Murder Board

by Brian Shea

  “You didn’t kill two people and hold him hostage. His father set in motion something that was out of your control. And besides, there’s a good chance she doesn’t even know.”

  “What do you mean doesn’t know?” Kelly asked.

  “If she was snatched up by this group before the standoff, which you indicated was a possibility, then she probably wouldn’t have heard about it. Groups that run girls like her isolate them from any and all connection with the outside world. This increases their psychological dependency.”

  “That girl is about to go from one nightmare into another.”

  “At least she’s alive.”

  “Not much of a life if you ask me.”

  “You’d be surprised at the resilience of the human mind. I see it every day. Kids pulled from some of the worst conditions imaginable are able, with help, to go on to lead productive lives.” Barnes put her hand on his arm. “Listen, Mike, it’s your show to run, but I say we start with Sabrina. If nothing else, it may give you some closure.”

  Kelly hesitated. Never one to back down from a challenge, he conceded. “Fair enough.” He opened the door and softened his demeanor. “Sabrina?”

  The girl’s head barely moved, but her eyes flickered upward in a weak acknowledgement.

  “Would you come with us?”

  Sabrina stood without speaking. Her shoulders were slack, and her posture was hunched. Defeated, the teen slinked behind as they guided her to an interview room down the hall.

  “Can we get you anything else to eat or drink?” Barnes asked as they took their seats.

  Sabrina shook her head.

  “We’re here to help you. Anything we discuss here is to ensure the people responsible for your circumstances aren’t able to hurt you or anyone else again,” Kelly said.

  “You can’t stop them.” Sabrina’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “We can and we will.”

  “Do you know how long I’ve been trapped in this life? A long time. Where were you?”

  “Maybe you could start by telling us how you ended up with this group?” Barnes asked.

  Sabrina shifted her attention to Barnes. She stared blankly and shrugged.

  “How long have you been there?”

  Another shrug.

  “I want to go home. My family lives in Jamaica Plain. I can’t imagine what my parents will say when they see.”

  Kelly felt his stomach knot. He sank a bit lower in his seat. Now was definitely not the time to tell the damaged teen her mother was dead and her father was serving a life sentence at Walpole for the murder.

  Barnes came to his rescue. “We’re working on that.”

  Sabrina flopped forward, resting her head on the table. She sighed loudly as her face disappeared under the sprawled tendrils of her dark wavy hair.

  “I think she needs some rest,” Barnes said, standing. “Why don’t we get you back to the couch room?”

  Sabrina grunted softly and stood up. Her hair still covering her face, she made no effort to clear her view as she walked out. They returned her to the room. The other girl wasn’t ready to be interviewed. She was passed out, drool pooling on the armrest. Her story would have to wait.

  The short conversation with Sabrina confirmed that she was the daughter to Trevor Green. Kelly pulled the missing person report and reviewed it. She’d gone missing a few months before the standoff. It looked very similar to the report for Faith Wilson. Tabitha was the only other underage girl in the group, but it was likely the other girls were brought in at a younger age. The oldest was twenty-two. She was also the only one with a criminal record. Minor stuff. A couple pinches for prostitution, petty larceny, and one assault charge.

  “Ready to pull Tabitha?” Barnes asked.

  Kelly nodded and the two returned to the room where the teenager was being held. “Tabitha, come with us.”

  The girl hesitated, looking to the older girl for approval. Kelly saw Ainsley reach over and give a quick squeeze of Tabitha’s wrist. It was part motherly and part something else that Kelly couldn’t quite place.

  “How are you holding up? We’ve got somebody bringing pizza in a bit if you’re hungry.” Barnes guided the girl out of the room. Her words and mannerisms were a fine balance of compassion and professionalism.

  Tabitha was escorted into a regular interview room set with three chairs and a table. Barnes directed the girl to sit and she pulled her chair alongside, leaving Kelly alone on the other side of the table. Again, he quickly understood the purpose. She was to be Tabitha’s ally and proximity would reduce the invisible barrier.

  “First, I want you to understand what happened to you wasn’t your fault. The people who do this are masters at manipulation. Right now, you may feel disoriented and confused as to who you can trust. I hope you come to see me as somebody who’s got your best interests at heart.”

  Tabitha cast her eyes down at the floor.

  “We’ve been looking hard to find you.”

  “Why? Ain’t nobody cares about me.” She spoke without looking up. Her words came out in a mumble, but the underlying anger was deeply rooted. “I know that skeezer of a foster mom didn’t. You know she’s running weed out that house? Good job DCF checking that piece of work out before sending me in.”

  “We weren’t part of that, and I’m sorry the system failed you. I work with some amazing DCF investigators who can make sure something like that doesn’t happen again.”

  “Talk is cheap, lady.”

  “Maybe I can prove my worth to you. Help me get the people responsible for putting you in that house.”

  Tabitha’s eyes widened and she lifted her head. “Are you outta your mind? You want me to snitch on those people? I’d be dead in a day.”

  Kelly saw Barnes start to say something and then pause. He could see she was working to select her words carefully. It would be detrimental to claim the people couldn’t hurt the girl. Barnes knew firsthand how close she’d come to finding out the extent they’d go to protect the organization. A group willing to kill a cop was not to be taken lightly.

  “I know they’re dangerous. I won’t make any promises except that my partner and I will do everything in our power to keep you safe.” Barnes scooted closer to the girl. “What’s to say they won’t hurt you anyway?”

  Tabitha’s tough exterior fell apart and her bottom lip quivered. Her eyes started to moisten, and the girl fought to keep her composure.

  “Let me help you.”

  The tears fell freely now, and she covered her face with her hands. “I never saw who was in charge. The only time they let me out I was given something. It messed me up. I couldn’t point out any of the people that are in charge,” Tabitha said between choked sobs.

  “Take your time. Maybe something will come back to you.”

  The girl shifted emotions, going from despondency to anger in a blink of an eye. “They showed me the picture of a dead girl. I’m not going to end up like her.”

  “What dead girl?” Kelly jumped in, acting on a guttural reflex.

  Tabitha looked over at him as if it were the first time she’d seen him or realized he was even in the room. “Some girl in a ditch.”

  Kelly backed off and let Barnes resume. “Can you describe the man that showed you this picture?”

  The girl shook her head. “They had me spinning. All I remember is he had dark hair.”

  “Is there anything else? Maybe some tattoos or a unique facial feature.”

  Tabitha said nothing and only offered a weak shrug as an answer.

  “It’s okay. Maybe something will come to you later.”

  “I want to go back.” The girl pushed back in her seat, distancing herself from Barnes, and rebuilding her tough façade. “I’m tired.”

  Barnes stood. “Sure thing. We’ll bring you some pizza when it gets here.”

  Tabitha made her way to the door, this time leading the detectives. She stopped before opening it and turned. “He spoke funny.”


  “Spoke funny?” Barnes asked. “How so? Like a lisp or speech impediment?”

  “No. It was an accent. Never heard it before.” She turned the handle. “But I’d remember it if I ever heard it again.”

  They walked Tabitha back to the room with the other girls. She stood next to Kelly as Barnes moved to open the door. It was quiet in the SAU office. Kelly heard a whisper. At first he wasn’t even sure it was a voice. Then in the silence the words became clear. “She’s one of them.” He thought of Jimmy Smokes’s wisdom about whispers from the dark. A chill ran down his spine, but reason overrode, and he quickly realized the words’ origin.

  Barnes opened the door. From her benign facial expression, he concluded she hadn’t heard the words. He looked to Tabitha. She kept her eyes focused on the room or the person inside it.

  He replayed Ainsley’s grip on the girl’s wrist. Now coupled with her whispered message, Kelly was able to place the look given to the scared teenager. Threat.

  Barnes scanned the list of names. Kelly interceded. “Veronica, would you please come with us?”

  The three proceeded to the same interview room as before, but this time Kelly led. He opened the door. “Have a seat over there.” Kelly pointed to the isolated chair he’d just left. He felt Barnes give a sideways glance.

  Ainsley entered and took a seat. Barnes stepped to enter, but Kelly subtly blocked her path. “We’ll be back in a minute. Can we get you something to drink?”

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  Kelly closed the door and locked it.

  “What gives?” Barnes asked.

  Kelly put his finger to his lips. “You didn’t hear her?” he asked, maintaining a hushed tone.

  “Hear who?”

  “Tabitha Porter whispered under her breath just before reentering the room.”

  “What?”

  “I thought I was hearing things, it was so quiet. But she said, ‘she’s one of them.’”

  Barnes thumbed toward the locked interview room housing Veronica Ainsley.

  Kelly nodded. “I saw something in the room when we first brought Tabitha out. Ainsley gave a quick grab at her wrist. It was a threat. Probably a warning about what would happen if she talked.”

  “Well, this just took an interesting turn.”

  “There’s another thing that’s been bothering me about the Faith Wilson death.” Kelly pulled out his notepad and scrolled through his crime scene notes. Marked with an asterisk was a line denoting the depth of the grave. He picked up the phone.

  “Hey Ray, it’s Kelly. Are you available?”

  “I’m collecting some sweet overtime thanks to our two-body gravesite. What’s up?”

  “I’m up in SAU. We just hit a house connected to the Faith Wilson case. Pulled out five girls.”

  “Get anything good?”

  “Not sure. We’re going to find out in a minute. Did you finish processing the shovel?”

  “I did. Actually, finished fuming it an hour ago. I ran a few DNA swabs over it beforehand too. May take a while on that, but I did pull two partials.”

  “Do you think the partials are complete enough to make the necessary points for comparison?”

  “I’d say yes.”

  “Well your yes is a guarantee.”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve got somebody you’d like me to compare them to?”

  “I do. Veronica Ainsley. She’s in the system.”

  “I’ll get right on it. So, what is it about this person that makes you think it’s our killer?”

  “Something about the grave that’s been bothering me ever since that day.”

  “Please, do tell.”

  Kelly heard the challenge in the seasoned crime scene tech’s tone. “The depth was wrong.”

  “What do you mean wrong?”

  “It was cold, but not extremely so. And definitely not typical for mid-March. It actually rained during the night and that left the ground soft. Easier to dig.”

  “Okay.”

  Kelly heard the tone change from challenge to interest. “So, why was the body exposed? Why would anybody dig a grave so shallow?”

  “You tell me, Detective.”

  “Because our digger was weak. A person physically not capable of digging deep enough after hauling a limp body from the T tracks to the dirt lot.”

  “That’s a good theory.”

  Kelly was taken aback at the compliment. “I’m about to put it to the test.”

  Kelly hung up the phone and saw Barnes staring at him, speechless. “Ready to interrogate a homicide suspect?”

  “I’ll follow your lead.”

  30

  “Veronica, are you comfortable? Is there anything you need?” Kelly asked.

  “I’m straight.”

  “Not to worry, we’ve got pizza on its way.”

  “Like I said, I’m good.”

  Kelly studied the girl’s body language. Unlike Tabitha’s attempt at toughness, the girl sitting across from him was not acting. She carried herself with an edge that could only be attributed to being brought up on the street. Those hard lessons forged certain telltale characteristics, and Ainsley bore them all.

  “Okay then. I know we met when we brought you in, but just to reintroduce myself, I’m Michael Kelly, and this is Kristen Barnes. We’re detectives.”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes. “And let me guess, you want to help me? You’re going to get the evil men who did this to me?”

  Her tone was thick with sarcasm. Kelly refrained from playing his card. “I didn’t finish. I’m with Homicide.”

  Kelly let the word float in the air. He watched as the girl shifted. It wasn’t an overt change of position, but was enough movement to catch his eye. She was nervous. The sneer was replaced with worry. The realization of his purpose in the room had been established. The girl was well aware of her situation now.

  “I don’t know about no dead girl.” Ainsley folded her arms triumphantly.

  “I never said anything about a girl.”

  She released her arms. But quickly tried to cover her mistake. “What else could it be? Everybody’s talking about it.” She sucked her teeth and broke eye contact. “You D’s are always the last to know.”

  “I’m sure you’ve been through a lot over the years. I can’t even begin to imagine the things you had to do to get to your position.” Barnes leaned in.

  “What do you think you know about me? What are you talking about position?”

  Kelly didn’t interrupt and trusted Barnes was exposing something he didn’t understand.

  “To be Bottom. No way you get there without going through hell first. I know plenty of girls in the game. And to get out of the stable is hard.” There was an honesty in Barnes’s eyes. She wasn’t patronizing the girl.

  “Like you know.” Ainsley played with a loose thread on her jacket sleeve.

  “Detective Kelly works with the dead. I work with the living, in particular, girls like you and the other four waiting on the couches back there. So, while I may never have personally experienced the horrors you have, I do have many years of dealing with those survivors who have.”

  The girl said nothing. But at least she didn’t continue her verbal resistance. It was a step in the right direction.

  “I think you need to consider the situation you’re in. The only way we can provide you any assistance down the road is if you come clean with us.”

  “I don’t know what it is you think I did, but you’re wasting your time.”

  Kelly opened the case file he had brought in with him. It had expanded exponentially in size over the course of the past five days of investigation. He slid out the picture of Faith Wilson, her school photo, and slid it across the table. Kelly said nothing.

  She glanced down and then smirked. A poor attempt at masking her recognition and a classic case of overacting. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

  Kelly said nothing. He just sat and waited. Silence was his weapon o
f choice in this round of the match. Like inside the ring, an interview yielded best results when strategy got applied.

  The void created in the quiet of the room begged to be filled. Whoever spoke first lost. Kelly didn’t move or fidget. He sat expressionless in his seat. Minutes ticked by. Kelly had done so many three-minute rounds over his years, he could gauge time in that increment. Two rounds had passed. Six minutes of silence. His opponent was weakening, and during the second round, Veronica Ainsley started to gaze down at Faith’s picture with increased frequency.

  “So what if I’ve seen her? Is it a crime to know somebody?”

  “That depends.” Kelly leveled his eyes on the girl seated across from him.

  She sighed loudly in dramatic fashion. “Depends on what.”

  “The last time you saw her.”

  The girl slid the picture back toward Kelly. He noticed open blisters, red and irritated, in the web of both of her small hands. Flesh unaccustomed to physical labor bore testament to toils. Like digging.

  “Those look like they hurt.”

  She retracted immediately as if she’d touched a hot stove. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

  “How’d you get them?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Well, your job sucks.”

  “Sometimes it does, and sometimes I get to help a young girl killed by some heartless thug.” Kelly slid the next picture across to punctuate the statement. This one depicted the same girl, one year later, face-down in a shallow grave. Dead.

  In boxing there’s a time to commit fully to ending the fight. In an interrogation the term is called pulling the trigger. Once committed, there is no turning back. The point of no return.

  “Have you ever heard the term forensics before?”

  She shrugged, still hypnotized by the image captured in an 8x10 glossy print.

  “CSI ring a bell?” Kelly hated using the television show as his reference, but in the years since it started airing, followed by its million spin-offs, the general population related all criminal investigations to those three little letters.