by Dale Mayer
“Oh, I know,” she said. “I get it. Unfortunately there seems to be a never-ending supply of work for both of us.”
“Isn’t that a sad truth.”
“Do you have a cause of death yet?”
“Broken neck,” he said, “but she was a very sick little girl to begin with.”
“In what way?”
“She has damage to her pancreas and undiagnosed diabetes.”
“Interesting,” she murmured, looking down at the pale white skin of the little girl. “Do you have a time of death?”
“I do,” he said. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it was several days ago. I would say anywhere from forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
She stared at him in shock. “What?”
“Yes,” he said, “whoever had her, kept her for a couple days.”
She stared down at the little girl. “Why?”
“I don’t know why,” he said, “but her body sat in one position, seated, until rigor left,” he said. “We’ve still got a lot of lividity all around her lower buttocks and thighs, where she was sat up.”
“Sat up?”
“My bet would be that she was propped up on a chair or a couch.”
Just a vision of a dead child sitting on a couch with her gave her the creeps. She shot a sidelong glance at Rodney to see the same disgust on his face. “Anything else you can give me?” she asked Smidge. “What about the same mark?”
“Yes, a single line. Other than that there’s not a whole lot here to find,” he said. He looked down at the little girl, then back at Kate and said, “You better find this asshole.”
“I plan on it. I hope to not only find the perp but to add him to your work list,” she snapped. With that, she turned and headed over to the door, removing her gown. She put it into the laundry bin and stormed off. She didn’t care if Rodney followed or not. All she wanted was to be alone. Alone in a world where dead children didn’t stare at her and where loved ones didn’t cry out and reach for her.
As soon as she got outside to the fresh air, she stopped, took several deep breaths, Rodney calling out to her, behind her. She turned to face him. “What?”
He shook his head. “Why did you bolt like that?”
“Temper,” she said easily. “I want to find this guy, so I can wring his neck, just like he wrung that little girl’s neck. He doesn’t deserve more.”
*
Simon sat at the breakfast table, the newspaper open in front of him. He had several monitors set up, facing him. He dealt in commodities, stocks, and real estate. After checking his regular reports, he went back to checking his emails. Always hundreds in a day. But then he had a lot of projects on the go, involving lots of people. He checked his watch, running late again. He tossed back his coffee.
Once dressed, he headed out again without breakfast. He’d tried to sleep, had woken up shortly thereafter, the same little boy screaming in his ears, followed by the little boy the detective had saved, as he’d seen on TV at the hospital this morning, then the little girl he’d found dead. All the time, he heard his ex-fiancée screaming about her nephew. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but his mind was focused on child to child to child.
Somewhere in there was the ghost child of the past; Simon just didn’t understand why now. What was it about these children that kept him awake at night? He pushed open the stairwell door to the lobby of his apartment building and strode to the front door. The doorman called out a good morning. Simon lifted a hand in greeting and stepped out into the street.
He was a couple blocks from Starbucks and a block over from a favorite sandwich shop. Contemplating a breakfast sandwich, he decided to hit his first building project.
His foreman waited for him. He nodded, smiled in greeting. “Wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”
“I said I’d be here,” Simon said. They studied the building and the blueprints.
“We’re ninety percent complete on stage one. It’s going well.”
“Well enough. Let me know when you get the last of the framing done. Then we’ll get on to the next stage.” Content with the progress on this project, he headed down to the next. Passing the Starbucks, he popped in to grab himself a coffee. At the second project, he once again found problems. This one had been beset by problems since the beginning. Some projects just wouldn’t finish on budget.
After seeing the crap of the existing plumbing in this old building, Simon okayed a complete and full redo. The last thing he needed was ongoing plumbing problems on the many new apartments that would soon be here. Better to fix the issue now, before it caused further damage.
By the time he finished with the third building assessment, a refinish of an old apartment building, his stomach was growling. He looked around for a place to stop and to grab a bite. But not really seeing anything that caught his eye, he headed to the fourth project, and he wasn’t alone. He blamed a lack of sleep and food for his dulled senses. He dealt with the problems at the fourth project and turned around to see somebody in plainclothes approaching him. From all outward appearances, he was a cop through and through.
Simon stopped and waited. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been following you all morning, trying to catch you,” he said. “I wouldn’t have to, but you’ve refused to return my calls.”
Simon looked at him in surprise. “So you’ve resorted to following me?”
“We have some questions.”
And, with that, his heart sank, and his jaw firmed. “I don’t have anything to do with anything,” he said, turning his back on the detective.
“You found the little girl on the street and called it in.”
“You guys are a good reason to never do that again,” he said.
“Maybe if you’d called her in earlier, she’d be still alive.”
That was a low blow and wasn’t helpful because that little girl was dead and had been for a while. But it wasn’t for Simon to explain the guy’s job to him. “Nothing more to tell you,” Simon said. “I walked home from a poker game and saw something gleaming in the moonlight, found a little girl. I called it in. That’s the end of it.”
“Where was your poker game?”
He gave him the address. “Just a group of friends but feel free to check it out.” He gave him a bunch of the names of the guys who had been there, carefully avoiding the cheater. So far, no one had said anything to him about that related incident.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll check that out. What are you doing with all these buildings that you keep checking in on?”
Simon stopped, looked at him, and said, “They are my building projects. Is that against the law too?”
The detective just stared back at him, a blank look on his face.
“And how come Detective Morgan isn’t on the case?” Simon asked in a derisive tone. “Or did she get pulled off for being too close to the cases?”
“She is dealing with the children right now,” he said. “Like the little girl you found last night.”
“And you’re not?”
“No, I’m trying to figure out how you came upon the body.”
“Well, I didn’t know it was there ahead of time, if that’s what you’re asking,” Simon said. “And, if you have any other questions for me, call my lawyer.”
“Why do you need a lawyer?”
“Apparently I need a lawyer because of you,” he said. And, with that, he strolled off again. He knew it was the wrong thing to get involved, but how could he not? Every decent human had to have a good side, and he had more than a few good qualities; he just preferred to keep them hidden. And cops had a habit of digging until they found shit that Simon didn’t want them to find. Just another reason to avoid that lovely detective and everything she stood for.
Seeing a lunch spot ahead, Simon quickly dashed across the road and left the detective staring at him. He didn’t care if he followed him all day or not.
>
From the looks of him, he could use the exercise.
*
Ken, that’s who he’d check out first. He looked at the list of first names that he had written down. Ken lived the closest to him. They liked to talk on their private chat on the dark web. He knew Ken was in the downtown Vancouver area, while a couple guys were out in the valley, and one was even in Richmond. But Ken was close. That made him a really good place to start.
But he didn’t have a photo or much else to track him down. Just a few tidbits gleaned from their conversations, where Ken often commented on walking to Stanley Park. It was one thing to have someone by the university, or maybe over by the Richmond International Airport, but close to downtown? That wasn’t cool. That meant the two of them were hunting the same grounds; why hadn’t he considered that before? He tapped his foot angrily on the floor. “Like hell I want competition that close by.”
His notes said that Ken preferred boys. So another problem, as he himself liked boys. He liked girls too, but he didn’t want Ken hunting the same boys.
As he sat here, he got angrier and angrier. If, for no other reason, he should go find Ken, kick him out of the city. Besides he’d be helping the cops now, wouldn’t he? And, if he happened to find Leonard in the process, even better. He studied his list. It was incomplete. A bunch of people in the group didn’t say anything at all. And, of course, it was a small group, which was a little disturbing too because what if other pedophiles were in the area that he didn’t know about?
And, of course, there were. It seemed like pedophiles were on every corner. Now how could he find them? He knew in the US, they tracked pedophiles on a nation wide website, but Vancouver hadn’t adopted that system yet. What the police didn’t realize down south was that they were actually helping pedophiles to find other pedophiles, so they could join together in the hunt for more kids. Or pass around used goods. Although most pedophiles didn’t want to share, and that fear and need for secrecy that surrounded what they were doing often caused them to maintain a very isolated lifestyle.
If he dug deep enough, he could always find court documents that would give more information. But it didn’t always tell you where the defendants were living, after they had been released. And that would be helpful. At most the paperwork would give a town or a city but not street addresses.
Now to see Ken’s neighborhood. He put on his boots and grabbed his jacket and his list and his wallet. He had a pretty good idea of Ken’s favorite haunts. He talked about them all the time. Like a restaurant called Stevie’s Place. He would check that out first. See if he could spot him.
Besides, he was hungry; he checked his wallet and still found twenty bucks cash. That would be enough for a meal. He didn’t even remember the last time he ate more than bread and peanut butter. He frowned, picked up a can of Coke, opened it, and walked out of his tiny apartment, carrying his drink.
He used to live in much nicer places, was raised in a mansion. Getting back to that lifestyle would be impossible without help, like from his family. His sister had helped for a long time but not now. He wondered if she was still as broke as she said she was. Hardly. He should go to her place, just to make sure that she was still living at the same level as he was.
He doubted it, and it was okay if she were a little better off, but he wouldn’t tolerate a ton better. That was just wrong. They were twins, siblings in mind and nature too. He should be doing as well as she was. Sure, he hadn’t gone to school, and he hadn’t gotten a medical degree, like she had. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have something good to offer.
He was just in between jobs now. It pissed him off when people said that he needed an education, that his experience wasn’t anywhere near as good. He knew they were wrong. Experience was worth its weight in gold. And screw all these people who didn’t believe him.
Stevie’s Place was a hamburger joint that stayed open late every day of the week, in one of the worst areas in town. Known for large portions, good food, and cheap prices. He could do much worse than having dinner here tonight. A big chalkboard was outside, with a handwritten menu on it. The prices had jumped. His twenty bucks could still buy him a meal, but it would no longer buy him anything he wanted. And that pissed him off too.
“What can I get you?” asked the gum-chewing young woman with brassy hair, who looked like she’d seen way too much of the world already.
He gave her a half smile. “Just figuring out what appeals tonight.”
“Well, there is the steak burger,” she said. “That’s tonight’s special. It comes with fries.”
He looked at it and said, “That’s pretty reasonable.”
“It is,” she said. “It’s the biggest burger you ever saw. The fries are decent too.”
“Can I get gravy on the fries and pickles on the burger?”
“Comes with the pickles,” she said, writing it down. “Gravy is an extra buck.”
With that decided, he ordered his dinner and grabbed the number that she gave him and headed off to find a table. Stevie’s had tables on the sidewalk as well as inside. The rain had cleared, so he sat just under the overhang. It was warm with his jacket on, but it was a nice place to sit and to watch the world go by. He hadn’t ordered a drink to go with his burger, so he just sat here, sipping his Coke. People came. People went. It was just that kind of an evening.
No children were out now, nothing to put a smile on his face. Everybody was eighteen and over, except for maybe a couple little chicks hanging around the corner. They looked like they were sixteen, maybe dolled up to look like they were twenty. But the look in their eyes said they were heading to forty.
Being a hooker at that age was hard. It sucked the life right out of you, turned your body into an ancient organic waste dump, and took your soul and spit it out in pieces. Good thing he hadn’t had to resort to that kind of a life. Nothing over the age of eleven appealed to him at all. That was just gross.
When he heard his number called, he looked to see a big platter of food set off to the side on the front counter. He got up with his number, took it over, and exchanged his number for the plate, adding ketchup on the side, taking his plate with a fork outside to his table. He stared down at the food in amazement. It was a lot of food; he was lucky if he could eat it all. Maybe he could take it home for tomorrow. Leftovers were gold in his world. He didn’t cook but had a microwave, so that was his lifeline.
He picked up half the burger and took a big bite, munching, as he watched the world go by. Down at the end of the block, he studied a man who approached. Just something about him set his jaw back a little bit. He chewed on his burger, slowly watching the man’s progress. He looked at the girls with interest, talking to them in a cheeky, flirting manner, as if he were some friendly uncle.
Friendly uncles like that, he knew all too well.
They ended up being the kind who coerced little kids into their bed. He should know; he was that kind of friendly uncle. And he recognized another who was just the same.
It wasn’t long before the same guy approached one of the other girls on the opposite corner, laughed, gave her a dollar, for whatever reason because it’s not like it would buy her a coffee. It sure as hell wouldn’t put more clothes on her body. Then the man stepped into Stevie’s.
Watching him, he followed the stranger’s progress, as he walked up to the counter and placed an order, without even looking at the menu. That’s how often he came here.
He slowly worked his way through the first half of his burger, keeping an eye on the man.
The friendly uncle walked over, chose a table closer to the wall but still on the outside patio. Soon the uncle’s order was ready. After he picked it up, he fixed his burger. He lifted the top bun, added ketchup and mustard, extras of both, took the pickle and tossed it off to the side.
Already he knew what kind of a guy this uncle was. Anybody who didn’t eat pickles on his burger was wrong. He watched as the uncle squashed down the burger, picked it up, and gently took
a bite. No big bite for him. No, it was all little tiny nibbles. And why was that? Burgers were meant to be chewed with gusto. Anything less was sacrilegious.
He sat here, eating his fries, as he watched the uncle. Realizing the fries needed salt, he grabbed the salt and gave a liberal shaking of it over his fries and then tasted them. Much better. By the time he finished his fries, the other guy had finally finished his burger.
He looked down at the other half of his burger still on his plate and decided he’d take it back with him. He got up and walked to the counter with it in his hand, and the same girl at the counter gave him a small container. He quickly transferred the last half of his burger to it, thanked her, and walked back outside.
As he passed the uncle, he studied his trench coat that had once been a high-end piece but was now older and had dragged the ground for too many years. He had big shoes that looked to be a little too big, and his pants, instead of fitting nicely at the top, scrunched over. So secondhand clothes all the way. He tried to look nice, but he was down on his luck and had been for a long time.
That’s all right; he understood that too. As long as this uncle stayed out of his fucking way, it was all good.
As he walked past, he said, “Hey, Ken.”
The man froze, then spun to see who’d called out to him. But he was too slow.
Standing at the corner of the restaurant, he watched as Ken nervously wolfed down the rest of his food. Then he sat back down outside with his Coke and waited until Ken finished his meal and got up and left. But he didn’t go the way he’d come. He headed up the block.
He waited until Ken disappeared out of sight, before he rose and followed.
The city wasn’t big enough for both of them. But he needed to know if Ken had Leonard first.
Chapter 13
Saturday, Wee Hours of the Morning
“Hey, we’ve got a new one,” Rodney said into her phone.
Kate groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?” She sat up in bed, realizing she was still half dressed.
“It’s four-thirty.”