“How old is their kid?” Madison’s mind was now on gangs and how they tended to attract youths searching for a sense of belonging and family. She didn’t know what home life was like for the Becks yet, but if they had teenagers, she’d be finding that out.
“Their son, Scott, is fourteen.”
“He’s at a vulnerable age.”
Terry met her eyes, assessing her. “Are you wondering if this kid is involved somehow?”
She shrugged. “I think it’s worth visiting the Beck family and talking to him. I know that Hines said Barry filled up at different times during his shift, but she also mentioned he was often there in the morning. If the kid is involved with a gang, he could have offered up that information. Of course, we’d have to prove that he even knew when Barry would be there.”
Terry exhaled audibly. “Orchestrating the shooting of a cop at his own dad’s gas station? Bold.”
“Or smart. He might think he’d be the least likely suspect,” she considered aloud. “We need to find out where he was early this morning.”
“MY SCOTT’S A GOOD BOY, and besides, he’s not home right now.” Nancy Beck crossed her arms, standing in her doorway as if she were a heavyweight bouncer when she likely only weighed a hundred pounds. Her blond pixie cut would make people perceive her as cute and timid, but the scowl on her face would prove first impressions wrong.
All they’d asked was if they could speak to her son and Nancy had bristled.
“How long has he been gone?” Madison asked.
Nancy narrowed her eyes. “An hour, tops. He’s out with a friend, if you must know.”
“All right, and where was he at five this morning?”
“He’s a fourteen-year-old boy. Where do you think he was?”
Madison held her ground. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
Through gritted teeth, Nancy said, “He was in bed sleeping. Oh…now I’m getting it.” Nancy paled. “You think my son was involved with the shooting?” She tightened her crossed arms. “Nope, there is no way.”
“Going back to five this morning… You can verify that he was in his room at that time?” Madison cocked her head. She wasn’t going to take grief from anyone on any given day on any case, let alone this one.
Nancy puffed her cheeks out as she exhaled. “Of course not, but I know—”
“How?”
“I just do, all right.”
“So there is no way that Scott could have climbed out a window in his room?” Madison looked past Nancy into the house, implying that she wanted inside.
Nancy’s gaze was fiery as she stepped to the side to let Madison and Terry in. “Living room is on the left. Sit wherever you’d like.”
Madison and Terry both took a seat on a sofa. The home was what one would expect of a family with a teenager—clean but definitely lived in. There were a few pairs of socks on the floor, a couple of dirty glasses around the room, and an assortment of magazines on an end table.
Nancy came into the room behind them but remained standing. “I’m sorry about what happened to that cop,” she said, her earlier bark gone. “But my son would never be involved with something like that.” She licked her lips.
“His name was Officer Barry Weir,” Madison said. “He’s left behind three daughters and a wife.” Since this information had already hit the media, she wasn’t disclosing anything confidential.
“It’s sad, and I feel for them, I really do. I just know Scott. He’s a good kid,” Nancy repeated in maternal defense.
“Does he do well in school?” Terry asked.
“He’s a teenage boy. He’s skipped a few classes here and there, but he’s a good kid.”
“As you said.” Madison let her eyes trace over Nancy. “Where did he go when he skipped school?” Madison realized that even if the kid did tell his mother, it could just as easily be a lie.
“He’s friends with these two…” Nancy jutted out her chin. “I don’t really care for either kids’ parents.”
“The parents of both kids?” Madison asked to clarify.
“Yeah. They work part-time jobs, but it seems like they are looking for employment all the time. If you can believe it, the one boy’s father even tried to use the relationship Scott had with his son to get a job at the gas station.”
Trying to put food on the table? Yes, absolutely detestable…
Based on the rings that adorned Nancy’s fingers and the size of the house, the Becks were used to the finer things and probably saw themselves as having higher standards than other people. Or rather, above other people.
“Where does Scott go when he ditches class?” Madison repeated her question, not giving any attention to what Nancy was going on about.
Nancy’s jaw sprung open. Shut. Her eyes narrowed. Apparently she wanted Madison to weigh in on the parents of her son’s friends. Madison wasn’t getting pulled into it. “They like to go to the mall. Innocent kid stuff. Not shooting cops.”
“And these friends of Scott’s, were they new in his life?” Madison inquired.
“No, they’ve been friends since preschool.”
Madison nodded.
“And how are his grades?” Terry asked, circling back to his first question. Terry approached the inquiry in a calm, interested manner, as if they were just two parents talking. There was nothing confrontational about his tone.
“He does fine. Bs and Cs.”
“Has Scott ever smoked or taken drugs that you know of?” Madison asked, switching focus.
Nancy’s gaze shot to Madison. Her eyes showed absolute insult to have her son come under further questioning.
“We could go to his school and see what the principal has to say,” Madison ground out.
“He smelled like cigarette smoke once. But Rico and I put an end to that awfully quick.”
“How’s that?” Terry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
Nancy pulled her eyes from Madison and looked at Terry. “We took away his cell phone and his video games for a month. He never stunk of the filthy habit again.”
A few seconds passed without anyone saying anything.
“I know you are both just doing your job, but if you’re looking at my son, you’re looking in the wrong place. He wouldn’t shoot anyone. He wouldn’t even know how to pull the trigger let alone… Where would he get a gun?” She was wringing her hands. “But his friends.” She glanced quickly at Madison but didn’t hold eye contact. “They might be the kind to get involved with gangs.”
Madison shrugged. “We never said anything about gangs.”
“No, but it’s what you’re getting at.” Nancy pointed a finger at Madison, drew it to Terry, and then dropped her hand.
Madison remained quiet, using her silence to encourage Nancy to keep speaking. Terry didn’t say anything, either.
“Melody called. She heard that it was a drive-by. That sounds like a gang to me. And you thought you’d come by to see if he’s happy and cared for, well-adjusted… I assure you he is. His largest issues are who to take to school dances and pimples.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “Pimples might as well be the end of the world. He gets so worked up over them, you’d think he was a girl.”
If Nancy honestly thought dances and pimples were Scott’s biggest issues, she was living in a fantasy world. High school was wrought with societal struggles, bullying, peer pressure, substance abuse. Today’s youth faced more trials by the age of fifteen than previous generations may have ever encountered in a lifetime.
An attentive mother would know all of this, though. So either Nancy was naive or she wasn’t that attentive. But being a less than a perfect mother hardly made her son a gang member. And given the way she was defending him, she believed in him and would give her life for him. That spoke to her being a loving mother. From what Madison saw in front of her—the
home, the woman—Scott didn’t seem like the ideal recruit for a gang. But looks could be deceiving…
“Before we leave, could we please see his room?” Madison phrased it as a question, hoping Nancy would receive the request favorably.
“Sure. I’m telling you, he’s not involved, though.” Nancy gestured for them to follow her and led them up the staircase and down a hallway. Outside the second room on the right, she pointed to a closed door.
Scott didn’t have any posters facing the hallway or signs saying to “keep out” like many others his age often did. Madison opened the door, and the smell of perspiration and stinky feet immediately hit her nose. A gym bag was on the floor with clothes spilling out of it, and stained socks dotted the floor. In fact, clothes were strewn everywhere—the floor, the bed, a study desk in one corner, the chair in front of it. She turned to Nancy, who held up her hands.
“Hey, he’s fourteen. He takes care of his own room. I do his laundry.”
Obviously, the dirty laundry’s not making it out of the room…
Madison’s eyes scanned the space again. There was a fish tank against the one wall. Green slime was built up on the sides of the glass, and the water was murky. Three goldfish swam around but didn’t seem to do so with much gusto. Madison was surprised they were even alive.
“He wanted a pet. Rico said he could have fish.” Nancy obviously wasn’t impressed by her husband’s decision given her defeated tone.
At least Rico didn’t let him get a dog…
The back of the door had a full-length, colored print of an Asian model dressed in a highlighter-pink string bikini with an ocean backdrop. The walls of the room were much the same—littered with more scantily clad women and music posters.
Yeah, his greatest concerns are school dances and pimples…
Madison noticed a desktop computer at the desk. Given the money the family seemed to have, she was surprised he didn’t have a laptop. But that wasn’t the thing that really struck her. It was suggested that families with children keep a computer in a main living area so that parents could watch what their children were up to online, especially with the Internet and social media being such stalking grounds for pedophiles. She’d seen some photos that the cyber crime unit had to look at, and describing them as nauseating wasn’t doing them justice. It was no wonder officers rotated out of that division as soon as their time requirement was up.
Terry pointed toward the monitor and addressed Nancy. “Do you track Scott’s online activity?”
Nancy tilted her chin up and straightened her back. “I trust my son and wouldn’t want to invade his privacy.”
“Can we?” Madison asked bluntly.
Nancy seemed to hesitate but then consented with a nod.
Terry went over to the desk and turned on the computer. A screen came up asking for a password. He looked over a shoulder at Nancy. “Do you know what it is?”
Nancy was rubbing the length of her neck, her long, slender fingers striking Madison as disproportionate to her otherwise petite frame.
“Mrs. Beck?” she prompted.
“I don’t know. I really don’t have a clue, all right?” Her cheeks flushed, and her mouth snapped open and hinged shut, as though she contemplated saying more but was embarrassed and couldn’t even defend herself.
“No, it’s not all right…really,” Madison said. “Your son is at the ripe age for gangs. He skips class. Who really knows where he goes…”
“He goes to the—”
“How do you know he goes to the mall?” Madison let the question sit there, and Nancy didn’t touch it this time. Madison could empathize that parents didn’t always know everything, but Nancy didn’t seem to get too involved with her son or she’d know he had larger things to face beside pimples and school dances. “I’m sure you can finally see our concern,” Madison continued. “And if your son was involved with the shooting, it would be very intelligent of him to strike at your husband’s gas station.”
“And he just happened to know when the officer would be there?” Nancy’s skin was blotchy as she flushed.
“Your son might not even be involved,” Terry said, playing good cop. “We just need to cover our bases.”
Nancy seemed to cling to that hope, and she touched Terry’s arm. “He’s not. I know my son… How can I say I know him?” Her strength quickly crumbled. Her chin quivered, her body trembled, and tears fell down her cheeks. “I don’t know all he’s up to, but I know we raised him better than to become a killer or a gang member. We love him, we—”
“Sadly, sometimes none of those things matter.” Terry’s voice was smooth and calm. Parental. He was probably coming to realize, even in the short span of his young daughter’s life, that some things were outside his control. Imagine how much more so things would become once she was a teenager and had a mind of her own.
Nancy was rubbing her arms. “I don’t know the password to his computer, but—” she left the room and then tucked her head back in “—follow me.”
She led them to an office and sat behind a desk. She flicked the monitor on, keyed something in, and said, “I’d almost forgotten we had this. Here.” She got up.
Madison and Terry traded places with Nancy behind the desk. Terry sat. On the screen was what looked like a forum. Messages alternated between red and black text.
“What’s this?” Madison asked.
“It’s called YouthSecure, all one word. It’s an online monitoring system that allows parents to see their children’s online activity, social media, and text messages on their phones. It even shows deleted texts.”
“So when you said you didn’t monitor—”
Nancy interrupted Madison. “We’re not good at checking it regularly. Well, I forget about it. But please feel free to look. I’m sure it will prove he’s not involved in the shooting.” She went to the door, resting her hand on the frame. “Either of you want tea?”
“No, thanks,” Madison responded.
Nancy left them to it, and Madison focused on the screen. She pointed to a string of messages between Scott and a girl named Eva. The wording made it clear they were sexually involved. “I’m glad I’m not Scott.”
“You are? You’re not usually terrified of anyone.”
“She’s feisty,” Madison said at a low volume in case Nancy came back.
“How are you making out?” Nancy cleared the doorway, hugging a cup with both hands. If it was tea, it had already cooled as there was no steam.
Good thing Madison had spoken quietly.
“Nothing, right? You haven’t found anything?”
Terry stood, and both he and Madison came out from behind the desk.
“The good news is, based on his messaging, your son doesn’t appear to be involved with the shooting,” Madison began.
“And why do I sense there is some bad news?” Nancy’s eyes slid to Terry.
“He’s not at the mall when he skips school,” he told her.
“What? Where is he then?” The original gutsy spirit they saw in Nancy’s eyes earlier came back, even if for a different reason this time. The fire was directed toward her son, not them.
Madison wondered if Nancy ever logged onto YouthSecure.
“Since it’s really a family matter, we’ll leave that to you,” Terry said.
Nancy’s gaze went toward the back of the monitor.
“We can see ourselves out,” Madison added. Nancy nodded, and they made a quick exit.
“Guess she’ll find out Scott’s more grown up than she thought,” Terry said as he was getting into the department car.
“Yep, there’s more to his life than school dances and pimples.” Madison put the car into reverse, and her phone rang. She pressed the brakes and answered on speaker.
“We’ve got all the footage from the city and the gas station,” Cynthia said. “You
guys coming in to watch?”
Madison pushed the gas. “We’ll be there in ten.”
-
Chapter 13
THE AROMAS OF DELI MEAT and cheese greeted Madison the moment she got off the elevator with Terry. Her stomach growled, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure if she should eat. With all the drama of the day, it felt like she was walking around with the feeling of being freshly punched in the gut.
Terry got the door to the lab, and Madison walked in first. On the table was a small tray of sandwiches, plastic wrap bunched up beside it, and a small stack of paper plates. There were also cans of soda and bottled water.
Cynthia looked up from what she was doing on her computer. “Help yourself,” she said, bobbing her head toward the food. “The chief had them dropped off in the cafeteria, but I just helped myself and brought some back here for us.”
The woman never ceases to amaze…
“Don’t mind if I do.” Terry went over to the table and plucked what looked like egg salad on whole wheat from the tray.
Madison eyed a turkey and Swiss on pumpernickel loaf, trying to decide if it was worth a shot. Her stomach requested she take the chance. She expected the first bite to taste marvelous, if nothing else, but either its flavor fell flat or her taste buds weren’t working. It had to be the grief.
“All right.” Cynthia swiveled in her chair. “I have the surveillance ready for us to watch.” She used a remote and turned the TV on that was mounted in the corner of the room. A frozen black-and-white image was on-screen. “Before we watch this, I have an update for you.”
Madison swallowed another mouthful of sandwich. “What is—” The bread was dry in her throat. She grabbed a water bottle and took a swig to wash it down. “What is it?”
“Sam’s been able to narrow the gun make down to six different types.”
“Six?” Madison blurted out.
Cynthia held up her hand. “As she explained to me, there were no land and groove impressions, but rather there was more of a wavy rifling pattern left on the projectiles. This indicates the bullets were either fired from a Heckler & Koch, Kahar Arms, Magnum Research, Tanfoglio, CZ USA, or a Glock. And we know we’re looking for a model that fires nine-millimeter rounds.” Cynthia extended a sheet of paper to Madison. “This is a list of the different makes and models that could apply here.”
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