The Bear Trap

by Grant Pies

  Chuckling, Sam said, “Is that what you call existing? An empty apartment in an empty building.” He tossed the baseball into the air again.

  “For a corporation, yeah, that’s what I call existing. It may not be a shiny storefront, but they’re filing taxes.” Carter pointed at his computer screen. “They exist. Same with all the other companies in that building.” Turning to his notepad, he continued, “And what’s more is each of these companies are listed as members of each other’s corporations.”

  “That’s legal?” Sam said.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Sam tossed the ball again. “It’s like corporate incest.”

  “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

  “So, then what?” Sam held the ball and sat up. “Money laundering? Tax evasion? Some mail order scam?”

  “I dunno,” Carter said, his eyes scanning his computer screen from left to right and top to bottom. He tried to concentrate on BioLife, but the black zip tie at the office kept creeping into his mind. And not just the zip tie—the closet, the camera. He turned it all over in his mind, not really knowing if finding the place empty was good or bad for Rose.

  “Okay.” Sam stood and paced the room, flipping the baseball from one hand to the other. He pulled the blinds to the side just enough to peek out to the parking lot. No vans. “But what does this have to do with Rose? The company that hired Rose’s biological father fifteen years ago may or may not be involved in something shady? Big deal, that’s like half the businesses in this city!”

  Sam turned to the other bed. All their records scattered over the floral-print blanket. He fumbled through the records with no real process.

  “A padlocked closet, a zip tie, and a hidden camera is a touch more than just shady.”

  “I’ll give ya that. But there’s nothing tying Rose to that place. Not really.”

  “It’s all we’ve got,” Carter sighed and ran his hand through his hair, careful not to brush too much against the sutures put in by Dr. Abbott. “It’s the only lead so far. If we could find this guy—you know, watch him, talk to him, whatever—then we could look deeper or move on. I just need to see him. Look him in the eye. Get a read on him.”

  “You see the pattern? You want to find the man who got Rose pregnant. Check. Then you move the goal post. Get these records.” Sam flung his hand at the papers scattered over the bed. “Check. Look over the records. Check. Find a name for her biological father. Done. Now you want to talk to the guy! It’s never ending, Carter. It’s a hole that just goes straight through. You’ve got to give the police time to question Orcheck. It’s only been a few days. He’ll crack. Shaker will call with an update any day now.”

  “It’s not a pattern, it’s a desire to solve something, to do something that actually matters. Save a life.”

  “God, that old man did a number on you…” Sam shook his head. “I knew the guy was a little off, making you study gang signs and ink, and memorizing every gun ever made, but then he started filling your head with conspiracy theories about Beth Friedman and the cops.”

  “Don’t see how it’s any different from your boys in blue filling your head with shit. From day one at the academy you’re told how brave you are, how noble your job is. It’s no wonder you can’t imagine they’d do anything improper. They’ve got brainwashing down.”

  “It’s a brotherhood. A culture of respect.”

  “It’s not a culture, it’s a cult.”

  “Whatever.” Sam stopped before things escalated even more. “I’ve said from the get-go there is no life to save here.” He pushed more records around on the bed, like a kid shuffling a deck of cards just by mixing them all around. “I assume these weren’t in any order?”

  Still not looking away from his computer, Carter said, “Does it matter now?”

  “I guess after what these records have been through, keeping them in order is the least of our worries.” Sam shoved a cigarette in his mouth.

  “Ah!” Carter snapped. “You agreed.”

  “Relax! I’m not gonna light it.” He looked out the window. “Looks like the rain might let up soon.” Mumbling to himself, he said, “Miller. Miller.” He ran his hand down a sheet of donor records then slid it across the bed. He held a second sheet in his hand and his eyes narrowed.

  He grabbed a pen from the nightstand and circled something on the sheet. He picked up another, this time scanning it faster, more purposeful. He pushed that sheet aside. The paper fluttered back and forth through the air and rested on the stained floor.

  “You ever read through all these records?” he asked. He gripped another and circled something on that page as well and set it with the other. The next sheet he picked up he circled two places. Each scratch of his pen was more purposeful.

  “Well, I looked at them to find Claire Bishop’s donor. Same as you.”

  “No, I mean have you looked at them since? After we had James Miller’s name?” Sam circled another sheet.

  “No. Why?”

  Circling another sheet and setting it in the pile on the nightstand, Sam said, “Cuz his name’s all over these records.”

  He handed Carter the stack. The name James Miller was circled at least once on each sheet.

  “Holy shit. This guy was busy, huh?”

  “I’ll say,” Sam said, still sorting through each page of records.

  Carter joined in, pushing any records that didn’t have James Miller’s name on them to the floor. In a matter of minutes, Carter and Sam had gone through them all.

  “That’s…” Carter pointed at each circle on the pages and counted. “Twenty-four donations.” He sat the stack of papers down on the small round table next to his laptop.

  “Twenty-four times in four years,” Sam said.

  “That we know of at least.” Carter pointed at the mess of records scattered on the floor. “We’ve lost maybe half of them. So maybe it’s closer to fifty donations.”

  “Why that many?” Sam dropped back onto the empty bed on the other side of the nightstand. He grabbed the baseball and threw it into the air. “Money?” He caught the ball and threw it in the air again, his unlit cigarette still dangling from his lips.

  Shaking his head, Carter said, “I don’t think so. It seems he was employed by BioLife, making decent money.”

  “You gotta see what’s coming in and going out before you rule out money troubles,” Sam said. “You could have child support, alimony, gambling debt. You name it. A good salary can disappear in a flash. Trust me.”

  “Oh, I trust you’re an expert on that,” Carter said.

  “Maybe he got off on it. Well, I mean he clearly ‘got off’ but I mean—"

  “I know what you mean. Like an exhibitionist or something?”

  “I’ve heard of weirder things.”

  Headlights outside shone in the large window of their motel room, casting stretched shadows on the back wall. Sam froze and clutched the ball in his hands. Carter turned and watched the curtains, like he could see straight through them.

  Under the rain and thunder, a car engine rumbled. After a long minute, the car reversed, its lights shrinking, the shadows on the wall moving, and then it pulled away from the motel.

  Carter exhaled, realizing he was holding his breath the whole time. He looked at Sam, still frozen and wide-eyed. He also exhaled, his chest sinking inward. Then he threw the ball in the air again and continued.

  “Like there was this guy we busted. Some rich asshole. He’d dress in rags and get all dirty. Not bathe for a week. Then he’d go down to this homeless shelter over on Canal Street—"

  “I get it,” Carter interrupted. “I don’t need to hear it.”

  “It was weird is my point. My other point being, this Miller character could be weird too.”

  “Exactly. Maybe Rose got curious, tracked her father down. And weird guys do what weird guys do…”

  “You’re betting on Rose being a damn crafty teenager to track this guy down.”

  Carter droppe
d hard into the chair in front of his computer. He shuffled through the stack of papers with James’ name circled on them, whispering the name of each recipient as he jotted them down in his notepad.

  “Shelley Thomas. Rebecca Craft. Maria Gonzalez.” He set each paper on the desk once he read all the names off. “Janette Broderick. Lisa Higgins.”

  Sitting up, Sam said, “What’d you say? What’s that name?”

  “What? Lisa Higgins?”

  “No, before that.” Sam stood from the bed.

  “Janette Broderick?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, Janette Broderick.” He looked up contemplating the name, then snapped his head to the side, like some ghost had just slapped him on the cheek. He dropped to his knees and rummaged through the papers on the floor, shoving donor records to the side until only the police records remained.

  “Broderick, Broderick.” Sam scanned the records and full-page photos of missing persons. “Broderick!” Carter stood, reading over Sam’s shoulder. “Janette Broderick. Mother of one Jasmine Broderick, missing girl, age fifteen.” Pointing at the bottom of the police report, Sam said, “Goddamn! I guess my memory isn’t so shitty after all!”

  Mise en Abyme

  “You said you would hand anything we found over to the police,” Sam said.

  “And you said that wasn’t possible since these records were stolen.” Carter snatched the police report for Jasmine Broderick from Sam’s hand. “It’s just a little further now. I can feel it. It’s a light at the end of a tunnel.”

  “You keep this up and you’re going to find yourself standing in that tunnel, squinting your eyes looking for that light you once saw, and wondering which way you came in.”

  “I’m going to the Brodericks’. You coming?” Carter wrapped his hand around the doorknob.

  Sam clenched his teeth and pinched his lips around the unlit cigarette. He paused and sighed, then nodded.

  “Only cuz you would be dead by now if not for me. And someone’s still out there looking for you.”

  “For us,” Carter said.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Small toys were spread around the Brodericks’ front porch, half a plastic tea set, a stuffed dog toy. Carter knocked on the door, trying his best to sound non-threatening. He stepped back and put on his most approachable expression. Sam stood still, puffing smoke out one side of his mouth and holding his cigarette on the other side.

  Someone must have peered through the peephole, because Carter saw it grow dark. The deadbolt unlatched, and the door opened a few inches, the chain lock still latched on the inside.

  “Yes?” a woman said. Her single eye peered through the small opening.

  “Hi, ma’am—Janette? Janette Broderick?” Carter said, standing up straight and smiling. His muscles screamed at him to slouch, to shift weight off his bad ankle, but he fought it to look more normal. “I hate to bother you. My name is Will Carter. My partner, Sam Murphy, and I are with an investigation firm.”

  Out of sight from Mrs. Broderick, Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. Carter reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card. The woman looked down at the card, then back at Carter’s face.

  “What happened to your face?”

  “Oh.” Carter had forgotten how his face must look. Bruised, stitches on his forehead. “Car accident, ma’am. My partner and I are investigating a missing person.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything,” she said, closing the door.

  “It’s a young girl,” he blurted out, trying to keep her engaged. “Fifteen years old. You could really help her.” he didn’t know if it was a lie or not. Before the door closed completely the woman pulled it back open slowly, still keeping the chain locked.

  “Fifteen?” she repeated, and her eyes drifted down.

  Carter nodded. “There are some similarities between this case and Jasmine’s.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Similarities? How could it be a similar case? The cops found nothing when they looked for Jasmine.”

  “I’d just like to talk for a few minutes, please.”

  She looked Carter up and down one more time and pondered her response for a short moment. “Come in,” the woman said reluctantly, sliding the chain and opening the door all the way. She turned and walked away from them, leaving Sam to close the door behind him.

  Carter and Sam stepped over more toys scattered across the hardwood floor. Mrs. Broderick led them to a living room filled with mismatched furniture. She motioned to an old chair covered in orange velvet. Carter sat and sank down in the chair until he was almost sitting on the floor. Sam stood.

  “Thank you for speaking to us Mrs. Broderick,” Carter said, pulling his small notepad out from his back pocket.

  “It’s Copley. Not Broderick anymore.” She flashed a quick smile at Carter, but an ironic smile, like divorce wasn’t her decision, or at least not what she expected it to be.

  “Okay, Mrs. Copley. You are Jasmine’s mother, right?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Janette nodded slowly, almost hesitant to give an answer, to reminisce too much about the past.

  “How long ago did your daughter go missing?” Carter asked.

  “It will be two years ago this August.” She kept her eyes straight forward, not looking at either man.

  “The police report on her case is pretty bare,” Sam said, and Janette huffed and rolled her eyes.

  “I’ll say.”

  “What can you tell us about the day she went missing? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  Janette sighed and slowly lowered her head. “She was walking to her friend’s house. Just a few streets over.” Janette swallowed. “She just … she never showed up. None of the neighbors knew anything. Didn’t see anything.”

  “The friend,” Carter asked, “was she a suspect? Are you sure she didn’t make it to her house?”

  “The whole family was there. Her parents, brother, all of them said she never made it there.”

  “Were there any suspects at all?” Carter asked.

  “None they ever told me about. They barely spoke to us. After a couple months they handed the case off to a task force, and I never heard from them again. I called, at least once a day for a couple weeks, left voicemails, even wrote letters.”

  “And…?” Carter asked.

  Janette shrugged, her mouth turned down, and the rest of her face tense, like she was fighting something back. Anger. Sadness. Regret. After a pause, she finally spoke, judging it safe enough to talk without something escaping.

  “They gave me the run around. Told us they’d keep the case with the task force, but there wasn’t enough to go on for it to be an active case.” Janette breathed hard through her nose and looked away. “I think it’s a numbers game. The task force is a way to make it look like there are less cases still open, active. Makes ‘em look better, the DA, commissioner, the mayor. All they care about is looking good enough to get re-elected.”

  Sam paced around the small living room, running his finger along the spines of books on the shelves. Some shelves had knick-knacks, like a glass orb paper weight, an old clock, and an orange-brown chunk of petrified wood. He came across a framed photo—Janette, Jasmine, and her father, posing in front of the castle at the Magic Kingdom.

  “Your ex,” Sam held the photo in his hand, “how’d he take it?”

  “Pssh, Brian … got himself a girlfriend is how he took it.” Janette rolled her eyes. Carter could see this was an easier topic for her. For many people, anger was preferable to sadness.

  “Probably had her before Jasmine went missing. Who really knows.” Carter saw her dispense of the anger just as quickly as it had come on. He figured she was tired, too tired to hold onto one emotion for too long.

  “You mentioned Jasmine’s friend she was going to see. Did she have many friends?” Carter asked. Sam set the family photo down on the shelf and kept scanning.

  Janette shook her head. “No. The students at St. Mary’s were … snobby. Brian and I had money, but�
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  “Wait,” Carter interrupted. “Jasmine went to St. Mary of the Lake?”

  Janette nodded her head quickly and sniffled. Her eyes were watery and red. Carter looked up at Sam and they locked eyes for a second.

  “Did she have a teacher there by the name of Orcheck? Dennis Orcheck?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “What about photography? Was she in a photography club? Or chess?” Carter edged forward in his chair and gripped his pen tightly.

  Janette just shook her head. “Like I said, she really only had one person she was close with at the school. She was shy … not into after-school stuff. But she was happy that way.” Janette blinked and a tear dripped down her cheek. “She was beautiful, even with her flaws. When I had her, it was a miracle.” Sam’s words leaving Janette’s mouth.

  “She was – I don’t know, it was like she could have been anything. And it was up to me to guide her, to pour myself into her. Every bit of energy I had went to raising her, teaching her. I didn’t have time for anything else. Not friends, a career … sleep.” Janette chuckled to herself and sniffed. “But I didn’t mind the sacrifice, because it was like any part of me that went into her would live on after I was gone. Any life lessons, family history, quirks, or traits I gave to her were there, buried in her, like my life was embedded in hers.” Janette refocused her eyes on Carter, then Sam. Her eyes were flushed with tears.

  “It was a second chance at a life for me, you know? To fix the mistakes I made. Tell her what worked and what didn’t. And if Jasmine had children, then it would continue on, one life placed in another, like those Russian nesting dolls or when you have two mirrors facing each other. It was almost like I could live forever.” She wiped at her eye.

  “So, when she went missing, it was—" Carter started.

  “It was like I went missing, like all of the parts of me that went into her were lost forever, all of the sacrifices I made, were for nothing. I lost everything.”

  “I’m sorry,” Carter said. “I can’t imagine.” He really couldn’t, with no kids of his own to lose or miss. “But you have kids now.” He pointed at the toys scattered around.