by Stacy Green
“Shouldn’t I be with the other civilians?”
“I’d rather you were with me.”
No surprise there. Not that I could blame him. “You have any leads?”
“Besides my brother?”
“Yes. By the way, have you gotten a search warrant for his vehicle and house?”
“I’ve already discussed this with you, and I’m not doing it again.” Todd’s lips thinned beneath his moustache. “My partner is a ten-year veteran detective, and he’s handling anything related to Justin. If you’ve got questions, talk to him.”
“Fair enough. I’m sure you’re checking out the locally registered scum. What about Mom’s friends or significant other?”
“No significant other. Been single for quite a while. Yes, we’re talking to friends, canvassing the neighborhood. You know, our job.” I couldn’t miss the sarcasm. “We have searched for missing kids a time or two.”
I didn’t press my luck further. Jamming my hands into my pockets, I worked to keep pace with Todd’s quick strides. Between the cold and the silence and the nervous energy rippling through me, I couldn’t keep quiet. “So, how long have you been a detective?”
Todd gave me the side-eye. “I made detective a few weeks before Justin’s release.”
“What made you decide to become a cop?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I work in special victims.”
“You were seventeen when it happened, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you feel guilty?”
Todd came to an abrupt halt. “What?”
I really had no idea where that came from. I guess the word had been on my mind since Chris shot off his mouth. I mirrored his defensive stance, shading my eyes as I looked up at his angry glare. “About not knowing what Justin was. Or what was happening to him. Feeling guilty about that would be pretty normal.”
“I was a senior in high school trying to get out of the house because I hated my stepmother and resented my father. Justin was an afterthought. Of course I feel guilty.” He squared his shoulders and forged ahead, but his face was drawn, his lips pinched.
“Who hurt him?” I asked the question that haunted me for the past decade. I’d known from the moment I became Justin’s CPS worker he’d been abused. I’d just never been able to get him to admit it–or been able to prove it.
Todd flinched and started walking again. “Don’t know. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. That’s his business.”
The paper factory loomed ahead. Weathered gray and sporting multiple, jagged cracks, the exterior made me think of the pottery I’d never been able to master. I took it up as a stress reliever a few years ago, but everything I tried to make ended up limp and sad looking. I tried not to think of that as a metaphor for my life.
The building did resemble a giant, clay square that had cracked in the oven. Several of the windows were busted out while others had been repaired with dark plastic. Its double front doors were closed, but a broken window pane ruled out any chance of the place being closed off. What a sad place to endure.
“We’ve usually got five to ten homeless in this place, and we don’t mess with them unless they cause trouble,” Todd said. “A couple of them have been here since last summer, and I’ve talked to them a few times. They’re good people, just down on their luck.”
I stared up at the dilapidated building. “You want me to search other rooms while you–”
“God, no. We don’t know who’s in here. I may not like you, but I don’t want you getting hurt.”
I almost smiled. Todd really was a decent guy.
The inside of the building smelled like rotting wood, body odor, and Porta Potties at an outdoor music festival. Most of the downstairs was empty save for various piles of rubble. Footsteps above told a different story.
“Stay behind me.”
I followed orders as we ascended the stairs. A man with a scraggly beard and weary eyes rested against the wall at the top. He might have been thirty or fifty; life had clearly been hard for him.
“Hank.” Todd waved his hand in greeting. “How are you?”
“All right. What brings you to these parts, Detective?”
Todd eased the duffle bag he’d been carrying off his shoulder and unzipped it to reveal a loaf of bread, two packs of bologna, and several bottles of water. He gave them to Hank. “I know you’ll share these with whoever else is around.”
Hank’s sunken-in eyes glittered. “Thank you.”
Todd nodded and then glanced at me, his cheeks flushed with something more than the cold. I was struck with the urge to sincerely pat him on the back. He wasn’t giving Hank the food because he wanted information–he did it because it was right. Every once in a while people surprised me.
“We’ve got a missing little girl.” Todd motioned for me to give Hank a flier. The man nodded at me and focused on the paper. “Nine years old.” Todd explained what we knew of Kailey’s disappearance. “You know of any creeps who’ve moved in? Anyone in the area too interested in little kids or mentioned a little girl who might fit Kailey’s description?”
“Not really.” Hank rubbed his beard. “Only four of us here now, and we pretty much keep to ourselves. Most of us round here aren’t into drugs or bad shit. We just can’t get back on our feet.”
“I know.” Todd spoke without any judgment.
“What about other kids?” I piped up. “I assume you probably know the area pretty well. Do you see any of the older kids being cruel? Threatening the younger ones? Or any adults hanging out who don’t belong?” I wanted to add Justin’s description, but judging by the way his eyeballs were popping out of his head, another word and Todd might throw me down the stairs.
“Course I see kids being cruel,” Hank said. “Most of them are little assholes who don’t know how easy they’ve got it. But never anything that stood out as unusual. Just typical brats.”
“No one new in the neighborhood?” Todd prompted.
“Not that I’ve seen, but I’m not usually out and about when the kids are milling ‘round after school, you know? Figure they don’t need to see the lousy side of life just yet.” The man’s voice lost its edge. “Ain’t my job to tell them how rough it is as an adult.” Hank’s eyes brightened. “Hey, hey, wait a minute. There is one thing.”
I held my breath.
“Yeah, Sly Lyle, he sometimes squats here.” Hank opened one of the bottles of water and took a long drink. “We call him Sly because he fancies himself a ladies man. Don’t ask me why–man looks like a bearded troll. Anyway, couple of weeks ago, he was going on about seeing some dude messing with a kid. Grade school girl, he said.”
“What did the girl look like?” I asked, as Todd barked, “Did he get a description of the man?”
“Naw. You gotta understand, Sly sees something crazy every other week. I think he makes up stories just to talk shit.” Hank dived into the bologna like it was a filet mignon. “This time, he bragged about running the guy off. But Sly’s about as big as a puppy and even more awkward. Afraid of his own shadow.”
“I still need to check the story,” Todd said. “Where does Sly usually hang out?”
“When he’s here, he’s downstairs,” Hank said. “Afraid of the floor falling in, you know. He’s short and stick-thin, wears a trench coat that looks like it’s got mothballs in permanent residence. You can’t miss him, but I haven’t seen him in several days.”
“If you do, see what you can get out of him. You still got minutes on that prepaid cell I gave you?” Todd asked.
“Yep. Will keep my ears open. I hear anything, I’ll call you right away.”
They shook hands, and Hank headed to what I assumed was his room. “You gave him a phone?”
“How else is he supposed to get ahold of me if he needs to?”
“Good point.” I was starting to like Todd, which couldn’t be a good thing considering he was a cop, and I had a dark secret.
“By the way, good job on staying quiet.�
�
“Sorry.”
“No you aren’t.”
Two other men called the building home, and neither were Sly. Both had heard the same story, however, and neither believed him. We exited, and I was surprised by how much warmth the battered shelter provided. I pulled my coat closer as Todd checked his phone.
“Nothing so far,” he said. “Not a damned sign.”
“There’s not going to be. Whoever took her had time to watch and plan. He’s got a good hiding spot. If she’s still alive.”
“And my brother had the most time to watch and plan, right?” He’d lost all the kindness he’d shown the homeless men. I wanted to bristle, but I couldn’t blame him for his anger.
“He did,” I said. “But to be fair, I’m sure plenty of others did, too.”
He ground his teeth, his glare fierce.
“I’m sorry about this whole mess.” Emotion welled in my throat so that I nearly choked, and my voice warbled, carrying over the frigid air. “Sorry for you and Justin and Kailey. And believe me, I would love to be wrong about Justin. I would love for you to be right about him–you deserve to be right. I just can’t muster the hope that you are.”
The deep creases around his eyes softened. “I know. And as much as I don’t like to admit it, I understand your position. You’re speaking from experience. Shitty experience.”
“So we’re at a crossroads.”
“That’s up to you.” A cold gust of wind swept in from the north, and Todd pulled his coat more tightly around him. “I can’t change your opinion on Justin any more than you can change mine. And I won’t stop you from searching for Kailey, because I’m not a petty bastard. But I won’t let you railroad my brother into something he’s innocent of.”
“I’d never do that.”
An uneasy and confused tension hung between us for a moment before the ring of Todd’s cellphone shattered it. I stepped aside while he took his call. I meant what I said. I’d never send an innocent man to jail. That was an unforgivable sin in my book. But seeing Justin as innocent wasn’t something I was prepared to do.
Todd ended his call and shoved the phone back into his coat pocket. The creases on his forehead were crater-deep again. “Searchers are having an issue with one of the neighbors. I’ve got to go sort it out.”
“I’ll head into the church.” I glanced down the road at Our Lady of Immaculate Conception, which looked forlorn and foreboding against the bright, morning sun. “See if anyone there recognizes her.”
“I’ll try to catch back up with you, but once you’re done there, can you work your way back up the street?”
“I’ll talk to everyone I see.”
Todd didn’t move. “It’s kind of a rough neighborhood. I hate to leave you.”
I’d rather he’d act brusque. Liking Todd didn’t make my job any easier. “I’ve got my pepper spray, as always.”
“Text me when you’re finished with the church.” He turned and hurried back up the street, his long coat waving in the wind.
Todd’s presence now a memory, I trod toward the church, the soaring tower reminding me what it was like to be shunned. My devout Catholic mother still attended mass, despite all the shunning and whispering that had gone on when my sister died. I was forced to attend, but I never saw the church as a refuge again. So many of the parishioners judged my sister for taking her own life and chose to forget the reasons behind the suicide. My mother, the woman who should have seen the truth and protected her daughter, relished the role of victim. I often thought the woman believed she needed to make up for her daughter killing herself to preserve her own space in heaven.
The familiar hurts of my past licked at my conscience as I loitered on the church steps, and then I immediately felt selfish. Kailey needed help. I bounded up the cracked concrete and tried the heavy door. It opened easily into a cavernous entryway. The ceiling was dome shaped, with faded murals decorating the walls. The heavy silence seemed like an admonishment. I carefully shut the door so as not to disturb the quiet.
Despite its aged appearance, the church smelled clean, with the faintest scent of flowers. A door to my right opened. A middle-aged nun smiled at me.
“I thought I heard the door close. We don’t have service today, and the priest is conducting a meeting. I’m Sister Abigail. Can I help you?”
Her friendly and open attitude surprised me; the nuns in Catholic school hadn’t been cruel, but they were the stereotypical stern-faced, serious women. Then again, they had a bunch of hormonal, cocky teenagers to deal with on a daily basis, so I couldn’t exactly blame them.
“I hope so.” I offered the nun a flier. “I’m looking for this little girl. You wouldn’t have seen her?”
Sister Abigail’s smile evaporated. She took the picture and studied it carefully. “No, I haven’t.”
“It was a long shot. She goes to Kipling Elementary, and I doubted she’d have come by the church on her walk home. But I wanted to check. Would you pass the flier around?”
“Absolutely.” Sister Abigail looked at the flier again. “She’s only nine years old, and she walks home alone, in the city?”
“No, she actually walks with two older girls. But they somehow got separated yesterday.”
Sister Abigail’s eyes narrowed. “These girls, how old are they and what do they look like?”
I quickly checked the information Todd had briefed me on this morning. Fifth graders Josie and Bridget walked Kailey to and from school for the past year. “They’re ten and eleven. Both brown haired. One’s got long hair and the other short. Typical little girls, I think. Why?”
“If one of them has a backpack with a boy band on it–I can’t remember the name, something about a direction–then I do know those two girls. In fact, I ran them out of the vacant lot behind the church yesterday after lunch.” The nun clucked her tongue, shaking her head. “I thought they should have been in school, but they said they had an early dismissal. I let them know the lot was no place for them to be playing. We have our share of hooligans around here. But your little one,” she gestured to the flier, “wasn’t with them.”
My pulse kick-started. “When you say after lunch, do you remember what time exactly?” The police were right. The two girls lied.
“It was before one o’clock,” Sister Abigail said. “I’m diabetic, so I have to keep to my schedule. And I’d just finished my lunch and washed the dishes. The window over the sink overlooks the lot, you see. That’s when I noticed them.”
Josie and Bridget had told everyone they’d taken their normal route. The church was not on that route or anywhere near it. The girls’ lie meant the police didn’t have the correct information about Kailey’s disappearance.
My jaw ached from the force of my clenched teeth. “Thank you so much, Sister Abigail. I don’t think we have the full story from those two. I need to call the police right away. If you remember any more or come across anyone who’s seen Kailey, please call the number on the flier.”
Sister Abigail promised she would, and I hurried out of the church, barely able to think straight. What were those girls thinking? The answer was obvious: they’d disobeyed their parents about the route they were to take home from school and were covering their butts. Typical children who couldn’t fathom problems beyond their own.
I punched in Todd’s number and hoped he’d let me go with him to talk to the girls. Probably not, but I’d ask anyway.
“Find anything?” He wasted no time.
“Josie and Bridget lied about the route they took home. A nun ran them out of the church’s vacant lot yesterday. Before one o’clock.”
“Goddamnit. So our timeline and location of her disappearance is off. I’m going to have those girls’ heads.”
I felt the same, but I had enough experience dealing with kids to know that was the wrong approach. “You can’t be a bull in a china shop. They’re scared and probably feel guilty. Let them know this is about helping Kailey. Be nice, not a bully.”
&
nbsp; “Kailey doesn’t have time for me to be nice.”
“Why don’t you let me go with you to talk to them? I’ve worked with a lot of kids and–”
“Nope. This is as close to the investigation as you get. Thanks for the tip, and please keep searching if you have the time.”
He ended the call.
I hoped Josie and Bridget were still in school when I arrived this afternoon.
7
I searched for another hour before heading back to my apartment in Northern Liberties. None of the volunteers found any more information on Kailey. A dull ache had taken up residence in my head. I kept thinking of Kailey’s mother, of her vacant eyes, of the shock freezing her expression into a mask of disbelief. As much as I hurt, what about Jenna Richardson?
The sight of my building brought a sliver of solace from the storm I’d ventured into. As a historical junkie, modern apartments with cheap building materials don’t impress me. I needed some character in my home, something to distract me from the muck I usually swam in.
Unfortunately, many of the older homes in Philadelphia are in neighborhoods still deep in the process of gentrification and surrounded by industry and crime.
Two years ago, I lucked out and snagged an apartment in the Northern Liberties Historic District. The building is a Federal Style home and dates back to 1809. Some innovative restoration expert saw life in the old house, and the apartments were salvaged while still keeping their historical bones. I lived on the top floor, on the western side, which means I was blessed with some amazing sunsets.
My apartment wasn’t much bigger than the dorm suite I’d shared in college. The bedroom fit my double bed with about a foot to spare, and the living room and kitchen all blended into an open concept that kept the space from looking too much like the inside of a tin can. But the walk-in closet complete with very useful cubby holes and a killer shoe rack made living in miniature worth it.