I. The Jacket

It was just an ordinary looking, black-leather jacket. It looked and felt like real leather, but not embellished. It was Sunday, November 6th, and I had walked out of Molly’s empty handed. Then I spotted a black leather jacket lying in the adjacent alley. Score. Real leather? Did I care? I picked it up and rubbed my fingers on its soft material. No one was around to claim it and whoever left it there certainly didn’t care about it. I didn’t want that kind of craftsmanship going to waste and threw it on. I dusted the sleeves as they had a little bit of alley on them. I then spotted two small red dots on the end of the right sleeve. They looked like paint. I tried rubbing it off, to no avail, and thought about smelling it to decipher what it was before thinking better. How was I to know it was blood. I’d clean it when I got home. I should’ve left it in the street.

***

I couldn’t recall when I got the adrenaline bug. Since I was five or six, I loved feeling excited and being surprised. My father had been a magician and when he wasn’t at his full-time job, running his interior design business, he would teach me his tricks. Every night, he would sit me down with his arms spread apart. His hands, gigantic and smooth, were still, apart from his long fingers which were dancing and wiggling. I pictured the crisscrossing lines on each of his palms. I felt his hand brush past my ear and it was back in front of my eyes before I could blink. But this time, a shiny silver coin, usually a quarter, was entrancing me. I couldn’t believe how nimble his fingers were, striking that quickly. To have the power to make things appear and disappear before people knew what hit them. Magic was beautiful. I tried mastering the same tricks my father had showed me. He was good enough to get invited to tryouts at The Magic Castle in Hollywood. I helped him pick out the outfit for his interview. He wore a black suit, black shoes and slicked back his hair. He looked so mysterious and powerful. I was disappointed he wouldn’t wear a cape.

“All great magicians have capes” I told him.

He gave me a mischievous grin, knelt beside me on the bed and said,

“The best magicians only need the basics, what’s right in front of them.”

He winked, waved his left hand in front of my face, wiggling those fingers. In a flash, a rose was in front of me. He got the job, but only did a few shows before his work got too busy for him to have a hobby of any sort.

When he was too busy to help me, I sat alone in my room for hours trying to move a quarter between my fingers. Pinky to thumb, thumb to pinky and pinky back to thumb. They had to be magnets, always touching. The tricks were never dangerous, just pure excitement. Sixteen years after first learning sleight of hand, I still carried around a quarter in my pocket, fiddling with it whenever bored or anxious. I carried the same quarter with me for a year. It was the same one I’d been practicing with in my dorm room senior year when I got the news my father had passed away. It had felt like a magic trick, but one done to me, not for me. One day he was there and then he was gone. He hadn’t fallen through a trap door or disappeared after a cloud of smoke emerged. He wasn’t going to reappear at some point. I was never going to be able to stare at those hands, those fingers ever again or feel them whip past my ear only to emerge with a quarter between them.

The coin feels bound to my fingers. They always find each other like magnets. About the time after graduating and moving in with the trio, I started using my nimble fingers for unburdening stores of their pricey clothes. It was easy. I could make anything disappear. Like father like daughter. I knew dad wouldn’t approve, but I could only feel excitement and thrill, the way I’d felt watching him perform magic, when stealing. The trio, consisting of Jane, Jackie and Jill never suspected anything.

“Jackie and Jill, seriously?” I had asked him after first hearing about them.

I remembered the way his face lit up when he said Jane’s name. The trio was nice enough and made me feel instantly welcomed into their home. Well, it was a home my dad had bought for them and I could feel his presence everywhere. The dark, but not ominously dark furniture and warm brown wood floors made me feel comfortable and safe. It’s not like I was stealing diamond rings or priceless artifacts. Now, every time before entering a store, I move the quarter between my fingers. I see my dad’s winking eye and wiggling fingers. I smile and enter. I’m a young woman mourning the loss of her father and I deserve some slack.

II. The LAPD Comes Knocking

It was 3:30pm on Wednesday, the 9th and it had still been an abnormally hot day for November. I entered the house, followed by the trio, going straight to the kitchen to drop off our groceries. Smooshed in the kitchen, grocery bags were being unpacked, cabinets were flying open and the fridge was being stacked when three hard knocks hit the front door, followed by “LAPD!” The booming voice made us all jump with terror and tin cans flew out of fumbling hands. I almost smacked my face on an open cabinet as I turned around to face the front door. Jackie, my older stepsister, squeaked out,

“Did he just say LAPD?”

Jane cautiously went to the front door and peered through the eye hole. Dark suits and badges stood on the front steps. As the matriarch of the family, Jane cautiously opened the door to three cops standing in a triangular formation with their hands on their hips. The man in front, obviously leading this charge, sported a thick brown mustache, balding head and slightly formed gut. He was a middle-aged man with a potent aftershave staring intensely at Jane. What a cliché, I thought. Bring any donuts? I almost giggled at the sight of them and immediately bit my tongue.

“Mam, we’re here about a missing person. A young woman has disappeared and we’re looking into her whereabouts. Is there an Anne, Anne Frazier who lives here?”

I didn’t feel like giggling anymore and without noticing, Jane had stepped aside to let the cops in. I suddenly realized everyone was staring at me.

***

That previous Sunday, I got the sudden urge to rush out of a store, sporting a new coat. I groaned and put the pillow over my face. Why couldn’t I want to do normal things that twenty-two-year-old’s fresh out of college want to do? Work for a non-profit, go on terrible first dates with “entrepreneurs,” aka, aspiring actors. I could go for a jog, get brunch with my stepsisters. Right. I eventually crawled out of bed, and threw on jeans and a shirt. I didn’t bother with the oversized jacket normally worn to hide my spoils.

***

I stared at the balding cop, tongue-tied. Words. Speak, I thought. “I-I’m Anne,” came out in a panicked voice. I wished I had magic powder to throw in to create a diversion so I could split. Or, actual magic powers to disappear. What the hell was this? The cop started talking to me.

“Were you at Molly’s this past Sunday?

“Molly’s?”

“It’s a high-end clothing store not too far from here.”

“Um…yeess…,” I squeaked.

“What’s this about officer?”

Jane had jumped in with an irritated tone as if the police couldn’t possibly have the right house.

“The store’s security cameras place you outside in the store’s side alley.”

His eyes shifted back to me with a simultaneous head nod.

“You were seen picking up a black leather jacket and putting it on. Was it your jacket?” OMG. SHIT.

“Um, no. I found it on the ground. Guess someone lost it or dropped it. No harm, no foul, right?”

The cops looked at each other and back at me.

“Well, no, bu-”

“Am I seriously being arrested for steal-picking up that jacket?”

One of the other cops chimed in with a raised hand to stop any oncoming hysterics.

“No one’s getting arrested. We think that jacket belonged to the missing young woman. We’re just trying to figure out what happened to her.”

My body felt heavy and I couldn’t run for it even if I wanted to.

“Do you still have the jacket in question?

Answer the cliché-mustache cop!

“It’s in my bedroom.”

I somehow managed to point upstairs, gesturing to where my bedroom is.

“We also found a small blood trail where you picked up the jacket. The jacket might also have blood on it and we need it for a DNA match.”

 “We’re here to help, officers. This is just terrible news. Anything you need,” piped up Jane.

“Miss?”

“Yes, clich-sir?”

“We may need you to come down to the station in order to give a full statement. For now, we’re going to take the jacket. Which room is it?”

I pointed straight and then cocked my index finger.

“End of the hall on the left.”

“Stay here until we say otherwise, OK?”

“Ookaay,” I said with an unplanned two finger soldier salute.

My fingers were to my forehead before I knew what my body was doing. The cliché cop, Anderson, according to his name tag, gave me a half smile that read, ‘kids these days.’ Two of the cops went upstairs, including Anderson and another, younger male cop. I hadn’t seen his nametag. The three of us were left downstairs with a young female cop, Dawson. She watched her partners disappear behind the upstairs wall and then glued her eyes to me after a full scan of the trio. The trio’s stare was still burning a hole in my chest and I sat down on the stair’s first step. I tried cracking a small smile in Dawson’s direction. A sad attempt to show her I’m a harmless young woman caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dawson didn’t budge and her dark eyes stared at me so intensely that I immediately looked to the floor as if something interesting were appearing in the wood. So, the universe wasn’t rewarding me at all, but sending me some ironic bullshit. I hadn’t stolen anything the other day, but happened to find a jacket totally up for grabs only to discover it had belonged to a missing woman who could potentially be dead. Well, abracafuckingdabra.

***

I should’ve known the jacket had been too good to be true. With six to ten people in a store, I could easily get away with a new dress, top or coat in about twenty minutes. I’d of course have to time my exit of the store with the oncoming of bustling feet that would help disguise any alarms sounding. Most of the stores I went into had entrance doors that chimed with the emergence of a new customer. So, as long as I could blur into the crowd of entering shoppers while exiting the store, I could quickly remove my large, baggy coat with the stolen item tightly wrapped within and round the corner of the next street. The trio were none the wiser and Jane never questioned me even when wearing a large coat on hot days or a normal sunny day in Los Angeles. When I would come home with a new find, Jane would ask me where I’d been. The conversation would continue with,

“Eh, ya know, nowhere, just walking around, stretching my legs.”

“In this heat, with that jacket?!”

“Yeah, I didn’t feel like putting sunscreen on…”

Jane would then give me a curious stare and then go back to doing the laundry or whatever she was doing around the house.

On that fateful Sunday, at Molly’s, turned out, I wouldn’t be stealing anything. Apparently, that Sunday was not the day for large crowds shopping. It was abundantly clear there was no way I was taking anything without being caught. I was nifty, but way too rusty to pull anything off. The heatwave we’d been having made it impossible to want to do anything other than lounge in the pool or on the sofa with the A.C. blasting. Each store had only one or two shoppers with the store workers being overly attentive, eyeing me every five seconds. Welp, I was going home empty handed. At the time, I’d thought it was a good thing. The universe giving me a sign that I didn’t need to steal in order to feel excitement. That Epiphone had cost me. If I hadn’t thought I was being rewarded for not stealing, I probably would’ve left the jacket there. How was I supposed to have known that jacket was cursed?

***

Five minutes had passed before cliché mustache cop, Anderson, and his male partner walked slowly back down the stairs. It had felt like an hour and I realized I had chewed the skin on my right thumb so violently that it had started to bleed. Well, the young cop walked, Anderson kind of waddled his way down, holding onto the banister. Don’t you need to be in good shape to be a cop? I snapped back to reality just in time before being awkwardly in the way and shuffled past Dawson. Anderson scratched his mustache with his right index finger and stood directly in front of me and the trio.

“Well, we got the jacket and now we’ll still need to take your statement,” said Anderson.

“We can do that here, though, can’t we?” interjected Jane.

“Yes, we can do it here, although we may need you to come down to the station at some point to answer any further questions, so don’t leave town.”

“Wasn’t planning on it…,” I blurted out.

I hadn’t meant it to sound snotty and I had mumbled it in a kind of haze. I instantly looked up at Anderson whose mustache seemed to go stiff like his posture. He took a small, white rectangular piece of paper and handed it to me.

 “We also did find blood stains on the right sleeve.”

OK, so that was blood, not paint. Great.

 “And this blood belonged to your missing woman?” No shit Jane.

“Most likely, but if it belonged to her attacker, we could get lucky and ID him based off of his DNA.”

Oh, that’s true. Sorry Jane.

“Or her.”

The room went silent and no one was sure who exactly pointed out this obvious fact.

“ID her based off her DNA,” stated Jackie in her usual matter of fact way.

Jane and I were both stunned for a few seconds after realizing it was Jackie’s voice speaking. The sisters had been quiet this entire time, looking at me with concerned glances and keeping their distance like I was Typhoid Marry. I always got along well enough with both of them, but Jackie never really warmed to me, at least not like Jane had. I knew Jackie wasn’t stating this fact out of malice toward me, but somehow, the words felt pointier, like the tip of a small blade you don’t see coming. Anderson finally responded to Jackie’s statement.

“Yes, or her DNA. Now, we need to take your statement. We’ll need you to walk us through exactly what you were doing when you found the jacket.”

OMG. They know. Dawson, noticing the panic returning to my face, helped me, surprisingly, find my words again.

“Just try and retrace your steps. You found the jacket on Sunday, November 6th?”

“Yeess. I was bored and decided to take a walk. Molly’s is only a few blocks away.”

I went blank.

“And you decided to go…” Dawson moved her left hand in an arc-like motion, back to front or south to north, the universal gesture of the action for movement.

“Shopping?” she finished.

Right. I was shopping, technically. They won’t know about your “tendencies” unless you tell them.

“Yes, I hadn’t been in for a while and wanted to check it out. I took a look around and decided to not buy anything. When I came out, I started walking toward home when I spotted the jacket out of the corner of my eye.”

“And you decided to just pick it up and take it home with you?”

Anderson was back in the game.

“Well, it didn’t have a name on the tag or anything and it had obviously been abandoned or forgotten. It was just lying in the middle of an alley way.”

“Didn’t you see the blood on the sleeve?” chimed in the younger male cop.

I caught his name tag now which read “Bingham.”

“I, uh, I thought it was paint. It looked like dried red paint and I didn’t smell it. I’m not a Blood Hound.”

Damn. That was only supposed to be inside voice. INSIDE VOICE.

“Anne,” said Jane.

“You’re not in any trouble. Just keep telling the officers what happened.”

I sighed and glanced quickly at Jackie and Jill. Jill looked at me with pity. Jackie had her arms crossed waiting for me to speak. It was like she was watching an episode of a trashy daytime television show where the audience waits on bated breath to find out if the man is actually the father of the woman’s baby.

“It was a beautiful leather jacket just lying there, so I took it. I figured I’d have it cleaned to get rid of the spots and that would be that.”

 “And you didn’t see the blood stains on the cement near the jacket as you picked it up?”

The younger male cop, Bingham was starting to piss me off. If I had truly thought the jacket was covered in blood and had noticed the blood stains, I would’ve left it there in the street. What self-respecting thief or human steals things that could be tied to a crime?!

“No. I only noticed the jacket. As I said, it was a beautiful leather jacket, just lying there and I didn’t think anyone would miss it. I wasn’t looking around the surrounding area.”

“Officers, I think Anne has told you all there is to tell on this subject. She went shopping and when she came out of the store, saw a leather jacket lying in the street.”

Thank you, Jane. The cops looked at Jane and then again at me. Anderson clicked his pen and shoved his notebook into his back pants pocket.

“If you think of anything or have any information to give on this matter, here’s my number. Call at any time.”

Anderson had pulled out a small, white rectangular card so quickly, I almost didn’t notice until he waved it directly at my face. For an instant, I thought of my dad waving a shiny quarter in front of my eyes and smiling at me. A warm smile, driven purely out of love of the memory of my father, took over my face. I reached over and took the business card from Anderson’s chubby hand with a faint smile. He took my smile as a peace offering, as if to say, ‘sorry, I wasn’t trying to be difficult.’ He caved and gave me a faint smile back, his mustache yielding with his mouth. The cops were almost entirely out the door, with Bingham leading the way outside when Anderson retorted,

“Oh, and next time you see a stranded piece of clothing in the middle of an alley way, better to just leave it be. Especially, if there are red stains on it.”

He gave me a tiny wink with his left eye, nodded and turned around to follow the others. I could see small, smirks appearing on Bingham’s and Dawson’s faces.

 “Will do,” I said through a gritted smile.

Jackass.

II. Busted

I closed the front door hastily and sighed out deeply. The trio was facing me. If I had been made of glass, their high intensity stares would’ve broken me into tiny shards on the floor.

“What?” I said defensively.

“Three LAPD detectives just showed up at my door asking about a leather jacket you happened to steal off the street,” said Jane.

Jane’s usual composure during any circumstance started wavering. I could see the concern and disappointment in Jane’s hands as they gripped each side of her waist and her eyes bulged.

“I didn’t steal anything. I found a jacket in the street and took it. What was I gonna do, make my way to the nearest police station and say, ‘hey all, do you have a lost and found where I could put this genuine leather jacket?’”

“Yes!”

Never mind, she’s pissed.

“C’mon, no one was coming back to claim that jacket,” I dug my heels in.

“Well, we’ll never know now and now you’re involved in this poor missing woman’s case.”

“Yeah, cause this happens every time I-”

SHIT.

“Every time you…? What, Anne?”

Jackie and Jill still looked at me with a mixture of pity and annoyance. The annoyance mostly from Jackie who I could’ve sworn was smirking every so slightly at the thought of me going to jail over a stupid jacket.

“I just meant…when you find something on the ground like change or $5, you don’t report that to the police, and they never come banging on your door days later asking about it.”

“$5 vs. a bloodied leather jacket found in an alley way. You see the difference here?!”

“OH MY GOD, for the last time, I didn’t see the blood trail on the ground or realize the red spots on the sleeve were blood stains!”

“Not to mention if you had washed that jacket, you’d have been accused of tampering with evidence in this case or accused of covering something up.”

OK, definitely pissed and watching too many cop dramas. Why the hell is she pissed at me? I didn’t do anything wrong. I started feeling nauseous and couldn’t take Jane’s glare anymore. I looked at the floor and closed my yes.

“Have you stolen other articles of clothing off the streets,? Asked Jane.

“Or, maybe a store?” chimed in a new voice.

What the fuck, Jackie. Seriously?!

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster.

Although, I was emotionally drained and thought about coming clean in order to lessen the burden. After Jane cooled off, she’d understand, right? I mean, I’m clearly going through something and trying to cope. What kind of mother wouldn’t see that or at least a good mother? I might have been a stepdaughter to Jane, but Jane was more maternal than my biological mother had been for the past few years. After graduating college, I moved in with my new family. My mom was across the country “finding” herself with a new boyfriend every other month. I wasn’t ready for the role of parent to a regressing widow, so I stayed in LA. And why the hell was Jackie gunning for me? We weren’t super close or besties or anything, but I had never done anything to Jackie to deserve this treatment.

“Now that I’m thinking on it, I do recall an expensive looking tan coat underneath some piles of clothes on your bed once. Burberry, if I’m not mistaken.”

Well, fuck.

I had forgotten about Jackie asking to borrow a sweater or something one day and stood in my room for a few minutes while I fished one out for her. I hadn’t realized the coat had been visible. It was indeed Burberry and so comfortable. How was I supposed to know Jackie had been keeping this little gem hidden for the past month, only to use it now against me?

“Anne,” said Jane.

Her eyes had stopped bulging and retreated back into her sockets. Their soft, green hue had regained the warmth that I first noticed upon meeting her.

“Are you a klepto?”

“NO!”

I shouted and put both of my hands in front of my chest, palms facing the trio in a kind of surrender. I hadn’t meant to yell and was tired of feeling like I’d been on trial for the past hour.

“Then please explain yourself” Jane calmly uttered.

So, this day has gone from shitty to even shittier and now I’m having an intervention like on one of those terrible daytime talk shows. My mind drifted off to a time when the trio and I couldn’t find anything to watch on TV. We couldn’t agree on anything to watch. Jane had one of her cop shows, Jackie remembered seeing reruns of “Survivor” on some random channel and Jill wanted to watch the Food Network. I had the remote and stumbled upon a channel with a “Maury” type talk show on. I can’t recall what the topic of conversation was for this episode, but I paused ever so slightly, my finger hovering over the channel button on the clicker.

“OMG, this show is ridiculous,” Jackie giggled.

She explained how every episode was the same, but just with different people. We were all weirdly intrigued by the episode and so decided to watch it. We were there for a two-hour binge session eating popcorn and laughing at these ridiculous people. Simpler times.

 “I don’t know!”

 “You don’t know?” Replied Jane.

“I mean, yes, fine, I do, on occasion, take things from stores without paying for them. But it’s not like I’m out there every day doing it.”

Blank stares and fish mouths. Their stunned reaction at my confession did indeed make me feel free. Finally, Jane spoke.

 “You mean stealing things. Taking things without paying for them is stealing Anne.”

 “Yes, I know, but I’m not take-stealing important things or it’s not like I’m out robbing

banks.”

“But you realize what you’ve been doing is wrong, right?” Jill said.

This time Jill spoke for the first time since they’d been at the store perusing the bread aisle and she asked if we should get wheat or sprouted.

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

They stared at me with puzzled looks as if this was a piece of important knowledge I should know.

“Yes, I guess…I mean, I know it’s bad to say this, but I don’t feel badly afterward.”

“Anne. Why have you been doing this? I mean, if you told me you had wanted these

things we could’ve gone on a little shopping spree. Ya know, a fun bonding experience.”

This made my heart sink into my stomach. It was so sweet and naïve.

“It’s not really about the clothes or what I steal. It’s about the feeling it gives me. I’m like magic when I do it. I’m good at it and no one sees me taking things right in front of them.”

Jane lowered her death grip from her waist and looked at me in a way she hadn’t done since my father had died. It was pity. Jane realized what the stealing was trying to replace. How sad it was. Somehow, it made me want to cry. Jane had cracked the code and it made me feel extremely vulnerable. Jackie and Jill looked sad too, but for me, and looked at each other with glances that said, ‘poor her, that sucks.’ I hated feeling vulnerable and immediately looked at the floor again to gain composure. No way was I breaking down into tears in front of them.

 “It’s just a hobby,” I mumbled.

This frank admission making light of stealing made Jane’s eyes grow big again. I wanted this pity-filled confessional to be over, so I said,

“It’s not forever and I know I need to stop. I just can’t seem to. It’s been so easy and I feel close to him again every time.”

“Oh sweety,” Jane said with a crack in her voice.

I knew that would work. Jane came in for a hug and embraced me. She stroked my hair and I actually did start feeling better about the whole situation.

 “Now that we know, we can help you through it” Jane said optimistically.

“We’re a family and we support you.”

 “Not the stealing, though, obviously” quipped Jackie with a little smirk.

Bitch. It made me smile, though, as her smirk turned into a genuine smile and Jill was smiling too. Jackie’s sarcasm vaguely masked her sincere support. I was confused by Jackie’s mood swings, but didn’t question this one. This intervention would be considered a win in my book, and I took it gladly.

“Not to dwell on the negative too much,” started Jane. “But I feel I have to ask…you really don’t know anything about this woman who went missing?”

She had pulled back from our hug and looked at me with a faint smile.

 “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I have no idea who that woman is.”

 “Hmm, what unfortunate luck to have picked up something belonging to a missing

Person,” Jane said shaking her head.

“I guess my luck ran out,” I said.

Jane suddenly got a worried expression over her face and her eyebrows furrowed.

“You don’t think whoever was involved with this missing woman might come looking to retrieve the jacket, do you?”

 “MOM,” warned Jill.

“Well, it’s just that…” Jackie was warning her off with a piercing look.

“I mean, they might not know the police now have it and go looking for the person who took it. It is evidence potentially tying them to the crime and if they poke around that store, see you on the security feed, well…”

HOLY SHIT. My face turned pale and I was staring at the floor again, hand resting on my stomach as if that would be enough to stop me from vomiting.

 “Nice work mom,” snorted Jill.

 “Well, I’m sorry, but it’s the truth and we need to be realistic about this situation. Do

you still have that policeman’s card?”

For a person going into a shocked state, I calmly took the business card out of my back right pocket and held it below my face. It read ‘Lieutenant Walter Anderson’ in the middle followed by a string of words underneath reading ‘LAPD Detectives Unit: Missing Persons and Homicide.’ I suddenly thought of Lt. Anderson’s balding head and gut protruding past his belt. How was that overweight, cliché mustached man a lead detective? How could that be tied to any sort of intelligence. I was doomed. Again, I wished there was a trap door I could escape through that would lead me to a tropical island off the grid. I heard Tahiti was nice or was it Bora Bora? The island didn’t matter. I needed a miracle. I needed one of those magic tricks that are so unreal, fans are still trying to figure out what they saw months after a show. I’m fucked.

III. The Missing Person Case

 Anderson was grabbing a donut from a pink box that had been left out on someone’s desk.

 “Hey Dawson, wanna split one of these glazed ones with me?”

Dawson gave him a quick smile before saying,

“Sir, what about your diet? Thought you were going to try Keto?”

“Ugh, Keto. Whomever thought up all of these ridiculous diet trends should be shot.”

He winked at Dawson who smiled back and which said , ’poor guy, doesn’t stand a chance.’

 “So where are we with our suspect list,” said Anderson, moving away from the subject of donuts. Dawson, and Bingham gathered near Anderson and their white board filled with the usual police notes, suspect lists with their pictures next to them. The victim’s name was in the middle, surrounded by the suspects list, red marker lines and names connecting everything together. If only everything connected as seamlessly in reality as it appeared to be on the white board. ‘Malorie Jenkins’ was listed in the center of the board, her name in all caps. Her photo looked to be a blown-up version of a happy time in her life. She had tight, curly blonde hair, blue eyes and an electric smile. In the photo, she was wearing a light blue, V-neck sweater. Her eyes staired dead straight ahead at whomever had taken the photo. She was 24, newly single and originally from Indiana.

 “Did we confirm O’Connor’s alibi from this morning?”

 “Yes, sir,” responded Dawson and Bingham in unison.

Dawson was in her mid-thirties and new to the detective scene. Bingham had transferred from San Diego, wanting a little more action in his life. Bingham continued answering Anderson fast and loud, cutting off Dawson who had also continued speaking.

“He was at his bar from 5pm ‘til about closing, so 3am. Lots of witnesses who say they didn’t see him leave during that time.”

Dawson tacked on to this assessment to reassert herself back into the conversation.

“We also checked security cameras around the area, including all entrances, and exits of the bar and none picked up O’Connor leaving.”

Anderson nodded with a blank expression on his face.

“Well, what we expected. So, he couldn’t be responsible for her going missing during this timeframe.”

“He could’ve hired someone or people, sir. We know he has the resources.”

Dawson nodded in agreement with Bingham. She walked up to the giant white board and put a note next to O’Connor’s name and picture. ‘Alibi cleared – still primary suspect.’ Their white board had become busy with red lines crisscrossing each other and pictures beginning to take up too much room. They had too many suspects and possible people involved. They desperately needed to narrow down their search of suspects. Like so many women who go missing in Los Angeles, Malorie was a young, pretty blonde from the Mid-West who had moved to L.A. right after college. She was a film major who specialized in documentary film making. Her studio apartment was covered in beautiful landscape photographs of the city along with desk photos of her and her now ex-boyfriend Tim. Tim had no apparent motive for hurting or kidnapping Malorie and also had a solid alibi for the time during which she was taken from the alleyway. Tim claimed they had remained friendly after splitting and no reason to harm her.

 “We’re missing something…what are we missing,” muttered Anderson to himself.

The three of them stared at the board as if expecting it to speak to them with a brilliant answer.

IV. Anne Walks into a Police Station

 After Jane’s terrifying realization that the kidnappers/murderers could track me down to get back the jacket, we decided to immediately go to the police station.

“You’ll say you’re there to answer anymore questions they might have and we can ask about possible protection for you/us,” said Jane, pretty calmly.

I was impressed with her reclaimed composure and found myself mindlessly nodding in agreement with her. Her words sounded muffled and far away, but I started walking to the front door.

 “Girls, you coming along or staying put?”

Jackie and Jill looked at me for a few seconds before facing each other slowly. They were having a silent discussion about tagging along.

 “You don’t have to come,” I said to make it easier for them.

 “OK, well, cool, we’ll hold down the fort, but text us if you need anything,” said Jill.

Jill tried giving me a comforting smile while Jackie stared blankly at me. Although, at this point, I didn’t blame her. A choice between a police station or staying home, I’d choose staying home too. When Jane and I finally arrived at the station, we asked for Lt. Walter Anderson and I showed them his card. We sat there for a good fifteen minutes before I spotted Anderson’s belly and mustache coming around the corner. Jane immediately waved to him and said,

“Lieutenant, we decided to answer anymore questions you may have about Anne’s involvement here. We’d like to get it over with and move on as quickly as possible.”

Anderson nodded slowly and replied,

 “Well, to be honest, there’s not much more we need from Anne at this time.”

Well, at least I’m not a suspect.

 “Oh,” said Jane slightly disappointed.

 “Do you have more information for us, anything that we should know?”

I looked at Jane and back at Anderson who started fidgeting in place. Guess he has better things to do.

 “Well, you see…” started Jane.

 “Am I entitled to some form of protection here?” I blurted out.

The slow dance we were doing was too much for my nerves to handle and I snapped.

 “Protection from whom?” Asked Anderson.

 “Um, the kidnappers/murderers,” I said. “They could find out I took the jacket and look

for me if they think I have evidence tying them back to the crime scene.”

“Well, I doubt it, but we can spare a few uniforms to keep an eye on your house until we lock up this investigation,” replied Anderson.

How gracious of the LAPD. I realized the area Anderson had come from was barely visible to me, but I could see Dawson through a small window. Jane started rattling off questions to Anderson and Anderson’s attention was off of me for the moment. I saw my opportunity and motioned like I was going to get a cup of water from the water cooler nearby, but kept walking toward Dawson. I made it to the small window and peered into the room. I saw a giant whiteboard splashed with red marker and pictures of people. It was just like a television show, except this was now my reality. In the middle of the board, I saw a pretty young blonde woman and the name ‘Malorie Jenkins.’ She had to be the missing woman.

 “Hey! Get away from there,” yelled Anderson.

 “Sorry,” I said.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the whiteboard or Malorie Jenkins’ face.

 “Do you know why she was taken?” I asked.

Anderson rolled his eyes, but eventually yielded to my questioning. Guess he figured I deserved to know seeing as how I found her jacket.

“We’re still nailing down a motive, but once we have that, we’ll nail the asshole responsible.”

I spent another minute staring into Malorie’s eyes before thanking Anderson and walking toward the exit.

 “See, now at least we have protection and peace of mind,” said Jane.

 “Mhmm, yeah, totally, total peace of mind…,” I said.

V. Malorie Jenkins

 Malorie specialized in documentary filmmaking. She had high-end video equipment in her apartment which was believed to have been gifted to her by a friend. Anderson, Dawson and Bingham believed that friend to be high-powered movie producer. Not unusual in Los Angeles for someone like him to take interest in a pretty young woman like Malorie. Malorie bartended part-time at a bar where this producer frequented. Also not unusual for a pretty young woman like Malorie to get a lot of attention from customers. Conversations lead to the producer, a Blake Thompson, discovering Malorie’s passion for filmmaking. Thompson offers to take Malorie under his wing, blah, blah, blah. Maybe the producer became so obsessed and possessive he snapped, taking Malorie. The cops didn’t like this angle as Thompson had many “protégés” and they were all still perfectly fine and well. There was a suspect they were missing. Someone hiding in plain sight who knew Malorie. Maybe he didn’t know here that intimately, but he had to have access to her to know how to scoop her up with no one else around.