by Grant Pies
“This?” Sam scrunched his face and glanced around the office. “You’re a PI. Catching cheaters is your bread and butter. What’d you think you were getting into all those years ago when Leland took you on? Cuz that old man sure wasn’t saving the world.”
Carter sighed deep and rubbed the back of his neck. “When Leland took the Friedman case, he knew it would be his last. He was too sick to keep working much more. Partway through”—he cleared his throat, swallowed deep and pressed his eyes shut for a moment— “Leland told me he wished he had taken more cases like the Friedman case. Said he’d rather fail at something everyone says is impossible than succeed doing what any dumbass with a zoom lens could do.”
Sam took one final drag of his cigarette before he dropped it in the mug. He nodded and shrugged. “You think you’re gonna solve this thing before that wad of cash runs out? And that wedding ring ain’t worth shit.”
“I’m not taking the guy’s wedding ring.”
“Good. And speaking of money, do they look like a couple that can afford to send their kid to a private school?” Sam ran his hand through his thinning hair.
“Yeah, I wondered that when they mentioned St. Mary. Is it expensive?”
“Expensive enough that I couldn’t afford it. Laura was adamant Ashley went to a Catholic school. We priced out a half dozen or so. St. Mary is up there.”
“Just this morning you were bitching that we only took jobs from the rich. You said you were sick of taking jobs in the Gold Coast. Well here ya go.” Carter pointed at the police report. “Englewood. Happy?” He grabbed his raincoat from the coat rack and threw it around him. “From the looks of it, they’ve got enough case for us to poke around. Shake some bushes.”
“And if we do find something, and that’s a big if, how long you running with this?” Sam snatched his pack of cigarettes off the desk and crammed them in his front pocket.
“Well, if there’s a chance of finding a young girl, I’m not gonna stop just cuz the money ran out, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Chance of finding a body, you mean,” Sam muttered then lifted his flask to his lips and threw his head back.
“You know, you being an ex-cop has its benefits, but it sure left you a cynical, un-motivated, son of a bitch. You can take shots of cough syrup and pop Xanax back at your place. But if you show up here, then you gotta be ready to work a case, no matter how pointless you might think it is. I just took a job, and I plan on getting to work. You coming with me or not?” Carter walked to the front door and stepped out into the rain.
Law Against Miserliness and Other Anti-Razors
Trash fluttered through the streets of Englewood. The stop signs barely held into the ground, twisting and bending with every strong gust of wind. Carter figured there were more homes abandoned here than occupied, the old occupants either dead, in jail, or evicted.
“Most people don’t know what it’s like here, huh? This empty,” Sam said. “You know, my mom and I had this apartment. A one bedroom. I was ten. Maybe more … I don’t know, maybe less.” Sam clenched an unlit cigarette between his lips. It was his car, so Carter couldn’t stop him from smoking. “We had to leave. Quick. She didn’t say it, but it was my dad. I know that now. Probably knew it then, deep down. He’d found our address. Again. It was always ‘pack a bag’ or ‘how ‘bout we spend the night at a hotel.’ She’d try her best to make it an adventure.” Sam shook his head slowly.
“We left that apartment with food in the fridge. Dishes in the sink. TV still on. Just grabbed a bag and bailed. Closed the door and never looked back. That’s what this place is like. This entire place. Like people here left in a hurry and it’s been empty ever since.”
Carter pointed at a house. “This is it.”
The Bishops’ house was wedged between two similar narrow homes. Paint peeled off the structure, just like every other house on the street. Leaves piled up on the front porch, and weeds grew two feet high in the front lawn. The house on either side of the Bishops’ had boarded up windows, with graffiti sprayed across the front façade. The two men exited the car and looked up and down the street.
“Two other houses.” Carter counted the houses that didn’t have boarded up windows. “The others look unoccupied.”
Sam cupped his hand around his cigarette and lit the end. “Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one. Occam’s Razor.”
“And what’s that?”
“I said it back at the office.” Sam looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I think the dad is involved. You telling me he doesn’t seem like someone who could get violent? Fly off the handle?”
“I’m not ruling it out, but I’m not going in with the same blue blood tunnel vision you have either. You’re just looking to rubber-stamp the opinion of your old pals at the CPD.”
“You got something against cops don’t ya? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say one good thing about cops. You ever known a cop besides me?”
“You aren’t a cop, Sam,” Carter said flatly and walked up the three steps to the front porch. The wood bowed under his feet.
“Well … ex-cop.” Sam followed Carter. “You know what I mean. You just need to get to know a few. You’ll sing a different tune.”
Knocking on the door, Carter said, “My dad was a sheriff, he killed himself before I really got to know him. Then my step-dad took over my dad’s job … in more ways than one. My step-brother’s a deputy. They’re all cops back home. And … well, they’re all the cops I need to know.”
“Those were small town cops in bum-fuck Kentucky – no offense.”
“None taken.”
“They don’t count.”
“Big city or small town, it’s no different. You get used to thinking you are the law, and there’s nothing stopping you from thinking you’re above it.”
Claire opened the door to reveal a house that looked no better inside than it did out. Plaster crumbled from the walls and a dust-covered ceiling fan swung in a wobbling elliptical pattern.
“Come in,” Claire grumbled and stepped aside. A cat squeezed past Carter and ran out into the street.
“Oh.” Carter bent down to try and snatch the cat up. “Your cat.”
Waving her hand in the air, Claire said, “It ain’t mine. Just comes and goes sometimes.”
The two men stepped inside. Robert sat at a small round dining table at the back of the house with another man. Carter couldn’t catch what they were saying, but they stopped talking once the two detectives made their way into the house.
“They’re here.” Claire wore slippers and shuffled her feet. Her raspy voice barely reached the back of the small house. Turning to Carter and Sam, Claire said, “Can I get you two anything?”
“No thanks, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” Sam chuckled. “You can’t take the southern boy out of the man, huh?” He looked at Claire. “Nothing for me. But do you mind if I smoke?”
Shaking her head and holding up a lit cigarette, Claire said, “Go ahead.”
“This here is Roy,” Robert said, motioning to the other man. “Friend of mine from work.” Roy wore the same grey, oil-stained mechanics coveralls that Robert wore.
He stood and reached his hand out. His shoulders were broad and round. If Robert hadn’t introduced him as a friend, Carter would have sworn the two men were brothers. Carter shook his hand. It was greasy and smeared with dirt.
No wedding ring, Carter noted. He caught a glimpse of Roy’s cigarette in the ashtray, a Parliament, typically smoked by twenty-year-old women. But it also was one of the few brands with a recessed filter, which made it the preference for people snorting a quick bump of coke.
This was the type of broad assumption the job called for, judging people on the tiny details they either forgot or couldn’t hide. “If we only saw what a person wanted us to see, then we would never truly know them. Everyone hides something,” Leland had repeated at least once a week.
“Shame what happened to
Rose.” Roy lowered his head. “So, you think you’re gonna find anything?”
Carter took note of the surroundings. A stack of bills sat on the counter. Neither Claire nor Robert had even bothered to open them, much less pay them. “What happened to Rose,” Carter repeated. It wasn’t really a question, so much as pointing out Roy’s phrasing.
“Well, uh, you know. She went missing I s’pose.”
“Well, that we know, Roy. It just sounded like perhaps you knew what happened to Rose.” Carter finished his scan of the house and returned his eyes to Roy. His mouth dangled open and his vacant eyes moved back and forth between Claire and Robert.
“No. No.” Roy said. “I – I don’t know nothing.”
“Roy’s a good man.” Robert patted Roy on the back. “Friend of the family. He’s not done anything wrong.”
“Most abductions are done by family members or close family friends,” Sam said.
“Now you sound just like the police,” Robert said.
Pulling his notepad from his back pocket and pacing around the living room, Carter said to himself, “Can’t take the cop out of the man.”
“Well, I’ll be on my way.” Roy gave a slight wave and sheepishly made his way to the door. “That’s the first payment.” He pointed at a few bills on the dining table next to the ashtray. “I’ll get ya the rest next payday.”
“I know you’re good for it.” Robert gave him a nod, then Roy left the house.
“He owe you money?” Sam asked. He always seemed to perk up when money entered the equation.
“Poker night. Once a month we get together after work. I spotted him some money. He thought his hand was a sure thing. Couldn’t lose.”
“The mark of a true gambler,” Sam said quietly.
“Like I said though, he’s good for it. I’m not worried.” Robert folded the cash and shoved it in his front chest pocket. Claire rolled her eyes and puffed smoke towards the ceiling.
“Do either of you have any guesses as to what happened to Rose? Anyone you can think of that would have taken her?” Carter wondered if it was Robert’s gambling that seemed to annoy Claire, or if it was his loaning Roy money.
Claire shook her head. “I figure it’s some sicko, watching people at the school. A sex offender or something. Maybe had his eye on Rose, then saw her walking alone one day.”
“So you think it’s impulse?” Sam asked.
“Maybe … I don’t know. Maybe a bit of both. Our neighborhood’s nearly empty, so it’s not someone around here.” Claire looked at Robert. “He’s got his own theories.” Carter and Sam looked at Robert. He stood, hesitant to speak, looking at Claire, like he was annoyed she brought anything up.
“It’s not a theory. It’s just – those kids at St. Mary’s, they don’t seem too upset one of their own went missing.”
“You think there are students there that know something?” Carter asked.
“Fuck if I know. They just never treated Rose right. Always looking down on her cuz of where she came from.”
“You mean…” Carter tried to find a tactful way of continuing.
“No need to pussyfoot around it, Mr. Carter,” Robert said. “We aren’t the richest family in Chicago, and those kids knew it. Could be they were hazing Rose. Giving her a hard time and something went wrong.”
“Is there anyone in particular you suspect?”
“Pick any of ‘em.” Robert crossed his arms. Outside a police siren wailed, and the house rumbled when the cop car sped through the neighborhood. “They’re all rich assholes.”
“How is it exactly that Rose ended up at St. Mary of the Lake?”
Claire puffed smoke out the side of her mouth. “She got a scholarship.”
“Oh,” Carter said. “That’s quite fortunate. Full scholarship?”
“Mm-hmm. Some lottery system or something.” Claire sucked in on her cigarette. “I don’t really know, based on low income and neighborhood or something.” A cloud of smoke wafted and lingered in front of her face. A second police car rushed by outside. The siren growing louder and then fading into the distance.
“What was the organization that awarded the scholarship? Was it the school?” He waited, ready to write something down.
Claire looked at Robert, and he looked back at her. He shook his head. “I’m not sure,” she said. “It wasn’t the school. A charity I believe. Um … I don’t know. Something about the ocean? You remember?” Claire looked at Robert again.
“Don’t ask me,” Robert snapped. “I never liked her going to that rich kids’ school anyway. She never belonged there. Not with those kids.”
Turning back to Carter, Claire said, “Something with the ocean. Waves or something.”
“Yeah,” Robert grumbled. “Now you know why she had such few friends. Mike was the only kid that would hang out with the poor girl.” Robert shook his head. “Bunch of rich assholes.” He repeated like a mantra, then sat down on the couch. The springs creaked under his weight and he sank towards the middle.
Sensing he was getting nowhere Carter turned to Claire and asked, “Rose’s room? Is it upstairs?”
“We haven’t touched a thing.” Claire opened the bedroom door but didn’t go in, like it was too painful.
“Did the cops take anything? Any evidence?” Sam asked.
“Just dusted for prints.”
Three walls were painted black. The fourth a dark red. A dream catcher hung from the fan’s pull string. Her bed was unmade and clothes lay scattered around the floor. Life frozen in time, a snapshot of a girl’s life, but a picture she wasn’t ready for, or that she didn’t know was being taken.
Sam noticed several chunks of crystals and a bundle of sage sitting in a cluster on the dresser. “Was Rose into crystals?”
Claire lowered her eyes to the floor and nodded slightly. “She likes that hippy stuff, you know. Salt lamps and chakras. Whatever the hell that is. Only normal thing she liked was chess.” Claire pointed at a chess set sitting on another dresser. “Played at school sometimes.”
“She play with anyone in particular?” Carter asked.
“No, she mostly played by herself. Solo chess she called it. Sometimes she’d play on the computer too.”
“Thanks Claire. If you don’t mind, we’ll look around a little and come down when we’re done.”
Claire nodded and left.
As soon as the door closed, Carter said, “Can you watch your tenses?”
“What?” Sam said.
“Was into crystals! You think she likes hearing that? Didn’t they teach you any tact at the police department?”
“Sorry man. You’re right.” Sam nodded. “It’s just, since the department, the last six months, we’ve only done surveillance. Not much client interaction.”
Sam reached in his back pocket and pulled out two pairs of latex gloves. He handed one pair to Carter and pushed his hands into the other pair. The two stepped gently over pairs of jeans, tangled headphones, and textbooks.
Carter picked up random articles of clothing and examined them for blood stains, rips, tears, or anything suspicious. Sam opened the dresser drawers and carefully moved clothes around, looking deep in the back of each one, running his hands along the bottom, checking for letters or cash taped to the underside.
“Teenagers.” Sam shook his head, looking around the small room. “You ever seen one that kept a clean room?”
“I do my best to keep out of teenagers’ rooms. Or kids of any age for that matter.” Carter bent down to look under Rose’s bed.
“C’mon, kids are miracles, man. You can’t say nothing bad about ‘em,” Sam said, unplugging a lamp from the wall and plugging it into the other outlets around the room, checking for false plates. Perfect hiding spots for cash or an external hard drive.
“Well, I don’t know how many more miracles this world can hold.”
Sam peered in the shallow closet, running his hands along the inside door molding. Nothing but dust. “Give me a boost.” He nodde
d at a small movable ceiling tile inside the closet that led to the attic.
Carter crouched down and interlaced his fingers, boosting Sam up. He pushed aside the small ceiling tile covering the attic access. Dust and bits of plaster sprinkled down. He peered his head into the ceiling and shone a flashlight around.
“Anything?” Carter said, still holding most of Sam’s weight.
“Uh … noth – wait.” Sam stopped himself, struggling to pull himself further into the cramped attic space. “Just – ugh – a little – got it!” He pried his shoulders out of the hole and jumped to the ground, clutching an outdated cell phone. They studied it like archeologists looking at a fossil, brushing dust from it.
“Huh,” Carter grunted. “Thing’s old.”
Flipping the phone open, Sam said, “No charge. Think it’s hers?”
“Odds are.”
“Not the old man’s? We’ve seen our fair share of husbands with second cell phones. Wives too.”
“Sure, but not hidden in their daughter’s ceiling.”
After the two finished combing Rose’s bedroom, they made their way downstairs. Robert was still sunk into the couch, a beer in hand. Claire sat at the small dining table scribbling on a piece of paper.
“Find anything?” Her eyes were wide and hopeful.
“We did,” Carter said. Robert sprang from the couch, and made his way over. “A cell phone.”
“A what?” Robert said. Carter looked in his eyes, reading his reaction. Genuine shock as far as Carter could tell.
Holding the cell phone in a gloved hand, Sam said, “Did either of you know she had this?”
“No.” Claire shook her head. “We wouldn’t let her have a cell phone.”
“Lemme see.” Robert held his hand out.
“We’d rather not get any other prints on it,” Carter said, moving slightly between Robert and Sam. “Plus, it’s dead now, so we won’t know anything until it’s charged.”
“But you’ll let us know what you find, right?” Robert asked.
“Of course. We are working for you. You’ll know whatever we know.”