Guilty Photographs

by S I Taylor

  “Did you leave this house on June eighth?” he asked her.

  He knew he was judging but he wanted this interview to go by quick so he could get to his next suspect on the list.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  The sound of the huff she made was like listening to an old noiseless accordion blowing out air.

  She removed the mask. “No,” she said and placed the mask back on her face.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  “What about the man your grandmother said came here for you?”

  “He just looked at me and left,” she said as she inhaled and exhaled after every other word and replaced the mask on her face each time.

  “He didn’t speak at all to you? Just nod if that’s easier for you.”

  Noelle shook her head.

  He was confused as to what she meant, whether she was saying that she was fine speaking or if she was answering his question. However, he chose the latter and continued with the next question.

  “Can you describe him?”

  Again, she shook her head.

  By now McKinley figured, in fact, he was sure that Noelle did not know anything and that whoever this man was, he was looking for a particular type of person and Noelle did not fit his description.

  He must have thought the same as I did when I first saw Noelle, McKinley thought.

  “Okay, well, thank you for your time. If I have anything to ask, I’ll be back,” he said.

  Under any other circumstance he would have probed for more, but she was clearly homebound and judging from her pale skin she hadn’t seen the light of day in years. He was in a hurry and the conversation could take hours to unravel.

  He waited as she inhaled and exhaled two more times before she answered.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Take care.”

  She removed the mask. “Thank.” Placed the mask back on her face. Inhaled and exhaled. “You.”

  Fuck, that was so insensitive to say. I could’ve said be safe or have a nice day or anything that wasn’t health related. Can’t take it back now, he thought.

  He waved at her and watched her wave back.

  He wanted to thank her for her time but was afraid that she might have more to say than just a plain you’re welcome. So he turned around and left quickly.

  He hopped in his car and looked through his notes and drove to the next house on his list.

  When he arrived, he sat in his car, making sure the GPS had taken him to the right location. He lowered his passenger side window and saw that there was a crowd outside the old purple and white house. The people gathered there were crying and praying.

  He got out of the car and walked toward the crowd. He double-checked the address on his list with the house number and it was a positive match.

  Before McKinley was able to introduce himself, an older black male maybe in his late fifties greeted him.

  “Did you know Jody?” he asked, teary-eyed, cradling a stack of papers in his arms.

  “Not well enough,” McKinley told him.

  “Oh, she was a good person. She might have done bad things at times, but she was good to her mother and me and those she loved,” he said.

  “Where is she?” McKinley asked.

  “We’re on our way to put up flyers around the neighborhood. She has been missing for several days now.” The man handed McKinley a flyer of Jody and out of courtesy he glanced at the image since McKinley had seen her mugshot; his focus was on trying to get information on her whereabouts. McKinley quickly diverted his attention back to the man.

  “Right, I apologize. I’m Agent McKinley from the FCCA. I’m sure you already filed Jody as a missing person to the sheriff’s department but did anything out of the ordinary happen in the days leading to her disappearance?” He quickly diverted his tactic, hoping the father did not realize that McKinley was unaware of her disappearance.

  “Yeah, I told them already but if the FCCA is looking into this too I guess her disappearance has finally gotten some publicity and importance.”

  He paused for a moment, and McKinley noticed how his face shifted from a sad grieving father to anger.

  “I bet it was that son-of-a-bitch that came looking for her. I told her to stop that life, that she had something going good for herself. She was clean she had a good job. But she wouldn’t listen. She worked at the gas station around the corner and when the manager called me to ask for her, I knew he did something to my little girl.”

  “Who did what to Jody?”

  “He was a white man. Every time the white man came here looking for her, trouble was always brewing, she either got arrested or came home hurt but she always called to let us know she was all right, but this time she didn’t.”

  “Can you describe this white guy?”

  “Once I stared at one of them and they threatened me so from then on I never went outside when they came looking for her. They spoke inside of his vehicle or they drove somewhere else.”

  McKinley looked intently at him as the man continued.

  “He was tall about your height, black hair, slim, and he had muscles, he didn’t have a beard or any facial hair.”

  “What about the kind of car he drove?”

  “The last time I saw the car, it was a black muscle car like a Dodge but I could be wrong, sometimes it was blue but I never paid attention to the make and model I didn’t want to know more than I needed to just in case. You know. But now I regret it.”

  “How do you know this white guy did anything to her?”

  “Because of a father’s intuition. I know, I just know he did something to her. All this and the warehouse killing seems too close to be a coincidence. She went missing that same day.”

  “You think if I brought a sketch artist here tomorrow you would be able to describe him with more details to her?”

  “Yeah, I’ll give her the description of everything I remember from him if it’ll help. You gonna catch him?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. I’m gathering evidence. I’ll call you to arrange the meeting.”

  McKinley jotted his phone number in his notepad and shook the man’s hand firmly but somehow McKinley knew that he needed more than a hand shake.

  He nodded as he sobbed and somehow, maybe, he realized that this time Jody was not going to be so fortunate. He looked as if he had been waiting for a glimpse of hope that wasn’t coming and couldn’t contain himself.

  McKinley held him, trying to console the little bit of hope that he might’ve had at finding some answers. He knew he was being selfish, but he was getting frustrated that he had not gotten any positive leads yet.

  “Dear, we need to go,” a woman told Jody’s father.

  He let go of McKinley, leaving tear stains on his polo shirt.

  McKinley stood in the front yard as the crowd walked away past him with staplers, duct tape, and colorful flyers of Jody.

  He gave everyone an apologetic, somber nod as they walked past. He hurried to his car with the flyer in hand. Setting it on the passenger seat, he slammed the door and cursed at his frustration. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and he was running out of time. He looked back at the flyer and something about the image on it caught his attention. It was those eyes that got to him. He had seen those big brown eyes recently. The long auburn curly hair that vibrantly rested on her shoulders. The silky caramel skin; he’d seen it. The more he stared at Jody the more he realized that Jody was the girl with the terrified stare, the flat and dry hair, and the skinned flesh in the cage.

  The mugshot he had of Jody was nothing compared to the image on the flyer or the girl engraved in his mind.

  Looking at the difference between Jody Sterling’s mugshot and the Jody from the flyer reminded him of the time that he was on a ride-along working undercover for the FCCA with the San Diego PD. He and Officer Chen had just had lunch when a call came in about a disturbance at a known trap house. The neighbors called it in saying that there was an older ma
n wearing a torn red T-shirt and faded jeans screaming obscenities at no one in particular. Despite the neighbors’ efforts to calm the man, it angered him further which led them no choice but to call the police for reinforcement.

  Officer Chen and McKinley arrived on scene shortly after another cruiser was parking. From the distance the man was arguing, flailing his arms in dismay and pointing at what McKinley presumed to be someone from the man’s imagination. It could’ve been a family member, a friend, or a stranger but in his presence, there was no one around except for the officers approaching.

  The man looked disheveled, his faded blond hair a mush of jumbled mess and his face covered with an overgrown unkempt beard. The closer McKinley got to the man, the more he realized that he knew him. The two officers were asking him questions trying to figure out who he was since he wasn’t known as one of the local addicts in the neighborhood.

  McKinley came face to face with the man and he felt dizzy, his heart falling to the pit of his stomach, and he felt the rumble of bile forming accompanied by a sharp pain. His hand instantly pressed against his mouth as he ran back to the cruiser parked next to the grassy paved road. He released the contents of his undigested lunch and maybe the remnants of his breakfast onto the grass.

  When he finally finished spilling himself, he went to the cruiser sat there with the A/C cranked high and sipped water a little at a time. Officer Chen came running to him but he assured him he was fine and needed a few minutes to compose himself. It wasn’t the stench of feces and urine on the man’s soiled clothing that churned his insides, it was the realization that the man who was now being arrested was his father.

  He saw on the computer screen of Officer Chen’s laptop the NCIC photograph line-up of the different IDs and driver’s licenses of his father, from the first one his father ever took to the image that was standing just a few feet away from him. He saw through the line-up pictures of how his father’s full plump face, white pearly teeth, and blond vibrant freshly cut hair morphed into an almost skeleton face, sunken eyes, and missing teeth due to the several years of crack cocaine and meth abuse. His father, Carter McKinley, Senior, was fifty-two years old at the time but looked like he was eighty.

  That same day he went to his tattoo artist and had him engrave a warrior’s shield on his upper arm. The shield was a symbol of commitment and protection. He was committed to helping his parents and protecting himself from ever letting anything affect him that much on the job—in public anyway.

  He kept that promise, but his parents were too far gone to get out of their addictive states. Despite the pain, he knew he tried and he wanted to believe that counted for something, even though his father was way too out of it to remember where he was or his connection to his son.

  From the distance he saw Jody’s family and friends posting posters along the poles as they walked and that image brought him back to the flyer of Jody.

  How could McKinley go back to the house and tell a father that his daughter was murdered and he by chance made the connection?

  He wanted to make sure he was wrong. But his investigative instincts were never wrong in these situations. He called Dr. Kincade and gave her the description of Jody Sterling. Five foot eight, brown eyes, curly hair, and approximately one hundred and fifteen pounds. A pretty young twenty-three-year-old far from the hardened corpse he discovered a few hours ago. He thanked her and ended the call right before she explained that she would have the results in a few hours.

  McKinley called Bush. “Hey man, I need you to get in contact with Agent Pratt.”

  “Sure, you need her for a sketch right?”

  “Yeah, I need her to visit with both Noelle’s grandmother and Jody’s father to sketch the face of a potential suspect.” McKinley said.

  “Sure, when you need the meeting?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Consider it done,” Bush said.

  “And Bush, let Agent Pratt know to give the sketches to Coolidge.”

  “Yeah, sure. Later dude.”

  “Thanks, man. Later.” McKinley ended the call and placed his cell in his pocket.

  He started the engine, looked at the next address on the list, and proceeded to the location.

  As he parked his vehicle, he realized that the home looked abandoned. He was worried that he had yet another name to be crossed off his list but somehow, he was hopeful. He turned toward the house and a young boy kicking an empty soda can and wearing what McKinley presumed to be his school uniform—a white shirt, a black tie, black pants, and a book bag strapped on his back—coming from the house next door approached him as McKinley was going to peek through the windows.

  “Hey, mister!” the boy shouted.

  McKinley turned his attention to the boy. “Yeah, you’re talking to me?”

  “Yeah, you’re the only person standing there,” he said sarcastically.

  “Right. Hey, you know Barbara Wolf?” McKinley asked.

  “Who wants to know?” the boy asked.

  Remembering that the people in the neighborhood were not too forthcoming with the police, he decided to change his tactic.

  “I’m her friend. I moved back into town and she told me to come visit her when I was around the area, but I see there is no one here,” McKinley told him.

  The boy looked skeptical, sizing McKinley up and down, but apparently saw no reason to doubt McKinley.

  “They moved out years ago,” the boy said.

  “Do you know where they moved to?” McKinley asked.

  “Maybe,” the boy said.

  McKinley reached in his pocket and found a few bills.

  “If you could write it down on this paper, I have a twenty-dollar bill that has your name on it,” McKinley told him. He knew this was not what he was trained to do but at this point he was desperate, and people were not talking.

  The boy looked at McKinley and then at the bills. “Sure,” the boy said. He took the piece of paper and jotted down an address on it.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” McKinley asked him.

  “Yeah, I helped her donate a lot of stuff when she moved out,” the boy said.

  McKinley looked at him and then at the paper with the new address written on it and thought that maybe his luck might change.

  “Thanks, buddy,” McKinley said. He looked at the address and busied himself folding the paper.

  “Hey, where’s my money?” the boy said. He frowned and held out his hands waiting for his reward.

  McKinley blurted an apologetic sorry as he handed the boy the twenty. The boy ran away in the opposite direction forgetting about the soda can that he was once kicking.

  McKinley hurriedly got into his car, punched in the address in the GPS, and sped off to the new address.

  When he arrived, he parked his car across the street and noticed a slim woman walk out of the back door into the streets. He looked through the piles of paper sitting on the passenger side and looked at Barbara Wolf’s mugshot and the girl seemed to fit the description he was looking for, so he waited in his car until she turned the corner. She got into a cab and he followed until she was dropped off at a business district, hopped into a pest control van, and drove away several minutes later.

  She was moving quickly through traffic and she was probably late for work. He glanced at his wrist watch and then at the remaining names on his list. He contemplated on whether or not to follow her or to come back to speak to her later. The cab was getting out of sight and he needed to act quickly. He needed to get through at least half of his list today, so he decided to follow her.

  Chapter 21

  The Night Owl Motel was the closest, not to mention the cheapest, motel Nixon had found on such short notice, since the hotel he’d originally planned to use was booked for a softball tournament that week. He had an inkling that he should’ve booked ahead of time but somehow, he had forgotten to reserve a room.

  When he stepped inside the room, the fresh scent of bleach mixed with Pine-Sol permeated the
area. He felt nauseated at the underlying rotten stench that the cleaning crew had tried to mask but which still lingered in the air.

  The room was small, dingy, and nasty-looking. It resembled a room where a scary movie would probably take place. The carpet was stained, the walls were in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, and the bed sheets looked like they hadn’t been changed in years. He opted for the wooden chair and table that was next to the bed, deciding it was the most sanitized furniture in the room.

  The few steps to the bathroom were short but he wanted to remain in just a few areas in the small room. He felt grossed out by the room and how the cleanliness was not to his level. Nixon grabbed tissue from the bathroom and cleaned the surface of the table. Even though it wasn’t sanitizing anything he figured it was a better option than to simply place his things on the table.

  He grabbed his duffel bag and started setting up his equipment on the table.

  An hour later he got a call from Barbara.

  “Hey, I’m almost at the first stop. I had to go back home. I forgot to get the keys to the van. Did you park it at the corner of the exterminator business?” she asked.

  “Yes, I also left the watch and the ear device in the glove compartment,” he said.

  They’d decided to deviate from the original plan because they didn’t want Iggy to be aware of too many details of their whereabouts or to cause too much suspicion on Barbara if she were to get the van from Iggy’s place. Even though it was a body shop, the van didn’t look like it had any recent work done and they wanted to make the stint believable.

  “Good, thanks, Nixon. We’re running a few minutes late but not too far off schedule.” She was going around vehicles speeding just five miles above the suggested speed limit.

  “That’s great. Let me know when you place the device in your ear and turn on the watch so that I can synchronize it to the software in my laptop,” he said.

  “Sure, just give me about twenty minutes and I’ll text you once I have the device implanted and the watch secured around my wrist.”

  “Okay, be careful, Barbara,” he said, and they hung up.