Now, Fisher was aware that not all men neglected their responsibilities as parents. A lot them were wonderful fathers and caregivers. While Fisher’s mom was the rock that held the family together, it was her father who had laid a solid foundation. When they were young, her mother wanted to be home to raise her children so that she could instill in them the values her parents had instilled in her. She felt it was important that they had one parent watching out over them at all times.
Until she could go back to work, her father worked two jobs to keep the family afloat. Money was tight, but Fisher and her siblings never felt like they were without anything. They had parents who loved them, and they knew the sacrifice they were making to give them a place they could call home.
“Why didn’t you report the weapon stolen to the police?” Holt asked Munchin, breaking Fisher out of her thoughts.
Munchin looked away. “I… I know I should have, but I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That I was so stupid to lose it in the first place.”
Fisher and Holt had already gone through every inch of Munchin’s apartment, and they had not found any weapons inside. Either Munchin was telling the truth, or he had already disposed of the weapon. At the moment, they did not have any proof of the latter. Also, it would be stupid for Munchin to use a weapon registered under his name to commit such a terrible crime. So, they were going to give him the benefit of the doubt. Only for now.
Holt asked, “And you are certain you lost it at the rally?”
“I had it on me when I went to the protest,” Munchin replied. “But when I got back to the apartment, it was gone.”
“Where did you have it on your person?” Holt asked.
“It was in my jacket pocket.”
“Did you take off your jacket anytime during the rally?”
Munchin thought for a moment. “Yeah, I did. Once.”
“Where?”
“On my way back from the rally, I stopped at a fast food joint to use their bathroom.”
“Which restaurant?”
Munchin thought hard, rubbing his chin as he did. “I don’t remember. All I know is that I drank too much water at the rally, and next thing I know, I had to go badly.”
Holt frowned. It could be any restaurant Munchin had gone to. And even if they knew the exact one, the odds of finding security footage from a month back was going to be next to impossible.
“Why would you take a weapon to a rally anyway?” Fisher asked.
“It’s for protection.”
“From who?”
Munchin hesitated.
“What kind of threat do you expect at a men’s rally?” Fisher said, changing the question.
“Last time we protested, a feminist group showed up and started cursing and throwing stuff at us.”
Fisher remembered that a few times when both groups got together, things got really ugly.
“Who held the rally?” Fisher asked.
“The Men’s Support Alliance.”
Fisher shot a glance at Holt. She did not have to say it, but he knew what she was thinking. A pamphlet from that organization was on Emily Riley’s desk when her body was discovered.
She turned to Munchin. “Who’s in charge of the Men’s Support Alliance?”
FORTY
Callaway entered the restaurant and beelined for a table in the corner. A moment later, Joely came over to him. She was holding a pot of coffee.
She smiled and poured the coffee into a cup for him. “So,” she said, “you find anything on Dean?”
“I’m still working on it,” he said, taking a sip of coffee.
She frowned, clearly not happy with his response.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will get to the bottom of this. I promise.”
The smile reappeared on her face. “I just want to know what he’s up to, that’s all.”
“Where is Dean now?”
“He’s at home.”
“Okay.”
She sighed. “I just have this uneasy feeling, you know?”
“Uneasy feeling?”
“Yeah. I mean, Dean’s been acting extra nice since he came to town. He’s even doing things with Josh.”
“Like what?”
“You wouldn’t believe it. He took Josh to play catch in the park.”
“I think Josh might teach him a thing or two.”
Even though Josh was only six years old, he was already showing flashes of greatness in the sport. The kid had an uncanny ability to hit the ball. He had already been named MVP in a local tournament.
The odds of him making it to the pros were long, but there was no doubt that the boy had talent. With the right amount of guidance and encouragement, who knew how far he could go?
Josh meant everything to Joely. He was the reason she was on her feet for ten hours a day serving customers. She genuinely believed her hard work would pay off, and that Josh would be her ticket out of a life of struggle.
Callaway was rooting for her. If there was ever a person deserving of wonderful things, it was Joely.
“Where’s Josh?” he asked.
“At school. Dean offered to pick him up. My mom usually does it, but today she’s got a doctor’s appointment, so I’ve got no choice but to let Dean do it.” She paused and then said, “It’s nice to have an extra helping hand for a change. It’s been me and my mom raising Josh on our own, and my mom’s health is getting worse with age. She’s got arthritis, diabetes, and a heart condition. It wasn’t easy raising me on her own. I just hate to see her raise Josh too, you know?”
“But?” he said. He knew there was always a but.
She sighed again. “But Dean showing up out of the blue and being supportive is unexpected.”
“People do change,” Callaway said. “You know I have.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “Dean has even mentioned finding a place not far from us so that he could see Josh more often.”
“That would be nice.”
“I guess so.”
“And what’s he going to do for work?” Callaway asked.
“He kind of told me his gig with his last band ended. They weren’t selling any venues, so they didn’t need an equipment manager.”
So that story checks, Callaway thought.
“Dean wants to do something else with his life now. He said he can’t spend his life following rock and roll bands around the country. He’s done it many times now, and he sounds like he is sick of it.”
“So, what is he going to do for money? Do you know?” Callaway asked.
“I think he wants to open a business where he repairs and sells musical equipment. He’s handy with stuff like that.”
“Do you believe him when he says that’s what he wants to do?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The cynical part of me thinks he’ll never change, but the optimistic part of me wants to believe he has matured.”
Callaway thought for a moment. “Either way, I’ll let you know what I find.”
FORTY-ONE
The Men’s Support Alliance was on the top floor of a commercial building. The main floor of the building consisted of an Asian restaurant and a Pakistani buffet. The middle floors had a dental office, a courier company, a printing shop, and various other companies.
Holt and Fisher were now in a small room with no windows, which made the space feel even more constricted.
Tom Manning, the head of the Men’s Support Alliance, was seated across from them. He had curly hair, thick prescription glasses, and a heavy mustache that covered his upper lip.
“I heard what happened at Emily’s Place,” he said. “It’s a sad day for the whole community, but I’m surprised that you are here to ask me questions about it.”
Holt said, “Earl Munchin mentioned your organization.”
“And,” Fisher added, “this was on Emily Riley’s desk when we found her body.”
She placed the organization’s pamphlet before Manning.<
br />
Manning looked at the pamphlet but did not touch it. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he said. “In fact, we have a dozen pamphlets from Emily’s Place.” He pointed to a cabinet next to a wall behind them. “You can take a look for yourself. They are in the first drawer.”
“Why do you have pamphlets from Emily’s Place?” Fisher asked. “And why would they have pamphlets from your organization?”
He exhaled. “I don’t want it to sound like a competition, but it’s sort of like that.”
“What do you mean?” Fisher asked.
“We try to keep an eye on what they—and other women-focused organizations—are up to, and I’m sure they are keeping an eye on what we are up to.”
“Why would they do that?” Fisher asked.
“To understand the emerging issues both sides are dealing with.”
“Sides?” Holt asked with a raised eyebrow.
Manning paused and stared at them for a moment before he said, “There are over two thousand shelters for women in the country. Do you know how many shelters there are for men?”
Holt shook his head.
“One.”
Fisher laughed. “That can’t be right.”
“It’s a fact.” Manning leaned forward in his chair. “We never criticize the good work that is being done at Emily’s Place. We criticize how society is misjudging men in general.”
“Okay,” Fisher said skeptically.
“Did you know that one in seven men are survivors of severe physical violence by an intimate partner and that over forty percent of them are also victims of domestic violence? So, how come there is only one shelter for them in the entire country?”
Fisher said, “But a vast majority of domestic violence cases are perpetrated by men against women. That’s a fact as well.”
“I agree that crimes against women far outweigh crimes against men in a domestic situation, but that does not mean there are no crimes perpetrated against men by women.”
“If that’s the case, then why don’t men report it?” Fisher asked.
“Society makes it harder for them.”
FORTY-TWO
“What?” Fisher said incredulously.
“Men know they will be judged as weak and unmanly if they report being abused by a woman.”
“A lot of women don’t report being raped, either,” Fisher countered.
“Sure, and that’s a shame, but at least they have the resources and a system to help them when they do. That’s why I started the Men’s Support Alliance, to give men a voice so that they don’t have to hide in shame.” Manning leaned back in his chair and said, “Listen, our organization does not hate women. In fact, I’ve been happily married for twenty-two years. I’ve got two daughters of my own. My wife is the breadwinner of the family. She supports me financially so that I can focus my attention on the organization.”
“She agrees with what you do?” Fisher asked.
Manning smiled. “My wife is not as closed-minded as most people. She knows gender issues are not all black and white. There are always two sides to a coin.”
Holt was about to open his mouth when Fisher said, “Men have always had it better than women.”
“Have they?” Manning said. “Throughout history, men—and even boys—have been sent to fight wars. In fact, there are still some states that indiscriminately draft men. Over ninety percent of workplace fatalities happen to men. Four out of five suicides are men. Ninety-three percent of the prison population is men.”
Fisher was familiar with the latter argument. “But the seven percent of women who ended up in prison are there as a result of getting involved with the wrong type of men. They get sucked into prostitution rings, drug rings, money laundering, even bank robberies. Or their actions are a result of jealousy against a cheating husband or boyfriend.”
“True,” Manning conceded, “but the percentage in prison is still overwhelmingly men. And then there are the reports of fake rape claims, paternity fraud cases, prison sentencing that is more favorable to women than men for the same crimes committed. You have to realize that men’s life expectancy is lower than women, and more men are homeless than women. And I won’t even get into how child custody favors women over men.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “We are not against women’s rights. We just want equal rights, that’s all.”
“What can you tell us about Earl Munchin?” Holt asked, getting the conversation on track.
Manning paused and then said, “Earl is harmless.”
“He brought a weapon to one of your rallies,” Holt said.
Manning’s eyebrows shot up. “He did? I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Yes, and he apparently lost the weapon at that same rally.”
Manning’s face darkened. He frowned. “That’s deeply disturbing. We do not condone violence of any kind. Right now, the organization is not recognized by the state. In order to get the proper funding, we have to raise awareness, and any action that could undermine everything we are trying to achieve, we take very seriously.”
“Do you know anyone in your organization who might hold a grudge against Emily’s Place?” Holt asked.
Manning fell silent.
Holt said, “Mr. Manning, we have three dead women. If you care about women like you say you do, then you must tell us.”
Manning sighed. “I know someone who might.”
FORTY-THREE
Callaway was in his office when he heard a familiar sound from outside. Someone was walking up the metal steps.
He took a deep breath and then opened the door.
Hope Parsons was on the other side. She was wearing a long coat that went below her knees. She also wore a sunhat, even though the sun was covered by thick clouds.
When Hope had called, he debated whether to meet her at a coffee shop around the corner or even someplace far away. He knew she was not a threat to him—he could overpower her physically if need be. But her past actions still unnerved him.
After much thought, he decided to invite her into his office. Hope Parsons had contacted him for a job. She was a client, and as such, he would hear her out in his place of business.
“May I come in?” she said with a smile.
“Yes, of course.” He held the door for her.
She entered and then waited for him. He had already made space on the sofa, so he offered her a seat.
“Do you want coffee or tea?” he asked. “I can run down the block and pick something up.”
She shook her head. “Caffeine doesn’t mix well with my medication, so I avoid it.”
“All right,” he said and pulled up a chair across from her.
Hope pulled out the same envelope full of money she had offered him earlier.
Three grand was a lot of money, and Callaway could do so much with it. A part of him wanted to reach over and snatch the envelope from her hands. Instead, he shook his head. “No. I can’t accept your money.”
“You don’t want to take my case?” she said, looking confused.
“I didn’t say that. I just don’t know how useful I’ll be to you.”
She smiled again. “You’re the first person who’s even willing to listen to me. That to me is worth more than what’s in the envelope.”
“How about this? If my service provides you with some closure, then I will accept the payment. Sound fair?”
“It does.” She put the envelope away.
“All right then. Tell me what you remember from that day when your son was…” he let the words hang in the air.
She looked down at her hands. She then shivered as her memories flooded over her.
“I remember it like it was yesterday. The weather was cool outside. I was worried about whether Noah had taken his jacket with him or not.”
“Noah wasn’t home?” Callaway asked.
“No. He was out playing with his friends.”
“Okay.”
“I was cooking dinner.” A smile crossed her face. “It was mac
aroni and cheese with chicken fingers. Noah’s favorite. The TV was on in the back. There was a game show on where people dressed up as funny characters to win prizes. I liked watching it because it helped calm me down. Sometimes if I’m doing something, whether it’s cleaning or doing laundry or anything else, I can get overwhelmed very fast. So, my therapist told me to break my chores into small parts, or to play soothing music in the background, or even watch something fun. Anything to keep my mind focused on the task at hand. I then remembered…”
She paused.
Callaway leaned forward on his chair. “You remembered what?”
“A ringing.”
“What kind of ringing?”
Her eyes darted about the office, searching. “Maybe it was the sound of church bells… I don’t know.”
“But you just said you remembered that day like it was yesterday.”
She took a deep breath. “I remember certain parts very clearly, but other parts are muddled. I can’t explain why.”
“Were you drinking?”
“Drinking?”
“Alcohol.”
She went silent. He waited for her to speak.
“I may have had a sip of wine. It was allowed. Just as long as it wasn’t a full glass, you know?”
“All right, then what happened?”
“The ringing only got louder. But then a voice spoke to me.”
Callaway was almost upright in his chair. “A voice?”
“It was almost angelic.”
“What did this voice say?”
“The voice told me Noah was in trouble. And that I had to go to the lake to find him.”
“How was he in trouble?”
Hope shut her eyes. “I don’t know. The voice didn’t say.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I left the house and went outside. I called out Noah’s name. I thought he might be around the street corner. That’s where he was supposed to be playing. I then went looking for him, and I ended up by the water.”
“Erie Lake?”
“Yes. Our house was a short walk to the lake. Ian thought it might help my condition if I was close to water. Sometimes early in the morning, I would grab a cup of tea and go to the lake. I found the noise from the water very comforting.”
The Broken Mother Page 10