by Rick Reed
Walker said, “Claudine got into the boy’s room at the hospital and scared him off. If he wasn’t traumatized before, he is now. He’ll be afraid to go outside.”
Little Casket said to the detectives, “I guess we’ll just stand here and watch this guy decompose. Stay or leave. Some of us have things to do.”
“I talked to Joanie Ryan while you were watching the news and got an update for you,” Walker said.
Dr. John grinned and made a shooing motion at them. “You boys talk. I’ll go ahead and begin so Lilly can take her anger out on the body.”
“We’ll be in the hall,” Walker said.
“What do you have, Tony?” Jack asked.
“Remember the three bodies just inside the back doors of the truck,” Walker said. “The one with the knife had a Honduran passport and a green card. His passport and green card had different names. The passport wasn’t stamped for the United States, so he didn’t go through customs. He had over a thousand dollars US and a wad of Honduran money in his pocket.
“The stabbing victim and the woman had Columbian passports. Their passports were stamped in the US last week at LAX. They didn’t have green cards or money, but they had new burner cell phones. Joanie checked the call log, and there weren’t any calls or numbers listed in the history on the phones. Did you say the boy’s last name was Bogran?”
“Yeah,” Jack said.
Walker made a call. “Joanie. Did you tell me you found a passport for someone named Bogran?” He spelled the name for her, listened, and said, “Send me pictures of the passports and green cards you have so far.”
“What?” Jack asked when Walker disconnected the call.
“Joanie said two Honduran passports with the name Bogran were found on one of the victims in the trailer.”
“Joe and the grandfather,” Jack said. “We’ll have to run all this by Toomey and see what the Feds can find out for us.”
“You’re referring to our new bestest friend and boss, Deputy Assistant Director Toomey of the USOC federal task force,” Liddell said.
“We’d better go to Deaconess and do damage control, Bigfoot. We’ll call your friend Toomey after.”
“Toomey liked you first, Jack.”
“It’s interesting the three that were fighting had passports. It makes me think that some of these people were hiding among the sheep. Sneaking into the US for other reasons than working for a living.”
“How does the boy fit into this?” Liddell asked.
“You tell me, Bigfoot. Better yet, we can let him answer that question. Let’s go.”
“Immigration is going to be all up in this,” Liddell said.
“Lucky for us, we don’t work for Immigration. Our job is to find the assholes responsible. We’ve got the driver. Now we have to find his killer. If that guy turns out to be an illegal alien, I’m going to ‘beam him up,’ not deport him.”
They left Sergeant Walker at the morgue and headed back to Deaconess.
“Do you think that news guy is still waiting?” Liddell asked.
“I hope so,” Jack said, and his phone rang.
“Jack, you need to get back to Deaconess right away,” the dispatcher said.
“We’re headed there now. What’s up?”
“Security called and said the boy you were talking to earlier has disappeared.”
“Shit!” Jack said.
“Detective Jansen will meet you at the hospital to take the missing person report,” the dispatcher added.
“Step on it, Bigfoot,” Jack said, and disconnected.
Chapter 12
Jack kept his eyes peeled for Joe. A boy in a hospital gown and no shoes should stand out, but there was no sign of him. They pulled into the ER drive, and Jack was glad the Channel Six news wagon wasn’t there. The last thing a traumatized nine-year-old boy needed was Claudine Setera shoving a microphone in his face and asking, “How does it feel to be an orphan? Did you see the others die? Did your grandfather say anything before he froze solid? How did that make you feel?”
They parked behind the unoccupied Crown Vic that belonged to Detective Larry Jansen, the missing person detective for EPD.
“Maybe the captain called him in to help with this?” Liddell suggested.
“You’re a glass half full person, Bigfoot.”
“You’re a glass needs to be full of Scotch guy,” Liddell retorted. “Marcie says if you think positive, good things will happen.”
The heavy glass doors whooshed open, and they saw a security guard waiting for them inside.
“Okay. I’m positive we’ll have to run that greasy little bastard off,” Jack said, half kidding. Larry Jansen had been on the EPD since Moses floated down the Nile in a basket. He was politically connected to unknown parties, and this connection had saved his slimy hide more than once. He was also a part-time protégé or snitch for Double Dick when it suited him, so he could be dangerous. Like a snake hidden in the grass, you never know when it’s going to bite you in the ass.
The hospital guard was from Powers Private Security, and he was built like an NFL linebacker. He sported a dark goatee, but his head was shaved. Jack had seen the man at the hospital a time or two. With great effort, the guard pulled his eyes from the nurse’s cleavage. His nametag read: COFFEE. The name was appropriate to his skin color. Captain bars adorned the epaulets of his starched white shirt.
Jack and Liddell introduced themselves, and Jack said, “Fill us in, Captain.”
Captain Coffee said, “Two of my people are out checking the floors, and one of your detectives is here. No word yet.”
“Detective Jansen?” Jack asked. “Short older guy that could be an evil twin of Columbo?” Murphy’s Law says: “Shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which one fills up first.” The guard’s answer indicated the former hand.
Coffee laughed. “I knew he reminded me of someone. Columbo. That’s good.” He laughed again. “This kid isn’t officially missing yet. The nurse discovered he was gone maybe ten minutes ago.”
“Did anyone see the boy leave?” Jack asked.
“We’re still talking to people, but so far the answer is no. I checked with all the ER staff, and they were busy. We had a domestic violence couple that we were dealing with. I was going through security footage before you got here.”
The security footage must have been on the nurse’s cleavage, Jack thought.
“If you come back to my office we can talk there.”
“He couldn’t have gone far,” Jack said. “Okay, let’s go.”
Coffee led them into a small office crammed with filing cabinets and one large desk. Atop the desk was the video surveillance system. The monitor showed a split-screen view of four exits. Coffee punched a button, and the picture changed to four views of hallways. The system was outdated.
Jack asked, “Captain, can you play the footage starting five minutes before he went missing?”
Coffee said, “I’m doing that now. This is a big place, and the monitors switch to four different views every five seconds. I can freeze a camera if I see something.”
“Did you get a description of the boy?” Jack asked.
“Dark-skinned, dark hair, Hispanic, and skinny. I think he’ll stand out, don’t you?” the guard said.
“Did he take his clothes?” Jack asked.
Coffee was still.
Jack asked, “Has anyone reported missing clothing?”
“Detective Jansen said he would check on that,” Coffee said. “But even if the kid took clothes, it might not get reported right away. And if he took medical scrubs or any of that, we probably wouldn’t know. There’s a supply room just outside the back entrance to the treatment rooms. I’ll call ER and ask if he took his clothes from the room.”
“Do that. Do you have a camera back there?”
Coff
ee was embarrassed. “Been trying to get the hospital to put one in since I been here.” He called ER and spoke briefly. “He took his clothes, but the nurse I talked to said she didn’t remember what he was wearing.”
Jack knew. “He was wearing jeans, a dirty T-shirt with some type of logo on the chest. The logo was round with spikes. He had cammo boots and a beige bomber jacket that was too big for him.”
“I’ll have to go back through the footage. I was told he was in a hospital gown,” Coffee said. “I put out a Code Yellow for a missing ER patient.”
“Good work,” Jack said. “If you see Detective Jansen tell him to call Jack Murphy. If you find anything, and I mean anything, call me.” Jack gave him a card.
“Will do,” Coffee said.
“Captain Coffee,” Jack said, “are you going to check the footage from the...”
“Parking lots. I’m on it,” Coffee said.
Jack and Liddell headed toward their car.
Liddell said, “What about Jansen? Want me to have Coffee put a Code Columbo out on him?” He cupped his hands beside his mouth and yelled, “Code Columbo. Code Columbo! Lost detective, short, squat, wearing a rumpled coat, head up his ass. Consider him unarmed and languorous.”
Jack said, “I don’t think Jansen can hurt anything now.”
Liddell said, “I’ll call dispatch and put a BOLO on Joe?” BOLO is Be on the Lookout.
Jack said, “Not yet,” and called dispatch. He asked the dispatcher, “Did anyone ask you to put out an alert on this missing person from Deaconess?”
“Not yet,” the dispatcher answered.
“Don’t. Contact me or Liddell first.” He hung up.
“Where are we going, pod’na?” Liddell asked.
“Let’s stop and ask the nurse if Joe said anything before he left.”
They stopped and talked to the doctor and to Nurse Tammy from Ohio but gained no further information except that they saw Claudine Setera and the cameraman in the boy’s room and made them leave. Security wasn’t called. The doctor said Joe was in a state, and the nurse was getting something to help him relax. Tammy said when she came back to the room Joe was gone. They called security right away, and a Code Yellow was put out.
Captain Coffee stopped them as they were leaving. “That pretty newswoman was thrown out by our ER doctor. Do you want footage of any of that?”
“No,” Jack said. “She didn’t do anything illegal. We can’t arrest people for being assholes.”
“Too bad,” Coffee said. “It might make good viewing at the FOP Club some night.”
Liddell said, “Make us a copy. I’ll come back and get it.”
Chapter 13
Jack pulled out of the Deaconess Emergency Room drive and turned west on Columbia Avenue.
“He wouldn’t have gone far in this cold,” Liddell said. “I think we should check the convenience stores. There’s a CVS down the street and a couple of gas stations. He’ll need to get warm. He’ll want real food. There’s that greasy spoon down by St. Vincent’s Day Care.”
“I have a better idea,” Jack said.
Three blocks from the hospital, St. Anthony’s Catholic grade school building had been turned into a homeless shelter, but the church was still in use, as was the convent and rectory. Because Jack’s parents, especially his mother, were of the Catholic faith, Jack had been sentenced to St. Anthony’s for eight long years. When Jack was thirteen he was transferred to the maximum-security version called Rex Mundi High School. The nuns at Rex Mundi were better armed and better trained than corrections officers. They carried throwing stars made from rosary crucifixes, sharpened rulers, and it was rumored among the inmates that the nuns carried Uzis under their habits. Some of the girls called the nuns penguins. The boys called them nunjas.
Few cars were on the road and even fewer people on the sidewalks. Jack parked illegally on First Avenue in front of St. Anthony’s church, and they climbed the worn stone steps. The three sets of double front doors surrounded by arches of carved Bedford stone were tall and wide enough that even Bigfoot was small in comparison. Each door was made of three-inch-thick solid walnut that was worn smooth around the iron handles. Liddell tried the left side door, and it swung easily, a testament to the craft of the builders back in the 1800s.
“What makes you think he’s here?” Liddell asked.
“He’s in a strange country and in trouble. He’ll be wanting sanctuary.”
They entered the church. The heavy door swung shut behind them. Liddell whispered, “Looks empty to me, pod’na. I mean, no people.”
“Let’s walk through anyway, Bigfoot. This is a big place. There are rooms behind the altar and upstairs in the choir loft,” Jack said. “Did I ever mention that I went to school at St. Anthony’s?”
“No,” Liddell whispered.
“You don’t have to whisper, Bigfoot. Maybe Joe will hear us and come out.”
“Hey, Joe,” Liddell called out.
“Joe. It’s Murphy,” Jack said.
A head that looked like a cotton ball on a stick popped up behind the altar. The woman attached to it was old enough to predate the church. Her wispy hair was so white it shone like a halo in the light coming through the stained-glass windows. She appeared surreal, angelic, and with a granny apple frown. The heavy wool sweater she wore was hanging from her thin frame, and if she was standing, she was four-foot-tall because only her head showed above the altar.
“This is a church,” she admonished them.
“Sorry,” Jack said. “We’re looking for a young boy.”
The woman stared at him. “Well you won’t find a boy of any age here. You should go home and pray. This is a house of God.”
Liddell came up beside Jack and chuckled. “What my partner means is that we’re looking for a boy who is...”
She stared from Jack to Liddell. “Your partner?”
“Yeah. We’re partners. He’s Jack. I’m Liddell.” Liddell quickly added, “I’m married and have a baby.”
The old woman continued to stare disapprovingly.
“Not me and Jack. Me and my wife have a baby.”
“There’s no young boy here. Now I’ve got cleaning to attend to.” Her head disappeared down behind the altar without another word.
“Come on, Bigfoot. He’s not here.”
They walked out and down the stone steps in front. Liddell asked, “Do you think she thought we were ‘partner’ partners, pod’na?”
“What do you think?”
Liddell nudged Jack’s arm. “Well, you did tell her you were looking for a ‘young boy.’ You started it.”
“Did not.”
“Where to next?” Liddell asked. “The bus station?”
“You’re very funny, Bigfoot. You should take those big feet on the road. Let’s go to the convent.”
“Why are we wasting time here, pod’na? We should just drive around and check places that are open like I said.”
“St. Anthony of Padua is the patron saint of the lost, Bigfoot. The church was named for him. Joe is lost. Let’s check the convent first. I promise we’ll find somewhere you can get food after we find him.”
St. Anthony’s church grounds included one square block facing four different streets. German immigrant Anthony Reis had built a mansion on the land that became the rectory upon his death. He also bequeathed the remaining land to the Catholic Church. The church was built and named St. Anthony, and soon after, work was completed on a two-story grade school and a convent. They walked up the steps to the front door of the convent.
“We used to call this the nunnery,” Jack said to Liddell. “We used to dare each other to sneak inside because we thought this was a gateway to another world where the aliens wore penguin suits and ate kids.”
“That explains a lot of things, pod’na.”
Jack knocke
d, and after a short time the door was answered and a sister stepped into the opening. She was pushing five feet, with a heavily wrinkled face and stick-like fingers. She was wearing a black floor-length gown with a flowing scapular and a black-and-white veil covering her head and part of her face. Jack remembered her being more vital with a commanding presence that could stop fights and freeze angry words in your throat. He didn’t remember her being the frail and shrunken woman standing before them.
“Jack Murphy,” Sister Aquinas said with delight in her eyes. “What kind of trouble are you in now?”
“I’m surprised you remember me, Sister Aquinas. It’s been a while.”
“Not so long that I’ve forgotten your daily presence in detention for fighting. Come in.”
They stepped inside the narrow foyer, and Liddell had to stand sideways as she closed the heavy door. The men followed as she moved at a surprising pace down the hallway. The temperature warmed as they neared the back of the house.
“You didn’t answer my question, Jack.”
Jack was chagrined but not surprised that trouble was what she associated him with. He was, after all, a shit-magnet.
“I’ve tried to stay out of trouble. It’s good to see you again, Sister Aquinas.”
“I don’t watch the news much anymore because my eyes aren’t what they used to be. But I read the newspaper. All the fistfights you had seem to have prepared you for your chosen profession. I can’t say I approve of some of the stories I’ve heard.”
“Yes, Sister,” Jack said.
“But in your own way you seem to be doing His work.”
“Yes, Sister,” Jack said again. He felt he was back in grade school in the principal’s office.
“How are Kevin and your mother?” Sister Aquinas asked.
She’s still got a mind like a steel trap. “They’re fine, Sister. My mother’s in Florida and Kevin is—well he’s still Kevin.”
“I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He and your mother were in Mass every Sunday with Kevin.” Jack had missed mass whenever possible. “I’m glad you are back with Katie. Such a sweet girl,” she said, once again surprising Jack with her knowledge of his life. Time to change the subject.