“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult. Trust me, I want this to be over a lot more than you do. But seriously, I just don’t know what you guys are talking about, so why don’t you just tell me?” I say the words to her, but swivel around to face MC because clearly he’s in charge here. But it’s YC who answers and her words are so shocking I can’t even believe I’m hearing them.
“We know you paid for the condo the girls were found in.”
“What?” I’m completely aghast and then I chuckle because it’s so outlandish that it’s clearly a mistake.
“You think it’s funny?” MC growls at me.
I turn to him. “It’s not funny, but it is ludicrous. How did I pay and why would I do that?”
“We don’t know why you did it, that’s what we’re here to find out. But as to how you did it—you wrote a check for a month’s rent.”
“I did? I wrote a check? That’s not possible. Somebody else must have taken my checkbook. I can’t even remember the last time I wrote a check.” I start to feel relieved because clearly, this is all a big mistake and once they find out who really wrote the check, I’ll be in the clear.
“We know you wrote the check.” MC sounds tired, like maybe he didn’t have much sleep, and he’s been working too hard. But I refuse to feel sorry for him. “You don’t remember writing a check for $1,500 to Summerlicious?”
Another relief. “Sure I do. That is the last check I wrote. But what does that have to do with the condo?”
MC drums his fingers on the table. “Look, we can do this the easy way, or we can make it really difficult for you.” He shoves his fingers through his hair in exasperation and I feel like doing the same. What does Barker’s summer program have to do with this? MC gets annoyed at me when I don’t answer his questions, but he’s just as annoyed when I do, so I’m starting to feel frustrated.
“I’m the one who waived my rights to have an attorney present. Why would I do that if I did whatever it is you think I did?”
“People waive their rights all the time. They think if they call an attorney it’s an admission of guilt.”
“Or maybe it’s just because I’m so obviously innocent and this is all so blatantly a mistake?” I counter.
“We know you took the girls to the condo. Did you think we wouldn’t find that out too?”
“I took the girls to the condo? The only girls I took to a condo were two eighteen-year-olds who were aging out of the system and being given a free vacation. The missing girls are only fifteen. I never met them.”
“So you admit you took two girls to a beach condo in Pelican Bay?”
“Yes, but—”
“You admit it.” MC leans forward so close to me that I can smell his breath, which is extremely unpleasant. Who has garlic first thing in the morning? “You admit you took the girls to the condo. So why not tell us everything else? How you set it up, what the goal was, why you did what you did.”
“But I’m telling you—the girls I took were eighteen-year-olds. Ask Barker. They’re not the girls you were looking for. And I took them because Barker’s intern asked me to take them.”
“Really.” MC says, but it’s a not a question. It’s a statement of his incredulity. “The same intern that we can’t track down because she’s in Guatemala. How convenient.”
“I would say it’s bloody inconvenient—at least for me. But it happens to be the truth.” I swivel around in my chair to face YC, hearing all the bones in my neck crack as I try to turn and face her. “Please,” I say, because I’m starting to feel a little worried. “Can we just get Barker in here? She’ll corroborate everything I’m saying. She asked me to write the check. Well, she didn’t ask me to, but she told me about the fund and when I said I wanted to give money to it, she didn’t discourage me. And it was her intern who asked me to pick the girls up because she’d run out of time.”
I think that she might feel some sympathy for me, but instead she asks me, “What’s your connection to Mrs. Clark?”
“The girls’ foster mother? I’ve seen her name in the newspaper, but I’ve never met her.”
MC bangs on the table and I jump. “Why do you insist on lying to us? Do you think we’re stupid? Don’t you think we might just have done a little investigative work before interviewing you?”
I’m getting a headache, and I want to cry. But I won’t give him that satisfaction.
“She has memory problems, remember?” YC mutters to MC, loudly enough that both he and I hear her. “Maybe we need to jog her memory.” She turns to me. “Do you remember teaching a jewelry class in North County in May?”
“Sure. I do, but we only had a couple of sessions because all but one of them dropped out.”
“Good.” YC smiles at me encouragingly. “And who was the one who didn’t drop out.”
“Ava.”
“And what was Ava’s last name?”
“Oh gosh. I had a roster, but I don’t remember—”
“Then I’ll jog your memory.” MC is back in charge. I swivel to face him. “It was Clark,” he says, as if I’ve known that all along and was just toying with him, “Ava Clark.”
“Right.” I say. And then I hear the significance of the last name. “Of course! She said she was a foster mother. But I never dreamed she was the same one whose kids have gone missing.”
“You didn’t know? But you were quite friendly with her, right?”
“I wouldn’t say friendly exactly. We went out for coffee after the first class. And then again when no one showed up for the second class.”
“And she told you she was a foster parent?”
“Yes.”
“And do you remember a conversation in which the two of you discussed the foster care system?”
“Umm…” I try to remember back to our chats. I know they were lively, but that kind of talk tends to go in one ear and out the other with me. I have to be selective about what I hold onto, and a conversation with a new possible-friend isn’t likely to make the cut.
“Let me refresh your memory. She told you that she thought foster care was a bizarre system because most of the kids come from poor families and it would make a lot more sense to pay birth mothers to look after their own children instead of paying wealthier families to look after other people’s children.”
“That sounds vaguely familiar,” I say, though honestly, I still can’t really place the conversation.
“And what did you tell her?”
“I have no idea.”
“You said something like, ‘I guess it’s to teach them a lesson. They wouldn’t learn anything if they were paid to look after their own kids.’ Is that right?”
I’m still not sure, but I shrug and nod a little.
“And then you said something like, ‘But really it doesn’t teach them a lesson when they get good foster parents like you. It lets them off the hook. If we really wanted to teach them a lesson, we’d put their kids in harm’s way and let them see what happens then.’ Didn’t you say that?”
“Honestly? I don’t recall. I can see how I might have. I mean, I don’t have a lot of sympathy for the birth parents. Sometimes when I listen to some of Barker’s tales, I do think the system seems like it’s broken and it needs some kind of radical fix. But I still don’t see what this has to do with these two girls and why you think I had anything to do with their disappearance.”
“No, I’m sure you don’t. But you see, we also have a copy of the letter you sent to their parents. And the sentiments in it are awfully close to the ones you voiced to Mrs. Clark. Add to that the fact that you asked Mrs. Clark all about the two girls she was looking after, right down to whether they were attractive or not, and we have a pretty solid case.”
And that’s when I start to get scared.
Chapter Twenty-two
Barker, June 22
I’ve been waiting over two hours for them to release Wynn. Every time the steel door opens, I get up and open my arms, ready for her to fall into them, a
nd each time some other person walks through instead, my heart sinks, although I do get a momentary stab of pleasure seeing whoever’s sitting on these hard benches with me jump up excitedly. They said that once they agreed to release her on her own recognizance, it would just be a short while. But I guess their definition of “short while” and mine are two different things.
Poor Wynn, she looked so dazed and confused in court. And who can blame her? Of course, she didn’t do what they’re accusing her of. The whole idea is laughable.
This isn’t the first time I’ve sat here, of course. I lost count of how many times I came here to pick up clients when I worked with Family Preservation. Usually, they were women I’d been working with for months, helping them work through all the tasks they needed to complete to get their kids back, reassuring them that they could make it and be successful parents. Then right when they were about to be reunified with their kids, they’d do something stupid, like get arrested for public intoxication. It was almost like clockwork, and it made me wonder whether they really wanted their kids back. All my hours of counseling them, supervising their visits, advocating with attorneys and other social workers, to say nothing of the endless documentation, it would all go down the tubes. That’s why I decided to leave that side of the department and work with the foster families instead. Not that all of them are perfect, but at least I don’t spend hours sitting at Central Booking like I am now.
Sam has assured me that I can take off as much time as I need to get this all sorted out. I’d like to think he was being kind, but I can’t help wondering whether he just wants me out of the way. After all, it’s my partner who is being accused of kidnapping my clients, and that doesn’t exactly paint me in the best light. But there are certain pieces of unfinished business I’m still going to have to stay on top of. I pull out my smartphone and start checking my work email. It was such a struggle to get the county to issue smartphones to people who weren’t in management, but of course once they realized how much more productive it made us, all of a sudden they couldn’t hand them out fast enough. I scroll down and read that Cindy’s likely to be out on sick leave for an extended period of time. Poor Sam, now he’s down two people, both senior social workers. It doesn’t say what she has, so I start composing a tactful email to ask what’s going on. It’s probably related to her elderly father, though I hope it’s not about her or one of her children. I’m engrossed in writing the email when suddenly I feel a little tap on my shoulder.
“Barker?” I jump up to see Wynn standing at my side, looking about as forlorn as a person can be.
“Honey, I’m so sorry,” I open my arms ready to embrace her, but she just looks at me and says, “Let’s get out of here.”
It seems to take all of her strength just to climb into the cab of the truck and my heart goes out to her. “I bought your favorite ice cream,” I tell her, hoping to cheer her up. “We can eat the whole tub in one night if you want.”
“You think that’s going to solve this?” She looks at me like I’ve gone mad.
“Of course not. I just wanted you to have something to look forward to when you got home.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and cranky”
We drive away from the jailhouse in silence.
“Barker.” She turns to me. “What’s going on?”
I feel my stomach give a little jolt. “What do you mean?”
“Why is this happening to me? None of it makes any sense.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it.” I’ve always been able to comfort Wynn when she needs it, and reassure her. With one hand on the steering wheel, I pat her knee. “Don’t worry.”
She turns her whole body in the seat, practically coming out of her seat belt. “What is wrong with you, Barker? They’re accusing me of kidnapping two fifteen-year-old girls. They implied there might be other charges as well, even more serious, though God knows how anything could be worse than that.” Obviously, no one has told her about the photographs. I wonder why they withheld that part from her. “Did you at least get me an attorney?”
“I don’t think we’re there yet, sweetheart. Let’s just get home, you can relax, and we can talk. I have some ideas about how we should proceed with all this.”
She turns back to face front. I glance over, see that she’s looking out the window into the distance, and wonder if she’s imagining what it would be like to lose the freedom to drive down a road lined with Coconut Palms, blood-red hibiscus and spreading oaks dripping with Spanish moss. But it won’t come to that, I know it won’t.
When we pull up, Queen and Latifah come racing to the door to greet her, their tails wagging furiously. For the first time I see a smile on her face as they lunge toward her, Queen jumping up and down and Latifah standing on her hind legs and wrapping her front paws around Wynn’s waist.
“Did you miss me girls?” Wynn leans to the left to pet Queen at the same time as she runs her hand through Latifah’s thick fur.
Once inside I make her a cup of strong tea and cut a large slice of pound cake to go with it.
“Tea time!” I announce. Wynn has told me repeatedly that when she was a child her Mom always said, “There’s no problem great or small, that a cup of tea doesn’t help solve.” Even in ninety-degree weather. She washes up and we sit at the kitchen table.
“Now,” I command. “Tell me everything they told you.”
“First of all, they told me the girls had been found. But they didn’t tell me anything else about them. They must have told you what happened?” She cocks her head to one side, like Queen does when she wants to know why I haven’t given her a second treat after her walk.
“I only found out the girls were safe yesterday morning, just a few hours before they arrested you. Someone got the janitor to check up on the apartment. Before that, the only thing I knew was the other day when Gordon called me into his office. He said that someone had sent pictures of Kallie and Michaela to their moms, and he showed them to me.”
“He had pictures of the girls? And you didn’t tell me?”
“Honey, the whole thing is confidential. You know I can’t tell you about my clients and Gordon told me not to tell anyone about the photos. He showed them to me because it was part of his investigation. It’s not like I knew they were going to arrest you and you’d need to know any of this. I figured when they found the girls, then I could tell you everything because it would be in the papers and everyone would know.”
“Why did they send pictures? Were they trying to get a ransom? Did they think someone had money to pay them?”
“No. They wanted to shock the birth moms. The pictures were…well, I guess I should tell you even though he told me not to. The pictures were sexual. I think whoever took them, may have been prostituting Kallie and Michaela.”
“What?”
“I don’t know for sure. It might have all been fully consensual, but even if it was, since the girls are only fifteen, it’s statutory rape at the very least. I haven’t had a chance to see the girls yet, so I don’t know what happened. Now that they’ve arrested you, I don’t know whether I’ll be able to talk to them. But if I can’t, I’m sure Gordon will keep me in the loop.”
“Is Gordon the one who arrested me? The mean guy?”
“No. I guess because we’re friends, he sent someone else. He didn’t question you when you were in jail?”
“It was the same two who picked me up, the mean guy and the younger woman.”
“They must have told you their names.”
“There was no way I was going to remember them, so I didn’t even try.”
I had a feeling this would happen, that Wynn wouldn’t be able to hold on to important details. She takes a big gulp of tea and picks at the cake.
“Wynn, did they tell you why they thought you were connected to all of this?”
“Apparently I took the girls to the condo.”
“You…but you never said anything to me? Why on earth wouldn’t you have ment
ioned it to me when you knew they went missing?”
“I didn’t know it was them. She said I was taking two eighteen-year-olds who were aging out of the system.”
“Who’s she?”
“Parminder, your student. We have to track her down. She can sort everything out for us.”
“Yes, we definitely need to talk to her. Mrs. Clark also told me that Parminder was the one who took the girls. But we have to wait until August to get in touch with her. She’s volunteering somewhere abroad for the summer, and we don’t know where, or with whom.”
“But she must have a phone number or email?”
“The only email address I had for her was her university one. I emailed her but it bounced back. I guess she switched her phone off if she’s out of the country. But she’ll be back for the new semester, so at least we know we can talk to her then.”
“But August might be too late! She might be the one who set this whole thing up! She called Mrs. Clark, and she called me. She knew you were out of town. And then she heads out somewhere that no one can contact her? There’s no way all that’s coincidence. Surely the cops can see that and find her?”
“I’m sure they’re trying. They were actually more focused on Mrs. Clark originally, thinking somehow she’s involved.”
“Yeah, they brought her up in my interrogation.”
“Interview, sweetheart, you’re not in Guantanamo.” I try to lighten up the mood, even though I know this is heavy, serious stuff.
“It sure felt like I was. You have no idea how much they were pressuring me to confess.”
“What did they say about Mrs. Clark?”
“They asked about a conversation we had. Of course I couldn’t remember any of the details, but she said I made some weird comments about how birth moms need to be taught a lesson. Which is pretty fucked up, coming from her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she was a birth mom who lost her own daughters. I mean, I know it probably wasn’t her fault—”
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