This is just a bunch of numbers to me. I don’t know my friends’ numbers. I just pull up their names in my cell phone.” She hated the sound of stress in her voice. She hated stress.

“That’s fine, then. That’s good, in fact. If you’ve got all those numbers stored away in your phone, we just have to find them. We’ll work through your entire directory until we match these numbers up. You start from the top of your directory, read off the number, and I’ll check these logs for a match.”

And with that they started a methodic pattern of cooperation—her reading off the numbers stored in her phone, the detective repeatedly responding with a series of nopes, occasionally encouraging her with a “Keep going” or a “We’ll find it.” Twice they’d matched numbers in her phone to entries on her phone log, but one was to the

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