Molly Brown

by B. A. Morton

  He knew without looking that the other cuttings would confirm his suspicion, but he checked all the same. There were ten in all. The only one missing was Scott. His hand strayed to his chest and the burn hidden beneath his shirt. He wondered how many columns he would have generated, might still generate, if he didn’t keep his wits about him.

  Somebody was out there gutting cops for a very good reason. There had to be a connection other than the illegal activities being perpetrated by the victims. The only thread tying them together so far was a disturbed little girl with no friends, and despite everything he’d learned so far, there was no way he’d buy into some pint-sized near-sighted kid running around with a Bowie knife. The sooner Gerry came up with the goods on the victims, the better.

  He checked his phone but it seemed no one was in a hurry to get in touch. He figured that might not be such a bad thing, bearing in mind the likely consequences of his misadventure with the car. He checked his watch, and with a resigned sigh sat back and waited: for Molly to appear, for Gerry to ring, for something to happen that would help him move the case forward.

  Despite being dosed up with coffee, the heat in the basement and the fact he’d had one hell of a day finally finished him off. His eyes drooped and his mind drifted. Falling asleep on the job certainly wasn’t recommended, so he counted himself lucky indeed when he woke with a start to find Molly, and not a knife wielding serial killer, seated before him.

  She’d dragged out her coat and was sitting cross-legged upon it. She’d been there for some time, the empty Happy Meal box discarded by her side. She watched him unblinking through thick lenses, her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, clutching her latest work of art.

  Connell blinked slowly, not sure whether this was yet another apparition or whether maybe he was still sleeping.

  “Hiya Molly,” he said softly, his voice still thick with sleep. He felt the need to clear his throat, but fearing it would startle her, he swallowed instead. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Molly said nothing but Connell noticed the slight tremor in her clenched hands. It transferred to the paper, causing the lion drawn upon it to shake its mane. The way she pulled at her bottom lip nervously reminded him of Lizzie.

  He gestured to the empty burger carton. “You still hungry?”

  She shook her head so slightly he might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching real close. Her face was dirty, as if she’d tried her best without soap or a mirror and she’d left an unmistakable tide-mark. Her hands seemed clean enough but her fingers were stained with marker pen. She clenched them further as he watched.

  She was tiny, not much bigger than Joe, despite being four years older, undernourished, almost otherworldly in appearance, her skin pale, her hair bravely tangled into rough plaits without the assistance of a brush or indeed a mother’s gentle caress. Behind the shield of her intense scrutiny of him, there was an immense sadness that seemed to emanate from her. He felt it as clearly as if she had held out her hand to him.

  He had to get her out, had to get her someplace safe, where someone who cared could wrap her up and just hold her. He’d never seen a child who looked quite so lost.

  “You want to get your things together, Molly?” he asked, thankful that his own things, the notebook and the scattered newspaper cuttings, had been gathered and tucked away safely before he’d fallen asleep. He checked his watch - it was almost seven. Damn, he’d have no time to take her to a place of safety and no way was he prepared to leave her behind, not now he’d finally found her, and certainly not after what he’d just read.

  She continued to watch him hesitantly and he guessed he was asking a lot. She was a scared child and he’d just invaded the only safe place she had. To expect her to suddenly trust him, some guy she’d never met, was perhaps a step too far.

  “You got a cool little place here, Molly,” he said as he gestured to the paraphernalia crammed into the small room. “My son, Joey, would sure like it here.” He reached slowly for his wallet, extracted Joe’s photo and held it out to her. “ ‘Course he’s only a little guy, probably wouldn’t understand how all this stuff works, but he’d think it was cool. You picked a good place to hang out, Molly.” He watched as she flicked her gaze to the photo and Joe’s cheeky toothless grin. His face was also pretty grubby, but that was less about the availability of soap and more about his avoidance of it.

  “It’s time to move on now, Molly, to somewhere even better.” He replaced the photo, pocketed his wallet and waited while she looked at her hands.

  “Here, let me help you.” He squatted in front of her, emptied out the discarded burger wrappers from the carry out carton and held out his hand for her pens. She shifted her gaze between his outstretched palm and his encouraging smile and then, as if she’d suddenly come to a decision, she scooped up her markers, avoided his hand and dropped them into the box.

  Connell reached carefully past her and gathered up her drawings. Rolling them up one inside the other, he gently placed them into the box and stood.

  She remained seated, a tiny figure cross-legged on the floor watching him warily.

  “Come on, kiddo,” he said reaching out his hand, “it’s time to go.” He held his breath and wondered what she would do. He didn’t want to force her and didn’t want to have to carry her out kicking and screaming, but just as he was considering that it might well come to that, she scrambled to her feet, picked up her dusty coat and slipped her arms into the sleeves. The zip was broken, one pocket was ripped and hanging by a thread, and small as she was, her wrists stuck out from the sleeves. There were faded remnants of a sticker adhered to the material. Maybe Miss. Rogers had put it there long ago when life had still carried some hope for Molly. In faded script it said ‘Good job’. Connell swallowed the lump in his throat. When she slipped her small hand into his, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

  He stooped, picked up the small pile of books she’d begun to diligently stack on the floor next to her nest, and passed them to her. She gripped them tightly with one small arm as if she held a precious doll against her breast. Connell bit his tongue, wasn’t sure what to say and found himself immeasurably moved by her behavior, though he had no experience of children other than Joe and no idea of what to do to put things right.

  He squeezed her hand gently, and when she glanced up, he winked. “Come on then, kiddo. Let’s go see if we can fix things.”

  After leading the way to the basement door, Connell drew back the bolts and was about to step out into the alley where he’d parked the rental when he felt her tug at his hand.

  “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t be scared. We’re just going to take a ride in the car.”

  She shook her head determinedly, pulled her hand from his and stepped ahead of him, pausing on the step to scan the alley carefully. He watched her, this tiny scrap, as she stood between him and the unknown. She was fearful of the alley; he could see it in her pale face, her wide eyes. She had seen something and it had scared her enough to think it might happen again.

  He recalled the strange feeling he’d had the last time he’d stood out there, the feeling that something bad was afoot. Maybe she felt it too. Or, more likely, she’d been witness to the murder of Detective Scott.

  Oh God. The thought she may have watched as a man had his guts torn out made Connell’s stomach tighten. No wonder she was all screwed up. He took her hand again and crouched down in front of her so she had no option but to look at him.

  “Molly, listen to me. I’m not going to pretend that I know what’s going on because, to be honest, I’m just trying to work it all out. But hey, kiddo, I promise I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. You’re safe now with me. Nobody can hurt you.”

  She didn’t look convinced. In fact, if anything, she looked more vacant than when they’d first met, as if she’d flipped a switch inside, a disconnect button that meant, regardless of what might happen next, she didn’t have to deal with it.

  H
e thought of Joe, how that little guy’s face was a window to his soul, how every expression, every smile, frown, giggle and pout was ingrained deep in Connell’s own being. He knew Joe like an extension to himself. The idea that Molly had shut herself off from that kind of human sharing was heartbreaking.

  He stood and stepped out into the alley, drawing her gently with him. Cocking his head he smiled at her. “See, there’s no one out here but you and me.”

  He sat her in the back of the car and did up her seat belt, and throughout she maintained her blank expression, staring straight ahead, her hands clinging tightly onto her books as if her life depended on them. Connell sighed. He didn’t know what else to do or say. He thought perhaps it was all beyond him, that maybe he should just hand her over to people who were trained to deal with damaged kids. But when he got behind the wheel and glanced in the mirror, he caught her watching him and saw the tiniest glimmer of something that looked almost like hope.

  He grinned at her. “Come on, kiddo. It’s time you and me hit the road.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So who’s your friend?”

  Marty leaned against the hood of his car, arms folded across his chest. He shot Connell an incredulous look as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d turned up to a stakeout with a kid in tow. He dropped his gaze to the child. She held tight to Connell’s hand and stared straight at him in an unblinking, ‘see right through you’, way that was quite unnerving to the uninitiated.

  “This is Molly.” Connell hunkered down next to her and gestured with his free hand. “Hey, Molly, this is a good friend of mine, Marty. He’s got a little girl just about your age.” He glanced at Marty with a raised a brow. “Isn’t that right, Marty?”

  Marty took the bait and smiled. “Sure, Molly, you’d like Bella. She’s just turned nine and she sure does rule the roost. How about you, Molly? What do you like doing?”

  Molly looked at her feet, studied the ground intently and Marty shrugged at Connell.

  “Molly’s just going to sit in the car awhile and maybe draw some pictures while we check out some stuff.” Connell opened the rear door and settled her in the back with her carton of pens. She let go of his hand reluctantly.

  “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here where you can see me.” He closed the door gently and stepped away from the car.

  “Tommy, what in the name of God are you doing?” Marty hissed.

  “I had to pick her up. Couldn’t leave her any longer.”

  “And you couldn’t drop her off at Children’s Services?”

  “You kidding me? Those guys are a joke.” Connell shot a quick glance at the car and stepped further away. Leaning against the warehouse wall he kept one eye on Molly sitting crouched in the back. “Marty, this kid is mixed up in this in ways you couldn’t imagine. I need to get her to talk to me before someone less kindly steps in and takes this out of my hands.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She knows about the murders.”

  “Is that why she’s hiding?”

  Connell raised a brow. “You’d think so, but you know what, I’m not so sure. There’s something weird going on. I just need to work it out and I need Molly to help me do that.”

  “So what are you going to do with her?”

  “Keep her safe.”

  “You think bringing her here is keeping her safe?”

  Connell shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice. As soon as we’re done, I’ll head back to the farm. Maybe Lizzie can get something out of her.”

  “What’s she said so far?”

  Connell settled his gaze on the car. “Absolutely zilch.”

  Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Marty sighed and gave Connell a weary, long-suffering look. “So you’re no further forward. You’ve still got Frankie on your case, a serial killer on your tail and now you’ve got a kid in tow.”

  Connell grinned. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “And Gerry, does he know about the latest developments, about you blowing up downtown?”

  Connell’s grin widened further. “Maybe. My phone’s been going ballistic on the ride down here.”

  “He’s going to be mad.”

  “I can handle Gerry.”

  Marty grimaced. “Remember what I told you, Tommy. The rules have changed. You need to keep Gerry on-side.”

  “Gerry needs to keep me on-side.”

  “Huh?”

  “He’s keeping things close again.”

  Marty snorted. “Well, that makes two of you who are both real good at that, Tommy. You know, if you spent less time sneaking about and trying to outdo each other, you’d maybe get the job done and be able to go home.”

  Connell shrugged, his attention distracted by the sound of a truck pulling onto the lot. He sidestepped to the corner of the building and chanced a quick look. “Okay, show time. Let’s just see what good old Frankie’s been shipping and then maybe we can all go home.”

  “What about the kid?”

  Connell gave a swift glance over his shoulder. She sat with her nose pressed against the glass. His heart sank. She had that look on her face, the one Lizzie wore when she knew he was stringing her a line. He’d promised Molly he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wouldn’t leave her, and at the first opportunity he was letting her down. Shit. It was becoming a habit. He needed her to trust him but he also needed to find out what was going on. “Okay, you stay here, Marty. Keep an eye on her and watch my back. I’m going for a closer look. I’ll be five minutes, tops.”

  “Tommy ...”

  Connell spread his arms in exasperation at Marty’s obvious reluctance. “Come on, Marty, you’re a good babysitter.”

  “That’s not what’s bothering me, Tommy. I get stuck here holding the kid. How am I going to watch your back?”

  Connell grinned. “You worry too much. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Slipping around the corner, he ran across the open ground between the warehouse and its adjacent plant room. The ground was littered with industrial detritus, broken pallets, and dented oil drums left to rust and leak their pollutants amongst the weeds. There was enough broken glass to set up a recycling plant and among it all wild flowers struggled valiantly for existence. Connell dodged behind the rusted shell of a burned out car and paused to catch his breath. The vast doors to the interior of the warehouse had been closed behind the truck, though that was of no concern to Connell as he sprinted the last few yards and flattened himself against the wall inching along it, attempting to keep in the shadows until he found an opening in the flimsy structure where he could squeeze through.

  He took a moment to adjust to the dappled light inside the building, squinting at the scene of frantic activity before him. Two men had opened the rear doors of the truck and a third lowered the tail gate. Connell edged forward, taking care to remain concealed between the machinery and pipe work. A small fork lift truck began unloading pallets stacked high with boxes, transferring them to a number of smaller vehicles. Connell cocked his head, a little disappointed. Was that it, non-taxed liquor being run? It seemed a big fuss over nothing and certainly not worth the attentions of Frankie and his henchmen. Okay, so Frankie might be fond of the occasional cocktail, but Connell didn’t believe he was so partial to vodka that he needed to ship it in by the truck load.

  He glanced around him, unclear why Frankie was offloading his illicit booze in a deserted warehouse. Frankie owned real estate all over the city. What was so special about this place? Something didn’t add up. He needed a closer look.

  He was limited in that there was little cover between where he was and where he needed to be. He considered a variety of equally reckless ventures which included knocking out one of the guys unloading and taking their place. In principle it sounded feasible, in reality he had about as much chance of success as he had of Gerry picking up the tab for his car.

  They were all carrying guns, and as his had been consigned to gun heaven along with
his car, he was at a considerable disadvantage. He was about ready to give it up as a bad job and seek his information from the horse’s mouth, aka Frankie, when he spotted a young guy who he recognized and a sly grin settled on his face.

  He settled back and watched as Terry shifted boxes from the pallets into the smaller of the vans. He was working up a sweat and Connell was glad he wasn’t downwind of him. His grin widened further when Terry took a detour and stashed a couple of boxes out of sight. Connell shook his head. Terry was playing a dangerous game if he thought he could pull a fast one on Frankie.

  He shifted his gaze back to the truck. The unloading was going to take some time, time he didn’t have. He knew where he could find Terry and he knew where to find Frankie; between the two he thought he could probably find out what was going on. It wasn’t really necessary for him to hang around any longer. He turned ready to leave when his attention was drawn back to the scene by raised voices.

  The forklift had ground to a halt and there was some altercation under way regarding its placement in relation to the truck. Perhaps it was blocking the way or maybe the truck driver was on a tight schedule and needed to go dump more illegal hooch elsewhere. As the men squared up to faceoff, the guys unloading returned to their vehicles and settled back to watch. With all eyes on the argument at center stage, it would have been relatively easy to miss the movement at the front of the truck, but Connell, who was well used to surveillance, quickly dismissed the male posturing and zeroed in on what appeared to be the opening of trapdoor beneath the huge truck’s sub-frame.

  He watched as, one by one, figures wriggled their way from under the truck. Casting furtive glances in the direction of the truckers, the human cargo flattened themselves against the truck side and waited. Connell flicked his gaze between the group and Frankie’s men. If they were illegals who’d hitched a ride, then they’d chosen the wrong truck. If, as more likely, they were Frankie’s latest illicit cargo, they were in even more trouble. He cast his mind back to his last brush with the people trafficking business. Vincent Sawyer, the king pin of the industry, was dead, killed in an explosion. Maybe Frankie had decided to fill the vacancy. It would explain his desire for Connell to stay out of the picture and probably well worth the money he’d been willing to pay to buy him off. All the same, it added another dimension to an already complex case. Connell gave a sour smile. He’d been about ready to take Marty’s advice and go home. Now he was torn between doing what he wanted and doing the right thing.