by Rick Reed
Dick’s jaw worked as he thought of something to say.
The doctor ignored him and said to Jack, “He may have brain damage.” He said this while casting his eyes toward the deputy chief. “I’ve ordered a psych consult, and of course we’ll monitor him closely.”
Jack had just worked a case where a person of interest had been dumped in the icy Ohio River. In that case the person had severe hypothermia and had the symptoms the doc had just described. In this case the doctor was deliberately laying the diagnosis on a little thick for Dick’s benefit.
Captain Franklin said, “Deputy Chief, I think we should let Jack take care of interviewing the boy. I’m sure you’re needed to monitor the entire situation since we have multiple scenes. Decisions will need to be made, sir.”
Deputy Chief Dick picked at a piece of imaginary lint on his uniform jacket. “Captain Franklin, I’ll leave this to you, but we want to be informed the minute we can talk to him. The very minute.” He didn’t wait for a response and swept out of the treatment area.
After Double Dick left, Liddell asked, “Was he using the royal ‘we’? Or did he mean the news media?”
“That’s enough of that, Detective Blanchard,” Captain Franklin said.
“Yeah. I’m ashamed of you, Bigfoot,” Jack said.
“Good one,” the doctor said.
“When can I talk to him?” Jack asked.
The doctor looked cautiously at Captain Franklin.
Jack said, “Go ahead, Doctor.”
“He’s in pretty good health considering what he’s been through. He is mildly hypothermic and definitely dehydrated, but both are not life-threatening. He has the beginnings of frostbite on some of his fingers, and that will bear watching. He hasn’t spoken or answered any of our questions. If you can get him to talk, we need to get a medical history.”
“You talk to him, Jack,” Captain Franklin said. “I’ll check on the progress and call Chief Pope back. Liddell comes with me.”
“Deputy Chief Dick?” Jack asked.
“I’ll talk to Chief Pope and suggest Dick take charge of any news release,” Franklin said.
“Thanks, Captain,” Jack said.
“Double thanks, Captain,” Liddell said.
Chapter 6
Jack followed the doctor into a room that smelled of hospital antiseptic and freshly laundered linen. The temperature in typical hospital rooms is a standard seventy degrees, but this one was cranked up to full sauna. The boy that Jack had pulled from the pile of bodies was propped up in the bed with a Bair Hugger blanket wrapped around his upper body and connected to an air/heat pump. A heavy salve had been applied to the tip of his nose. An IV line was taped to the back of one hand.
The boy looked to be no more than ten years old. His skin, hair, and eyes were dark-colored. He wasn’t emaciated like the doctor had described, but he was thin, like most kids.
“Hello,” Jack said.
The boy didn’t react except to pull the blanket tighter.
“You saved his life, Jack.”
The boy’s eyes grew wide, but he still said nothing.
He understands us.
“Doc, I need a couple of favors.”
“When don’t you, Jack?”
“I do need you to keep him a couple of days for real. Maybe longer. I’ll need access to him, but I don’t want anyone except medical staff getting near him. Don’t notify anyone yet. Can you do that?”
“In other words, you want me to lie and put him in a private room?”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t want me to notify Child Protective Services.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll owe me,” the doctor said.
“And I need you to do something else for me,” Jack said.
“That’s three favors.”
Jack said, “Until I know what we’re dealing with, I don’t want his condition released by anyone to anyone. Can you pass the word to your staff to keep mum?”
“Well, we have a privacy policy that will keep most of the employees from talking, but I can’t promise you anything.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’d give you a Junior G-man’s badge, but I’m fresh out.”
The doctor said, “I expect a bottle of McCallan’s 50-year.”
“Not a problem.”
“Let me know when you’re through with him,” the doctor said. “I’ll be out here treating a gunshot wound, two broken bones, and a stab wound from last night.”
“Bar fight?” Jack asked.
“Domestic dispute. The wife beat his car with a hammer, and started beating him. He ran to the kitchen, stabbed her with a butcher knife, and chased her to the bedroom. She got a gun and shot him twice. Now they’re back in love and refusing to press charges.”
“You always hurt the one you love,” Jack said.
The doctor left the room, and Jack sat on the side of the boy’s bed.
“I know you understand me,” Jack said.
“You are a detective?” the boy asked.
“Yeah. I’m a detective. Feel up to talking?”
The boy started to answer, but the door to the room opened again and a nurse entered with two plastic mugs of something steaming. To Jack she said, “Coffee for the hero. You look like you can use it.”
“A compliment and insult in the same sentence,” Jack said. “Good for you.”
She smiled and handed the other mug to the boy. “This is chicken broth. You need to sip it.” She imitated holding a cup to her lips and taking small sips. “Understand?”
The boy took the mug but didn’t answer.
“If you can keep this down, we’ll discuss food,” the nurse said. “Food.” She made like she was putting something in her mouth and chewing. “Okay?”
The boy just looked at her.
Jack said, “I’ll make sure he sips it.”
“I’m sure you can get him to do whatever you want. You have a way of doing that. How have you been, Jack?”
The nurse seemed familiar to Jack, but he couldn’t put a name with the face.
“Tammy,” she said. “You don’t remember me, do you? I moved here from Ohio a few years ago. We met at a party at Two Jakes Marina.”
Her words said they’d merely met, but her eyes said they’d done more. “Tammy. Of course,” Jack said, pretending to remember.
She picked up the call button and clipped it to the boy’s pillow. “If you need anything, hon, just push the red button. I’ll take good care of you. And don’t let this guy talk your pants off.” She smiled at Jack when she said the latter.
The boy smiled at Nurse Tammy from Ohio, and she patted his leg.
“Sip the broth. It’s hot and you need it.” She turned and left.
Jack watched the boy watching the nurse leave the room. He could swear the boy’s face flushed. He was all boy. His mind was working just fine.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Jack said. “You answer some questions, and I’ll buy you a cheeseburger. Lots of cheese, bacon, pickles, the whole works.”
The boy set the drink on his side table. “Can I have the cheeseburger now please, detective?”
“Hospital food’s not my favorite either. I’m Detective Murphy. What’s your name?”
The boy sat up straight and offered a small hand. “Jose Alejandro Bogran. I’m nine years old. You’re the one that found me.”
“I am,” Jack said.
The boy released the blanket and wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck, spilling Jack’s coffee. He hugged Jack fiercely and said, “Thank you, Detective Murphy.”
Jack patted the boy’s back. “You’re very welcome. You’re safe now, Jose.”
“Call me Joe,” Jose said.
“You can call me Jack.”
The boy released his grip on Jack
and sat back against his pillows. “No. That is disrespectful. I cannot, Detective Murphy.”
“Okay... I’ll call you Joe,” Jack said. “Like my mom always said, ‘You can call me anything as long as you call me for dinner.’”
Joe asked, “Why would your mother call you something that is not your name when she calls you to eat?”
I’m getting old. “Never mind. Do you feel up to talking?”
Joe didn’t answer.
Jack got up, pulled a rolling stool over to the bed, and set his coffee on the bedside table. He’d ask something simpler. He picked up a napkin and took out an ink pen. “Can you spell your name for me Joe?”
Joe did.
“Were you traveling alone?”
“With my grandfather. I think I will not see my grandfather again.” Tears welled in Joe’s eyes, but he didn’t cry. He breathed slowly through his nose, his lips clamped tightly shut. He got it under control and said, “I heard the nurses and doctor. They called me ‘the survivor’.”
“I’m truly sorry, Joe,” Jack said.
Joe sipped the hot broth, and he seemed to go away.
“What was your grandfather’s name?” Jack asked.
“I was named after my grandfather. We are the same.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“In a hospital,” Joe answered.
“I mean, do you know what city and state?”
“The nurses say ‘this never happens in Evansville.’ We are in Evansville. I don’t know what state. We are in America.”
“That’s right, Joe. You’re in Evansville, Indiana, in the US.”
“I studied geography in school. We learned about America. Indiana means ‘land of the Indiana.’ It was part of your Northwest Territory. It is where much corn is grown. Yes?”
“That’s right,” Jack said. He had forgotten the history associated with the naming of the state, but it sounded right. “Where are you from? Where did you live before you came here?”
“Puerto Lempira.”
“Where is that?” Jack asked.
“Honduras,” Joe said. “Puerto Lempira is a small village on the sea.”
Like many Americans, geography was never Jack’s strong suit, but he knew Honduras was somewhere in Central America near El Salvador and Nicaragua or thereabouts. This kid had come a long way to end up in Evansville locked in the back of a semitrailer with dozens of dead.
“Did you know the other people traveling with you?” Jack asked.
“Only my grandfather. Grandfather wanted me to go to college in America. He said we would work here in America.”
“What kind of work did your grandfather do?”
“He owned a business at home, but now it is gone,” Joe said.
“Joe, what was your destination? Where were you and your grandfather going to work? What city? State?”
Joe didn’t hesitate this time. “A small city like Puerto Lempira. Grandfather said our new home would be on a lake as big as an ocean.”
“Do you know the name of the city?”
“Fort Gracious in Michigan,” Joe said.
Michigan made sense to Jack if the truck was coming from Texas. It would possibly pass through Indiana. He’d never heard of Fort Gracious.
“Did your grandfather know any of the people traveling with you?”
“I was told...” Joe’s words trailed off. He seemed uncertain what to say.
“You were told what, Joe?” Jack prompted.
“Grandfather said I wasn’t to look at them.”
“Who weren’t you supposed to look at?” Jack asked.
“You saved me, Detective Murphy. Please don’t ask these questions. My grandfather said not to speak of this.”
“I have to ask these questions, Joe. It’s my job. Understand?”
Joe said nothing.
“A fight broke out near the doors. Did you see it?”
Nothing.
“Are the people who were in the fight the ones your grandfather told you not to look at?”
Joe put the broth down, pulled the blanket tighter, and looked toward the door to the room.
Jack said, “I’m trying to help you, but you’re going to have to talk to me, Joe. I need to know some things. You understand that, right? Can you help me?”
Joe raised his face. “You saved me. I will try, Detective Murphy.”
Jack decided to go at it from a different direction. “You can nod or shake your head instead of talking. Were the people you weren’t supposed to look at men?”
“No.”
“Men and women. Good. How many men?” Jack asked.
Joe held up two fingers.
“Women?”
Joe didn’t answer.
“Was there a woman with the two men?”
“Yes.”
“Were they in a fight?”
“Yes,” Joe said.
“Were they fighting other people, or were they fighting each other?” Jack asked.
Joe kept his eye on the door. He was clearly uncomfortable talking about this, but Jack had to know what went on in the trailer.
“The man with the knife,” Jack said. “Did he kill the man and woman?”
“Grandfather said don’t look,” Joe answered.
“Did you hear what they were fighting over?”
Joe picked up the broth and sipped at it slowly. Jack could hear the boy’s stomach growl and gurgle in retaliation of the invasion of sustenance.
Joe warmed his hands on the mug and changed the subject. “We traveled for many days from Honduras to Mexico. We walked sometimes for a long way. Sometimes we rode in the backs of pickups.” His eyes lit briefly when he spoke of this, as if it were an adventure. “My grandfather arranged transportation to America, but we had to leave Puerto Lempira very quickly and take nothing. Not even grandfather’s vehicle. We were smuggled out in the trunk of his friend’s car. It was very warm for most of the journey, but it was very cold when we reached the border.
“The men we met there said they would give us blankets and food in the trucks. They lied. The men took everything from us except our papers. Some people had hidden American money in their shoes. You can’t eat money.”
“I’m truly sorry, Joe. It was wrong to treat you that way,” Jack said.
A pained expression crossed Joe’s face. “I will never see my grandfather or Shadow again.”
“Shadow?”
“She is my dog.” His eyes came alive again. “When the men put us in the truck, they said Shadow could not come.” He raised a small hand and made a gun out of his finger and thumb. “One man said he would shoot Shadow if I did not get in the truck. I said, ‘Do not hurt my dog.’ Grandfather whispered something to the man, and the man said to the others to put Shadow in the front. A different man said he will give Shadow back to me when we arrive at Fort Gracious.”
The fire seemed to go out of him, and he slumped back against the pillows.
Jack held a hand a couple of feet above the floor. “Is Shadow a female dog, black and white, yea big?”
“Yes!” Joe sat up quickly. “She has curly hair. One ear is black, the other is white. Her tail is bent, and the tip of one ear is missing. I told her to ride with the man and not to bite him. The man liked her.”
Jack didn’t want to get the boy’s hopes up. “Would you recognize the man that said he would give Shadow back when you reached Michigan? The one that liked Shadow?”
“Do you have Shadow? Did the man hurt her? Is she here?”
Jack visualized the dog from the stolen car. It was a female, black and white, kind of a border collie mixed mutt, and the last few inches of her tail might have been bent. He definitely remembered seeing a difference in her ears. One of them didn’t come to a point.
“Joe, the
dog I found is unharmed, but it might not be Shadow. I have other important things to ask. Okay?”
“I know it is her,” Joe said, and Jack hoped that was true for the kid’s sake.
“Let me show you a picture. Tell me if this person is familiar. Can you do that?”
“I will try.”
Jack showed Joe two close-up face shots of the dead man from the Coffee Shop.
Joe said, “That is him! He is the one that took Shadow.”
“Was anyone with this man when he took Shadow to the front of the truck?” Jack asked. Freyda said she’d possibly seen two people in the VW. It might have been the driver and the dog, or two people. The dog may have been in the back seat.
It would make more sense to have more than one driver to trade off on the long drive from Mexico to Michigan. Maybe Mrs. Rademacher’s customer was the other driver. Maybe one had tried to quit. The two had gotten into a dispute and one killed the other. Maybe there was another body waiting to be found.
Joe said, “Five men were loading the trucks with people. I counted three trucks. The men had long guns. The one you showed me had no gun.”
Jack asked, “Did you see a man about this tall talking to the guy in the photo?” He stood and held his open hand at chin height. “He would have been older than me and wearing a cowboy hat and dark-colored long coat.”
Joe shook his head. “It was dark, Detective Murphy. I only know I saw guns like on television. The kind soldiers carry. You must take me to Shadow.” Joe pulled the covers back, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and winced as he put his feet on the cold tile floor.
Jack helped Joe back onto the bed. The boy’s legs were stick-like, and even with his dark skin you could see they were covered in bruises and healing cuts. The soles of his feet had scars of old burns.
“Where did you get those burns and bruises, Joe?”
Joe didn’t answer.
“How long were you and your grandfather in that trailer?”
“I slept three times. It was always dark, and the sound of the truck made me sleepy.”
“Did you ever stop anywhere to use the toilet, get food or water?”