Little Boy Lost

by Trafford, J. D.

  “Fine.” He was cooling off. “But the chief is going to have my ass if there are any more surprises. I’ll give you some more information, but you leave the real investigating to us.”

  I wasn’t going to promise that, so I deflected. “Seems like I’m the only one doing the real investigating.”

  “Glass.” Schmitty sounded offended. “Give me a break, man. You know that’s not true. Easy to believe, but you know that’s not true. I can give you what I can, but more important, I want to prevent you from embarrassing yourself, like today.”

  “Embarrass?” I shook my head. “You think I embarrassed myself?”

  “I do,” Schmitty said. “Because Jimmy Poles ain’t the guy. All that shit in front of the JJC, calling for his arrest, calling for an indictment, it ain’t going to happen.”

  “I didn’t call for an indictment.”

  “But your people did,” he said.

  My people, I thought.

  Schmitty continued. “We aren’t going down that road, because Poles didn’t do it.”

  The news took a moment to register, and, when it did, it hit hard. I wasn’t going to accept it. “Everything points at him.”

  “No,” Schmitty said. “The little bit we knew used to point toward him, past tense. Now it doesn’t.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back in my chair, the phone still pressed to my ear. “Elaborate.”

  “We followed up on the interview that you did with Turner,” he said. “We looked at the JJC records for the night that the kid saw his brother get in that blue van. There were calls made by the mother to the JJC, we got records of that, just like you said we would. The mama called, but Jimmy Poles was on a float trip in the Ozarks that weekend.”

  “Are there witnesses for this alibi?”

  “A half dozen rednecks,” Schmitty said. “They all say he was with them.”

  “A half dozen rednecks would say—”

  “There’s also credit card receipts for food and the property damage agreement for the cabin where they stayed. Poles signed it.”

  “He could be working with other people.” I was grasping at straws and knew it. Jimmy Poles was far from a criminal mastermind. I doubted that any of his buddies were, either. Weakly, I kept reaching for an alternative. “Couldn’t that all be faked?”

  “The receipts and the thing from the cabin are legit.” Schmitty remained patient. “We did a warrant for his phone records, got all the cell tower information, too.”

  I knew from defending clients that cell phone records and cell tower information had been a major boost to law enforcement in recent years. Every cell phone has a GPS tracker in it, which allows the mapping apps to work and the phone to locate the nearest cell phone tower to relay calls. “And?”

  “Poles, or at least his phone, was in the Ozarks, like he said. It was pinging off the cell towers along the Missouri‒Arkansas border the entire time.”

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill the others.”

  “Except we got all his records.” Schmitty sighed. “Guy has had the same cell phone company for five years, and he has never been anywhere near Castlewood State Park. If he goes anywhere, it’s either fishing in Troy or down south to the Ozarks. That’s it.”

  “Well maybe he just knows better than to take his phone with him.” But I was running on fumes, I knew. The news had gone from bad to worse. The high I had felt after the march was gone, and now I was just confused. I sunk a little lower in my seat. “What now?”

  “We’re looking at rival gangs, but that seems like a stretch,” Schmitty said. “After today, you seem to be the expert. You tell me.”

  “Whatever.” I hung up the phone and ran my hand hard across the back of my neck, trying to work out the knots that had formed. I closed my eyes, trying to think of my next move, but nothing came. I decided to give it a little more time. Maybe something would come after a good night’s sleep.

  I’d just stood up when the brick flew through my window, showering the floor with broken glass.

  Expecting more, I ducked down. But nothing happened.

  I got up, ran around my desk, and yanked open the front door. I expected to hear the squealing tires of a pickup truck or see a mob of skinheads who had seen me on television, but there was none of that. The street was empty and dead quiet.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  I was anxious to leave. I was tired and discouraged after my phone call with Schmitty, and now I felt exposed. I waited two hours for the handyman to arrive, stewing over who threw the brick and why. The truth was that I had no idea whether it was a random kid, an Internet crazy, or the beginning of a riot.

  After the boards were screwed into the window frame—both on the outside and the inside—I paid the handyman cash, and then we were both on our way.

  I checked the time. It was now too late for dinner, and I decided that I’d drive back over to the Juvenile Justice Center. My confidence had been shaken. If Jimmy Poles wasn’t responsible, who was? I needed to find the other thread that connected all the Lost Boys together, and I felt myself being pulled back to that building. Maybe if I stood there long enough and stared at those blue vans, a name would come.

  I pulled into the JJC parking lot, stopped the car, and noticed that I had two new texts from Annie. The first said, Nice speech. I smiled. Even though we had our final night at the hotel, it felt good to know that she still thought of me, confirming that we had left on mutual terms. The second text said, Be careful. I stared at the screen. The two words could be read different ways. A warning, or only concern? Maybe she’d been talking with Chief Wilson and knew about Poles.

  I put the phone in my pocket and got out of the car. The protesters had made a small bonfire on the edge of the parking lot. They had lawn chairs, a small barbecue, a few coolers, and some tents.

  The remaining crowd was now down to about thirty.

  Tanisha Walker and her mother were among them. I walked over, and we talked for a few minutes; then I noticed Isaac Turner, with his mother and aunt, by the fire.

  I waved, then beckoned to Isaac. “Come on over here,” I said. “Let me introduce you to somebody.”

  Isaac looked at his mother, who gave him a nod of approval, and then he got up from his lawn chair and came to me.

  “Isaac,” I said. “This is Tanisha Walker. I think you two are about the same age. Tanisha was the first person to hire me. Wouldn’t be involved in any of this, if it wasn’t for her.”

  Tanisha smiled and made brief eye contact with Isaac, then looked away.

  “Tanisha,” I continued the introductions, “this is Isaac Turner. He’s been very helpful to me.” That earned him another quick, shy look from her, but I was thinking about my conversations with Isaac now. Just because Poles was no longer a suspect, nothing that Isaac had told me about the night that his brother had disappeared was necessarily wrong. There were no logs or formal check-out system. Anybody who worked at the JJC could have taken one of the blue probation vans.

  To Isaac I said, “You mind taking a walk with me?”

  Isaac glanced back at his mother and then shrugged. “I suppose.”

  I looked at Tanisha. “You can come, too, if you want.” I pointed up the street. “Going to take a look at something.”

  We walked a half block down Enright Avenue, along the side of the JJC building.

  It didn’t take long before we were in front of a tall chain-link fence. On the other side of the fence were a half dozen blue vans. “See those?” I pointed. “On the night that TeeTee disappeared, is that what you saw?”

  Isaac nodded. “That’s them.” He looked up at me. “Been tellin’ you that. Seen TeeTee talking to somebody and then he done get into one of them vans. Ain’t never seen him no more after that.”

  I glanced at Tanisha and then back at Isaac. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Sammy was in her bed reading, waiting for me to get ho
me. I knocked on her door frame. “Sorry I’m late.” How many times have I said that to her? I walked over to her bed and sat down. “New book?”

  Sammy smiled. “Redwall.” She held it up so that I could see the book’s cover featuring a monastic mouse lifting the legendary sword of Martin the Warrior.

  “Looks like a good one.”

  “I think so.” She looked at the cover once more, then set it aside. “Seems like you had a busy day.” Sammy sounded like my mother. “Saw it all on television. Grandma thought it was great. The Judge, not so much.”

  “He’s more about the settlement than the protest,” I said. “But there’s a need in this world for both.”

  “Going to arrest that probation officer now?”

  I considered how to answer Sammy’s question, then told the truth. “I don’t think so.”

  “But he did it, right?” Sammy furrowed her brow. “They said that he did.”

  “That’s certainly what we thought.” I touched her knee. “But now I’m not so sure.”

  She nodded, considering this new piece of information. Then she shrugged. “Well I know you’ll get him.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

  We sat in silence for a bit longer, and I felt myself starting to cycle down from all that had happened during the day and refocus. “Are you ready for us to make a decision?”

  Sammy nodded. “Time’s up, isn’t it?”

  I smiled at her, trying to add a little levity. “Wish it wasn’t. Kinda like you hanging around, not getting any smarter than your old man.”

  “Already smarter,” she shot back.

  “Oh you think so, do you?” I started to tickle her, like when she was a little girl, and Sammy squealed in delight. I kept at it until she recanted.

  “OK, OK,” she said. “Maybe you’re smarter.”

  With that I let her go, and we moved comfortably apart. She emitted a final laugh and smiled at me, then leaned over and took my hand, serious again.

  “So where are you thinking?” I asked.

  “Well I liked all the schools we visited.” Sammy picked up her book and put it on her nightstand. “But some were a little too fancy, you know? Like, not any fun. Like . . . I don’t know . . . too clean or something.”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  “But I liked that one that was pretty close to us, over by the arboretum.”

  “You did?” I thought about all the schools that we had toured, or that Sammy had toured with the Judge. “Clement City?”

  “That’s the one.” She nodded. “Clement City Day School. All the kids learn Latin, and I saw one of the teachers had a poster of the Greek gods. That’s pretty cool.”

  “It is cool.”

  “And maybe I could ride my bike there.” She offered the suggestion on the sly, trying to catch me at a weak moment.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Have to think about that.”

  “You could ride with me.” Sammy didn’t give up easily. “To keep me safe, you know? And make sure I make it on time. Like hold me accountable and stuff.”

  “Have to think about that bike thing.” I smiled and nodded. “But Clement City is a great choice. I’ll call tomorrow, and we’ll make it work. I want to get you started right away.”

  Sammy looked at me, beaming. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “You don’t need to thank me.”

  After Sammy had fallen asleep, I heard a car drive through the alley a little too fast. I peeked out the window, watching it go, and I felt an unease return. I waited and watched, looking for something more, but nothing happened.

  I hadn’t called the police about the brick, because I knew there wasn’t anything they could do about a broken window. Now, in the quiet of my house with Sammy, I wished that I had.

  I took my cell phone out of my pocket and texted Schmitty. After our phone call, I didn’t know where exactly we stood, but I thought he might be able to do something. I sent a quick text message about the brick. Then I asked him to send a squad past my office, as a precaution, and also past my house.

  On my way to the toy room, I stopped for a bottle of beer and a glass. It was a Belgian-style beer from a microbrewery over on Michigan Avenue.

  The Saison de Lis was created by the owner of Perennial Artisan Ales in honor of his daughter, and so I thought it’d be appropriate.

  I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. I took a Preservation Hall Jazz Band record off the shelf, removed it from the sleeve, and placed it on the record player.

  Music popped to life as I sat down at my worktable and poured the beer into the glass. Then I removed the framed photo of Monica from the drawer and got to work.

  My hero’s little antagonists were carved and ready. The clay figurine with the top hat and his henchmen—the giant and the troll dressed as the aristocrat’s butlers—had hardened. All I needed to do was paint.

  I put some butcher paper down on the desk, set the figurines on top, and removed my paints and brushes from the drawer.

  As I worked, I told Monica about the books Sammy was reading and about Clement City Day School. I had made a promise to Sammy, and I intended to keep it. Clement City wasn’t the most expensive private school in Saint Louis, but it wasn’t cheap, either. The school was filled with kids whose liberal parents loved the city but hated the city’s school system. We’d fit right in.

  Then I told her about Schmitty and Jimmy Poles and what Isaac Turner had seen the night that his brother had disappeared. As I finished painting the final figure and put it on the shelf to dry, I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. My mind was still going.

  I was missing something. I felt it. There was a small piece of information in each of the files connecting all the Lost Boys.

  I went into the corner and grabbed one of the boxes off the stack. Each box was filled with copies of police records and criminal histories, the backgrounds of the kids that nobody had been looking for.

  I took the top binder out and started reading.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  It took another three days to go through all the files again. When it was over, I wasn’t any closer to finding the link that I was looking for. I was still sure that there was a piece of information in each file that would link the boys together, but I couldn’t find it.

  I looked at my watch, then put a lid on the last remaining box. I left the toy room and went out into the kitchen. It was still early in the morning, and Sammy was finishing up her cereal, dressed and ready to go to school for the first time in over a month.

  I couldn’t contain my smile. “All set.” I clapped my hands together.

  “One more bite.” Sammy shoved a final spoonful of cereal in her mouth and then swallowed. “Done.” Then she picked up her bowl and spoon, took them over to the sink, and set them down. “I’m ready.”

  “Then let’s go.” I checked my watch again. “Don’t want to be late on your first day.”

  We hustled out at a quarter to eight, got in my car, and drove over to the Clement City Day School. It didn’t take long. The school was located just on the other side of the Tower Grove Park.

  “That would’ve been easy to bike,” Sammy said as we pulled into an empty parking spot on the street.

  I looked over at a huge bike rack filled with bicycles. “Maybe next time.”

  The school was located in a large, redbrick building that used to be the Saint Thomas More Catholic School, but after years of dwindling enrollment, the archdiocese sold it to a real estate developer in the early 1980s.

  The master plan was to convert the old school into condos, but then the condo market crashed. This seemed to surprise the investors, even though condo markets crash about every six years. Financing fell through, and the property got foreclosed. A decade later, a group of professors and artists bought the building from the city for a dollar and started Clement City Day School.

  As we neared the front s
teps, we were greeted by my mother and the Judge. I had tried to convince them to stay home, but they insisted. I was worried that Sammy would be embarrassed by all the fuss, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  Sammy walked over to them and gave each a big hug, then she turned back to me.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  Sammy nodded and took my hand, and then we all walked into the school together.

  After dropping Sammy off at school, I met with Schmitty at the Sunshine Café on Morganford, just south of Tower Grove Park. The pastry and sandwich shop was in the middle of a rejuvenated block between a soccer bar and a Vietnamese restaurant.

  I felt like I needed to make sure we were OK, and I also wanted to thank him for increasing the patrol around my office and the carriage house.

  “Lots of hipsters.” Schmitty glared at the bearded man with the MacBook sitting at a table near the window and then at two young women wearing vintage clothes and sporting large, elaborate arm tattoos. Even after the morning rush, the place was pretty crowded.

  “Well I like it.” I took a bite of my croissant. “Just wish there were a few more of these little strips on the north side.”

  “A few more?” Schmitty snorted. “How about one of these places on the north side?”

  I shook my head. “You’re just not looking hard enough.” I set my croissant down and leaned back, ready to get down to business. “I read all the criminal files again,” I said. “And I’m still not seeing anything that connects them except Jimmy Poles.”

  “But Poles doesn’t connect them. Not all of them. Some of them had different probation officers.” Schmitty sat up in his chair and leaned in. “I’m telling you, Jimmy Poles isn’t the one. You have to get off it.” Then Schmitty leaned in even closer. “The chief is serious. Back off it.”

  “I’m not on it, OK? I hear you loud and clear. It’s not Poles.” I took a sip of coffee, letting Schmitty absorb what I had just said and hoping he understood we were on the same page. “But if not Poles, what about the others? Have you looked at them?”