21- So, We Meet Again.

Mazurka followed Quayleigh's instructions and found the apartment building with no difficulty. Pulling into the parking lot, the sight of the black Rolls Wraith easily captured his attention, making his stomach knot uncomfortably as he drove on, parking in spot 306.

Exiting his car, he spotted Quayleigh sitting at a picnic table located on a strip of green, poorly manicured, lawn, no more than twenty feet from the back entrance of the building. Standing at his approach, Quayleigh gave him a soft, but welcoming smile.

"So, we meet again, Detective. Thank you for driving all the way here."

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. I was hoping to catch you at work, but Mr. Liebman gave me your number instead," he said as she motioned for him to sit down, before returning to her seat.

"I hope Garren wasn't too harsh with you," she remarked, setting a can of soda down in front of him. "Accept this as my apology if he was."

"Oh, apology accepted." He smiled as he pried up the tab, cracking opening the can. "It's nice to have something to wash the taste of that last coffee down with."

"I take it you didn't get it from your usual place?"

"Actually, I did," he chuckled. "Honestly, it needs to stop being my usual place. Sadly, it's the most convenient, but maybe only 10% of the time, the coffee is palatable. The rest of the time, if you can make it passed the taste, it's only enough to keep you awake. Upside, no one asks me to buy the coffee anymore."

"I suppose that's something." She giggled as he took a drink of the soda. "So, you said you had some questions for me?"

"I do," he replied as he dug out his notepad and a pen. "You mentioned hearing a noise in the alley that night. Can you tell me where you thought it came from?"

"Besides behind me?" She paused and closed her eyes for a moment, her ears and brow visibly shifting as she replayed that moment over again in her head. "It's further away than I initially thought, but it's definitely the sound of something colliding with a dumpster. And it's not hollow, so one of the fuller ones." She opened her eyes and looked at him resolutely, "If I had to say, it was from one in your crime scene. There were only two dumpsters behind where I was standing when I heard it. The one I use, which is mostly empty, and the one next to it, but it was closer to me, and the sound was from much farther away."

"And how certain are you that it was a dumpster?"

"I'm afraid I can't be certain of something like that, but it would be my guess based on how deep the sound was. Knowing the area, the fences are chain-link, and give off a higher pitch when struck. The roll up doors on the delivery bays, they tend to rattle. The heavy metal doors, they clang. This was specifically deep and solid, and it was definitely metal. Most likely a dumpster, or rather something striking a dumpster."

"Thanks, that's bound to be helpful."

"I hope that's not the only thing you came all the way out here to ask. Otherwise, you made a long drive for something I could have told you over the phone," she said as she slowly turned her can around on the top of the wooden picnic table.

"Fear not, there's more." He smirked as he finished making his notes.

"Very well then, what's next?"

"Ah, well, when I showed you the pictures, you recognized the victims and identified one of them by the nickname Three. Any idea why he was carrying photos of you around with him?" He watched as her brow knit and she tilted her head in confusion.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Detective. What do you mean he had photos of me?"

Pulling out his phone, Mazurka opened a file before turning it to face her, a photo of the two pictures that were in Three's possession illuminated on the display. "He had these photos of you on his person when he was found."

Quayleigh clasped her hand over her mouth and swallowed before dropping it to her chest with a clear look of disgust etched on her face. "I don't know why he had those, and he assuredly did NOT have my permission to take them. Aside from the few interactions we had at the store, I had nothing to do with him. I don't even know what his name is."

"His nam…"

"I don't want to know!" she hastily interrupted. "If I wanted to know, I would have asked him when I had the chance. The very thought of him having those makes me sick." She clutched her can causing the metal to collapse under her grip with a popping sound. "You'll have to forgive me if I ask you to move on from this and put those away."

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'll be fine."

"Can I ask why it bothers you?"

"Wouldn't it bother you to know that someone was taking your picture without asking? Holding onto them like some trophy for who knows what perverse reasons?" she questioned, knowing full well the reasons Three had them. After all, it was the reason he was now dead.

"Why do you think his reasons for having them are perverse?"

She sneered and declared spitefully, "Because he only captured my pretty side." Reaching up she rubbed her forehead, her face contorting through several different emotions as she took a deep breath to calm herself. "So, you read my file after all."

"Wait, what makes you think that?"

"Easy, when we first met, you couldn't help but look at it. Don't worry, I'm not offended. I'm used to that reaction; I've even come to expect it. But now, you're doing everything to avoid it. I can recognize pity when I see it, and you'd only pity me if you knew how this happened. Ergo, you read my file."

"I did," he admitted as he looked down at the table.

"Was it enlightening?" she asked as she snapped the can back into shape before taking a swig.

"It actually led to more questions than it answered," he replied truthfully with a sigh.

"Like what?"

"Like how you ended up there in the first place, or how no one stepped in. How did no one see what was happening?"

Quayleigh smiled as she swallowed and set her can back down. Reaching over, she closed up his notepad indicating that she didn't want him to take notes.

"My father died when I was five. He was a professor at Clairemont University. His name was Sebastien and all I remember about him is how big his hand felt when he would set it on top of my head. Despite how it looks, I actually came from a well-off family. Then he died in a car accident, and my mother pissed everything away on drugs and drink. When I was seven, she sold our house and we moved into an apartment. It was still in Clairmont, but on the southside, and it was owned by Ezra Nari. When I was eight, she moved us into his house. I got to sleep in the attic. The type with no heating or air conditioning, no insulation, and only a tiny window at the far end, that didn't open. I was given a single mattress and a box for my cloths. I was given whatever they didn't eat. Which usually wasn't more than a few spoonsful, and it was never with them. I wasn't permitted to eat at the table. My job was to clean and to not be a problem. Jenavere was usually so strung out on something she would forget that I was even there. I got away with spending most of my time at a friend's place. When I would come back, it was usually after the cops had left, or they wouldn't find me up in the attic. Not that anyone ever made much of an effort. If they noticed there was a kid or if they thought there was one in the house, she would just lie and say I was with a family member, like my grandfather. He was in an assisted living facility down in Cove-Atal City at the time. Not that anyone ever bothered to verify it. So, no one ever knew I was in danger.

"It's easy to be overlooked when you aren't around. Or if you're really good at being invisible. The few times I was found, I would spend a month in a group home, and then it would be right back into the same pit. With the promises of staying clean and giving me proper care. They would feed me more then, at least until the social workers stopped coming around to check on me."

Mazurka listened to her and nodded his head having heard more than his fair share of stories like this, "Do you remember what lead to the fight that night?"

"Yeah. My mother, Jenavere, for all her flaws, for as deeply broken as she was, told Ezra to wait one more year before selling me to the highest bidder." She looked up into his eyes with a cold, empty stare. "For some reason turning me out at ten was okay, but nine was just a bit too young for her at least when it came to that. Ezra begged to disagree though. He could get rich off a pretty little thing, like me. Sick old fucks from Center Hills would pay a premium for a fur free virgin. His words, not mine. That was the only time, in all my memories of her that Jenavere every stood up for me, and he killed her for it."

"Shit. I had no idea. That wasn't written in any of the reports."

"Yeah, I suspect there was a lot missing from those reports."

"Do you miss her?"

"Jenavere? No." She shook her head, a sad smile gracing her lips as she continued to speak, "That bitch dug her own grave. If anything, she didn't even get what she deserved for the things she did or the things that she allowed to happen to me. If only I had known then, what I know now. And before you ask, she was well aware of things Ezra made me do. It was all part of the agreement she had made with him. The best part though, was the last words she ever spoke to me. Want to know what that was, Detective?"

"I can imagine."

"Really? Do you imagine that she pointed and stared right at me, and with her last gasping breath, said 'your fault. I hate you.'? Mother of the year award to that one. So no, I don't miss her. This is the first time I've even thought of her in years. It actually disgusts me that I can still remember her face, but my father's is long gone. I don't even have a picture of him. Jenavere made sure to destroy them all. She used to say that it was too painful to look at the man who abandoned us. As if he had some choice in the matter. I have an uncle, Roibeárd, my father's brother, he probably has one, but he never wanted anything to do with me, and I've never bothered reaching out to him. Instead, I moved on with my life and all its shit landed me here. Now some dead asshole has a picture of me on his person and it's really hard for me to see that as anything other than perverse. Any other questions?"

"Yeah," he remarked as he looked up into her eyes, "what's your connection to Dylan Kirkwood?"

"Greif," Quayleigh replied, having already fabricated a plausible story in her mind, knowing eventually, someone would ask how they had met. After all, how would the wealthy son of one of the richest families in Turnage City, end up meeting someone like her?

"That doesn't really answer my question," Mazurka replied as he watched her take another drink of her soda.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity, maybe. I went to the same high school as Dylan, and we were friends until he went off to university and I joined the police academy. We stayed in touch for a while, but then we drifted apart. After Francesca died, I tried to reach out to him, but he stopped responding. I figured he would call when he was ready to talk. Then, there he was in your store, and he didn't recognize me. I find it a bit hard to swallow, I guess. The detective in me just can't piece it together."

"Not sure I can fill it all in for you, but as for how we met that part's easy. I used to be a sponsor for a grief support group. Someone I used to know gave him my number, and he called for help. Not much else to it."

"Why do you call him Towel?"

"Towel?" She laughed, "Towel? That's a first! Oh man, wait till he hears that! Towel!"

There was something delightful about her laughter, and for the first time since they sat down, Yechiel saw her as woman, and not just a potential witness.

"Oh, dear…" She giggled a bit more trying to calm herself down. "I'm sorry, Detective, you must have misheard me when I called him Tau. Part of the group is our anonymity. As a sponsor I use my real first name, but even though he isn't officially apart of the group, I had him give me a name he would use to sign up on the website. He told me his name was Tauluthet. I choose to call him Tau. It's how I've always known him. He's been through hell, and his story is what he chooses to share with me. Giving someone your real name, makes it easy for them to take that away. Everything's online these days and it doesn't take much to look up someone's story. It can change the dynamic of the relationship I have with those I speak to. Mind you my goal is to never have to speak with someone again and over the past couple of years, I've separated myself from the group. Tau's the first person I've sponsored in over a year."

"I see. That still doesn't explain why he didn't know me," Mazurka muttered as he took another drink.

"He may have thought that I wouldn't trust him if he was friends with a cop, or it could be that he just doesn't remember you. About two months ago, he called me in the middle of the night, and he was different. Something had happened to him, and I still don't know what. All I know is that his memories are either gone, or so jumbled he can't make sense of them."

"Is that why he's been living at the homeless camp on Caldwell?"

"How did you find out about that?"

"His friend Willy told my partner that he calls him Towel. I can see the connection now. He also had a habit of buying mints and chocolate bars. Evidence was found in his box. I put the pieces together myself on that one."

"How very clever, Detective. I only found out about his living arrangements a few days ago. He's here with me now though. It's why I wanted to speak outside. He's sleeping for the time being, although he should be getting up soon."

Mazurka picked up his notepad and put it back into his pocket. "Was it magic?"

"Was what magic?"

"Whatever messed him up; could it have been magic?"

"That's my guess, but as to the kind, that's not something I've had time to determine," she replied narrowing her eyes in suspicion as if she thought he was about to accuse of her something.

"Quayleigh, how much do you actually know about magic?"

She grinned as she shook her head towards him, "As a Detective, do you really think I'm going to answer that question?"