by Grant Pies
He reached apartment 3C. He knocked on the door and took a step back. The peep hole darkened for a few seconds as Brandi, or whoever, gauged who Carter was.
“What do you want?” a woman’s voice spoke through the door.
“My name’s Will Carter. I’m investigating a missing persons case and have a few questions. It won’t take but a moment of your time.” Carter tried to stretch a smile across his face, make himself look approachable or friendly, but quickly dropped the act in fear of just looking creepy. Like Sam, Carter missed the easy surveillance jobs, the ones where he kept his distance from most people.
“Will Carter? Missing person?” The voice said, quieter on the other side of the door. A deadbolt unlatched and then a chain lock slid. A woman opened the door. She had shoulder length blonde hair, messy and matted on one side like she just woke up. One set of fake eyelashes still clung to her eyelid, the other was nowhere to be found. Bits of glitter glistened over her skin and in her hair. She wore tight sweatpants and a large sweater wrapped around her body like a bath robe. Carter would have pegged her for being in her early fifties rather than mid-forties, but he figured she was still out of Sam’s league.
“You a cop?” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“No. Private investigator. Sorry, did I wake you?”
“I work nights.” She nodded, rubbing one of her eyes. “PI? You said something about a missing person?” Brandi leaned against the door, stepping aside and revealing her apartment. The TV was playing some daytime court show.
“Yes. Do you know anyone by the name of Rose Bishop?” Carter held out a photo of Rose. “Fifteen. From Englewood.”
The curtains were drawn tight and a blanket spread over the sofa. A pile of single dollar bills and a few fives were crumpled on the coffee table next to a pack of cigarettes. He may be annoying at times, but Sam sure had good instincts.
“Englewood? I have no reason to go to Englewood.”
“Do you recognize her?”
Shaking her head, Brandi said, “She’s adorable. Why are you asking me about a girl from Englewood?” Carter glanced around the small apartment. From the door, he saw a high school algebra textbook sitting on the dining table and heard a second TV coming from another room.
“She received a call from a phone tied to this address.” Carter held out a slip of paper with the number that called Rose’s phone.
Shaking her head, Brandi said, “I don’t know this number. It’s not my phone.” She shoved the paper back to Carter.
“How old is your daughter?” Carter asked, hoping to maybe catch Brandi off guard with a different line of questioning.
“Uh … seventeen,” Brandi said. “How—?”
“The algebra book.” Carter pointed. “Maybe it’s her number?”
“Jess!” Brandi turned and yelled towards the back of the apartment. “Jess, get out here!” She turned back and smiled at Carter. She looked him up and down, like she had now woken up enough to realize she wasn’t dreaming and was actually talking to someone. “Jess!”
“I’m coming!” a girl yelled back as she came out from a bedroom into the living-dining area. “What?” The girl wore bright fluorescent nail polish that matched her lipstick. Her dark hair had purple streaks and was pulled back into a tight ponytail.
Brandi pointed at the floor next to her. “Here.” The young girl stomped the few steps across the room until she stood next to her mom. “Do you know this number?” Brandi pointed at the scrap of paper, and Carter handed it to Jess.
“Umm, no.” She shoved the paper back at Carter.
Brandi looked at Carter and rolled her eyes at the obvious lie. “What number is that Jessica? And don’t be a bitch.”
Jessica let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not being a bitch, I just don’t know what number this is.”
“I’m looking for a missing girl. Fifteen.” Carter handed Jessica the same photograph he’d shown Brandi. “She had a cell phone, and this number,” he pointed at the scrap of paper, “was one of the numbers that called her. I traced the number to this address.”
“Missing?” Jessica said.
“Yeah.” Brandi crossed her arms. “So, like I said, stop being a bitch and tell the truth.” It wasn’t the way Carter would have questioned a potential witness, but a mother knows how to handle her children … most of the time.
“I … I … yeah, I met her.” Jessica handed the photo of Rose back to Carter. “But she had dark hair. Not blonde.”
“But it was her?” Carter confirmed.
“Yeah, I remember her eye. It was kinda creepy.”
Carter’s heart raced and a million questions flooded his mind, but he held back. He tempered his excitement so as not to overwhelm Jessica.
“When?”
“Maybe three months ago?”
“Where’d you get this phone? That’s not the number for your cell!” Brandi started down her own line of questioning.
Jessica looked down at the floor. “Mel got it for me.”
“Mel! I told you not to hang out with that girl. She’s no good. And her mom’s a slut.”
“Ms. Deslin, please, I just have a few more questions, then I’ll leave,” Carter broke in.
“Fine. Let’s hear the rest of this story!”
“How did you meet? Were you two friends?” Carter asked.
“No,” Jessica answered slowly. “We – we met online. A chatroom.”
“Okay…” Carter said, hoping to coax the rest of the story out without asking specific questions. Leland’s first rule of questioning witnesses: let them ramble.
“It was just one deal,” Jessica said, shuffling her feet nervously, not making eye contact with Carter or her mom. “I bought one. It was for Brandon.” Jessica looked up at her mom. “I thought he would stay with me. You know?”
“Bought what?” Carter asked.
“Oh, I can’t believe you!” Brandi said, connecting the pieces of this puzzle before Carter could. “I told you, if he doesn’t want to be with you, you can’t trick him into staying, honey.” Brandi shook her head, her tone changing to something slightly more sympathetic.
“What did Rose sell you?” Carter asked.
“A pregnancy test,” Jessica answered, but quickly returned her attention to her mom. “He stayed a little longer.”
“Yeah, and when you weren’t showing, he figured out it was bullshit, right?” Jessica nodded her head, her face red. “Baby, you’re better than that.”
“Rose sold you a positive pregnancy test?” Carter confirmed with Jessica. She nodded.
“Mel put you up to this, didn’t she?” Brandi yelled. “That little slut!”
“Shit,” Carter mumbled to himself.
But Other Than That, Was She Hot?
Back at his office, Carter thumbed through the files Sam brought from the police department. The boxes of files had the musty smell of books that had been stored in a garage for years.
Each file had a picture of the missing girl paperclipped to the report. Hundreds of missing girls, lost forever, their fates unknown … at least to most. And these were only a fraction of the cases. Most of the files were bare, no evidence, no notes, no witness statements. Just a one- or two-page police report simply stating a girl went missing, then age, race, height, and weight. No substance.
Carter threw the bare files in a pile. They added nothing to the investigation. He wished that even in their disappearance, these lost girls could serve some broader purpose, help shed light on Rose’s case, but so far that was not the case.
Why such little effort? Carter wondered. How many abusive boyfriends were walking free because of the lack of effort spent on these cases? Or, as Claire Bishop believed, how many random sickos were still prowling neighborhoods, driving slowly past school zones or parking across the street, watching students walk home? Carter tossed another file aside. Another body never tracked down. Another person never held accountable for what they’d done.
Sam came through th
e door, slapping his arms and shaking the rain off his clothes. “Is it ever gonna stop raining? For Christ’s sake.”
“Anything at the address?”
“Yeah, a payphone.” Sam dropped down in a chair across the desk from Carter.
Carter wrinkled his face. “There’re still payphones in the city? Anything else nearby?”
Pulling out a small pad of paper, Sam read off his notes. “Small strip center on South Cicero Avenue. One empty space for lease, a Salvation Army, the local chapter of the Chicago Chess Club, a coin laundry, and a taco place … El Groucho’s Tacos.” Sam flipped the notepad closed and looked up. “In other words, dead-fucking-end.” Looking at the new stacks of files Carter had arranged, he said, “What’s with the stacks? You onto something?”
“Just trying to make sense of these cases. Look for similarities.”
“Any commonality?” Sam propped his wet feet up on the desk.
“Yeah, your old buddies at Chicago PD aren’t very thorough.” Pushing Sam’s feet back to the floor with a thud, he said, “I went to Brandi’s. She has a daughter who bought a positive pregnancy test from Rose a few months ago.”
“No shit?”
Nodding, Carter said, “Yeah, Brandi’s daughter wanted to convince her boyfriend she was pregnant. Make him stick around longer.”
“Oldest trick in the book. What a sneaky girl! Trap a man. Scare him away. Get money out of him for a fake abortion.” Sam shook his head and stood. “Kids, real or fake, can serve many purposes. So that’s what the piles are? Pregnant girls?”
Carter nodded. “It’s not much help. There are a few in here that were pregnant when they went missing. But girls this age aren’t pregnant … usually. Even if they were, it likely wouldn’t show up in the police report, not unless people already knew they were pregnant. But there still isn’t anything relating any of these cases.”
“So, if there’s no connection to another case, then our best bet is to track down whoever the father was,” Sam said.
“Not many leads there either.”
“Maybe her friend knows something. Mike.”
“You read my mind.”
They made their way to the door.
“She hot?” Sam pushed the door open and stepped out into the rain. “Brandi?”
Carter shook his head and smiled as he stretched his arms through his coat. Whether it was purposeful or not, Sam provided Carter with a break from the grim details of these cases. He pulled him back from obsessing too much over what could have happened to these girls.
“She was kinda hot … for a stripper.”
The door to the office closed and they jogged to the car.
“Stripper! I was right! That’s what I call detective instincts!” Sam reached his hand out for a high-five. Carter ignored him, but grinned at Sam’s excitement.
Mike Mason lived three blocks from St. Mary of the Lake. Carter and Sam pulled up to his house shortly after school let out, and waited for him to get home.
“Mike Mason,” Carter read from his notes. “Fifteen. Freshman. Same as Rose. No record.”
“Yet,” Sam said.
“Weren’t you the one lecturing me on how children are miracles and all that?”
“I meant kids, like babies. Toddlers. You’re talking about a teenage boy,” Sam shook his head. “Only thing worse than a teenage boy is a teenage girl.”
“You do know what your innocent babies grow up to be, right?” Carter asked. Changing the subject, he said, “What did you think of that scholarship story they gave us about St. Mary?” Sam just shrugged and picked lint from his shirt. “Well you said you looked into this stuff for Ashley. You ever heard of a scholarship like that?”
“Sure, those schools give out scholarships all the time.”
“You mean scholarships that you don’t apply for?”
“Well I don’t know about that. I’d think most you apply for.”
“I tried to look up what charity would have given Rose a full scholarship to St. Mary. I searched ‘Chicago,’ ‘scholarship,’ ‘ocean,’ ‘St. Mary of the Lake.’ Nothing.”
“So what’re you getting at? You think they’re lying about their money situation?”
“I don’t know,” Carter said, staring at his notes and flipping each page slowly. He glanced up over the dash every few seconds to see if any teens wearing a St. Mary uniform were nearby. “It just stood out to me, that’s all. If some magical charity knocked on my door and said they were paying for my kid to go to private school, I think I’d remember the name of it.”
“Eh, some people get uptight talking about finances. Besides, if they’re doing something illegal to bring in extra money, I’m betting Robert would have bought himself a new TV before sending his daughter to some rich kid’s school.”
“Yeah, their house sure didn’t seem like that of a couple bringing in tons of illicit money.”
“I believed her, you know? Claire. She was acting like the charity name was on the tip of her tongue. Something about the ocean she said?”
“Could just be making it up.”
“Could be telling the truth.” Sam shrugged and made a face, like he didn’t much care either way.
“Hey.” Carter smacked Sam’s chest then sat up straight. “Here, this might be him.”
He pointed down the street at a scrawny boy, backpack pulling his skinny body down. He wore tight black jeans and a hoodie over his standard issue St. Mary of the Lake uniform.
Mike headed down the street and checked the mail at the address Carter had written down. It was a spacious two-story red-brick home, manicured lawn, two topiaries trimmed into round spheres framing the entrance.
“It’s him. Let’s go.”
The two men jumped out of the car and walked towards Mike. Carter stepped in a puddle, soaking his shoe until he felt his sock turn cold and wet.
“Mike Mason?” Carter shouted across the street and waved. The boy looked at the men and took off running, the mail falling to the ground and blowing away in the wind.
“Go!” He sprinted after him and looked back at Sam, who stood still. “C’mon! Go around back!” He pointed at the other side of the house and kept running, leaving Sam in the dust.
The young boy ran straight down the street for almost two blocks before turning down a side street and cutting into the backyard of a house. In just a short distance from his well-maintained home the houses were smaller, surrounded by chain link fences and dogs tied up in the backyards. Carter kept up, his wet shoe rubbing a thin layer of skin off his heel. Mike jumped over short fences and cut through backyards filled with garbage and debris.
“Stop!” Carter shouted ahead to Mike. The boy’s backpack bounced around his frail body, like he was running with a small child on his back.
He looked to his right and saw Sam awkwardly stumbling over fences two houses over. Somehow, he had managed to keep up. Carter ducked under a clothesline and tripped over some kid’s toy left in a backyard.
“Fuck,” he mumbled, recovering just in time to hurdle over another fence. He was gaining on Mike. The boy looked back, his face pale but for his bright red cheeks. Mike made it to another fence, but this one was taller, almost six feet. Not for lack of trying, Mike couldn’t pull himself over.
Carter stretched his hand out, wrapped two fingers around Mike’s backpack and pulled. The two crashed into each other and fell to the ground. Mike struggled and kicked.
“Calm down!” Carter wrapped his arms around Mike from behind. “Just relax!”
“Let me go!” Mike shouted. “Help! Help!” He kicked his heels into Carter’s shin.
Carter knew he needed to calm Mike down fast, or else he would have to let him go. To an unknowing person, this would not look good.
“Relax. Relax,” he said, trying not to yell. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Carter loosened his grip but held onto Mike’s backpack. “Okay, I’m letting you go. I just want to talk.”
Sam met up with Mike and Carter, panti
ng, bent over with his hands on his knees. “I’ve gotta quit smoking,” he coughed.
“No shit,” Carter grunted, still holding Mike. “You going to relax?” Mike nodded quickly.
“This doesn’t help your case, kid,” Sam said, still panting.
“What case? I figured you two were a couple of perverts or something.”
“Rose Bishop,” Carter said. “We want to talk to you about her.”
“Rose? I thought the cops gave up on her weeks ago.” Mike brushed dirt from his pant legs.
“Well her parents didn’t give up just yet,” Sam said. “They hired us to look into her disappearance.”
“So, you’re not even cops?” Mike shook loose of Carter’s grip. On the other side of the fence was a large dog with clipped ears, and a string of foaming drool dangling from his mouth. He barked through the chain link. “And you think it’s cool to chase teens through the neighborhood and tackle ‘em to the ground?” He turned back the way they came and walked away “Leave me the fuck alone!”
“We know about the pregnancy!” Carter shouted. Mike stopped, and Carter shot a look at Sam. The two men walked towards Mike, leaving the barking dog behind.
“Yeah, well what is it that you know?” Mike shot back, calling Carter’s bluff.
“We know that Robert doesn’t seem like the kind of guy you want to piss off, especially when it comes to his daughter.” Carter figured it wasn’t a stretch to assume Robert was the type of man who might jump to conclusions should his daughter get pregnant. Might blame the wrong kid. Or might blame the right kid. Either way, he figured the boy would want Rose’s father to know as little as possible.
Carter tried his best to gauge the boy’s reaction. He looked at his hands to see if he fidgeted. Watched his eyes, but the boy never broke eye contact. He wasn’t sweating or stammering. For a scrawny fifteen-year-old, he seemed confident.
Maybe he wasn’t hiding anything. Or maybe he was, and he knew the truth wouldn’t come out unless he copped to it. Maybe this was the exact reason he got rid of Rose. To leave himself as the only version of the truth.