The Sleeping Girls

by James Hunt

  Susan faced Sheila again but leaned back in the sofa so she could still see Ronald’s reaction in her peripheral view. “What did you two talk about?”

  “She said that she missed us,” Sheila answered, her voice cracking, but she didn’t cry. Those tears had already fallen. “I told her that we missed her too and that we really wanted her to come home. But I didn’t try and rush her or pressure her about it. That was one of the techniques we learned at counseling. It’s best to just be supportive, to create a feeling of belonging, because it was important for the child to know and remember that it was okay to come home.”

  “Counseling?” Susan asked.

  “It was at one of the shelters we went to six months ago,” Ronald answered. “That was the last time Katy was home. She was in pretty bad shape but said she wanted to get better. We took her to a rehab center, and while she was getting clean, the place also offered classes for family members on how to deal with addicts, to create an environment for them so they don’t relapse, and to understand that what they have is a disease.”

  “What was the name of the rehab center?” Susan asked.

  “Ancient Oaks,” Sheila answered. “I have a brochure somewhere…” She glanced back to the kitchen.

  “Maybe I can grab that from you later,” Susan said, pulling the mother’s attention back to her. “What happened after she was at Ancient Oaks?”

  “Well, she was sober for a few weeks, and then…” Ronald clapped his hands together, then rubbed them as he tried to figure out what else to say. “And then she wasn’t.”

  “She relapsed,” Sheila said. “And we followed all the guidelines that we learned in our classes. We didn’t judge her, we tried to help her, but were firm in reinforcing that we wanted her to stay and that what she was doing to herself was hurtful to everyone involved.”

  “She left a few days later,” Ronald said. “She took my wallet, maxed out the credit cards, and we never heard from her again.”

  “Until six weeks ago?” Susan asked.

  “Yes,” Sheila answered.

  “Was she close to anyone? People that you knew that she hung out with?” Susan asked.

  “We didn’t know the crowd she got into,” Sheila answered. “But she did get close with a few of the people at Ancient Oaks. The man who runs it is very nice.”

  “And what’s his name?” Susan asked.

  “Shawn Foster,” Sheila answered. “The sweetest man. He actually helped us a lot during the classes we took at the center. I don’t think we could have made it through all of this without his help. He was a godsend.”

  “Do you mind if I take a look around her room?”

  Susan followed Sheila through the kitchen to the back of the house and into a narrow hallway. The bedroom door was closed, and along the way Susan glanced at a few of the pictures hung on the wall. They were a mixed bag of trips and holidays, first days of school and random images that were taken throughout the house and outside. She spotted one picture of a very young Katy and her mother working the garden beneath the windows.

  They both wore matching outfits complete with sunglasses and wide-brimmed gardening hats. It looked like summer, and the sun was shining.

  Sheila stood off to the side while Ronald didn’t even come close enough to look inside as Susan entered Katy’s bedroom.

  The place was decorated in the same fashion as any teenage girl would most likely decorate their room. Posters and magazine clippings filled every inch of empty space on the walls between photo colleges of Katy and her friends.

  The bed was a twin and covered with a delicate, light blue comforter that was cool to the touch. The closet doors had been removed, exposing a closet filled with dresses and shirts, jeans, underwear, and anything that couldn’t find a home elsewhere in the room.

  The bottom of the closet was lined with shoes, a collection that ranged from flip flops and hiking boots to Converses and candy red heels.

  A small vanity was in the corner of the room next to the window, which provided light. It was small, old, and looked like an antique. Susan walked over and picked up a tube of lipstick. There wasn’t much make-up, enough for basic necessities. The most recent pictures of Katy that she saw in the halls showed a girl who didn’t wear much cosmetics.

  “That was her grandmother’s,” Sheila said. “Ronald gave it to her for her fifteenth birthday after she was in high school. He fixed it up, put on a new coat of paint, polished the mirrors. She loved it.” She smiled sadly. “That was right before—” Her voice caught, her lower lip trembled, and she lowered her head, shaking it vigorously. “I’m sorry.” She walked away, leaving Susan alone in the room, listening to the whimpers from down the hall.

  It was a far different room than what Susan had growing up. But she had known girls like Katy, the ones that had a good family, good fathers, and a welcoming home. Girls who didn’t have to worry if they would come home and find their dad face down in a puddle of his own vomit.

  When she was a teenager, Susan worked a few jobs to earn cash on the side. It was what she used to get her GED and put a down payment for an apartment. But her father knew she was working, so she stashed the money in secret places around her room. She learned early on that it was better to spread the wealth out, that way if he did find one stash, it wouldn’t set her back very far. It was a lesson she learned the hard way after her father nicked two hundred bucks and blew it on a three-day bender.

  And while Susan didn’t think that Katy Matthews had to hide cash from her parents because she thought they would steal her money, she was willing to bet that the girl had a few secrets hidden around the room. Every kid did at some point.

  After donning a pair of gloves, Susan checked all of the usual places, ignoring the items list that was attached to Katy’s file. The detectives and forensics units that cased a place always made a list of the areas and items that they checked in the room, noting any unusual discoveries.

  But Palmer and Winterguard were both men, as were the techs who inspected the room, and Susan figured that they had missed something important. Something girly.

  With nothing under the bed or in the closet that she could find, Susan grabbed the chair from the vanity and then checked the vents, peering inside with her flashlight, but saw nothing. She stepped down and then returned the chair to the vanity.

  The make-up area only had two drawers, and Susan checked each of them, finding nothing unusual. But there was something strange about the desk itself. It was thick in the middle, and when Susan knocked on the center bottom, it answered with two hollow thuds.

  Susan dropped to her knees and flashed a light, examining the bottom of the vanity, and saw that the edges around the middle section had been cut, creating a panel. Susan pressed against the wood, and it pushed upward, and there was something heavy inside that moved when she did.

  Carefully, Susan maneuvered the false bottom out of the way, and she found a small box hidden inside. She moved from beneath the vanity and then glanced out of the room to see if her parents were still there, but the hallway was empty.

  It was a small jewelry box, but when Susan opened it on the bed, she found no jewelry inside. Instead, the box was filled with Polaroids of Katy in various sexual positions, some nude, some in lacy and risqué lingerie.

  All of the photographs were solo shots, meaning that she was the only one in them, but they weren’t selfies, which suggested someone other than Katy had taken them. Aside from the pictures, there was some drug paraphernalia, needles, tubing, a spoon, and a lighter, but no actual drugs. Katy must have taken them after she split.

  But she left the other stuff, and that made Susan think that the girl was planning to come home at some point, perhaps when all of that wild had run out of her system. She placed the Polaroids in a plastic bag and put those in her pocket. She didn’t want the parents to see something like that, not now, and if it turned out to be nothing but a dead end-which she didn’t believe it would-then Susan spared them the trouble of kn
owing what their underage daughter had been doing when she wasn’t chasing a high.

  Carrying the box, Susan left the room, closing the door behind her, and found Sheila and Ronald in the living room. Sheila dabbed her eyes with a tissue, Ronald with his arm around her, the pair sitting on the couch.

  Sheila perked up when she noticed the jewelry box. “Where did you find that?”

  “It was hidden beneath the bottom of the vanity,” Susan answered. “It looks like Katy cut out the bottom and kept this inside.”

  Ronald shook his head. “I knew she was hiding drugs. That’s what you found, right? Drugs?”

  “There is drug paraphernalia inside, but there were no drugs,” Susan answered. “I’d like to take it in for evidence and have our forenic’s team examine it.”

  “Oh, okay,” Sheila said. “Will I get the box back? It was my mother’s. I had given it to Katy years ago, but after she started acting out, she told me that she sold it… I’m glad she didn’t.”

  “Once forensics is done with it, we’ll make sure it finds its way back to you. I appreciate your time.”

  Susan headed for the door, and Ronald followed her to the foyer.

  “Detective,” Ronald said, handing over a pamphlet. “This is the place we were talking about. Ancient Oaks. It was the one time when we thought we were finally getting our little girl back. They might be able to tell you more about who she was hanging out with.”

  Susan took the pamphlet from Ronald. “Thank you. And I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Matthews. She was a beautiful girl.”

  Ronald nodded, his eyes reddening. He opened the door for Susan and said nothing as she stepped outside. Pamphlet in hand, she decided to head to Ancient Oaks. She called an Uber instead of radioing for an escort. She didn’t want to take the risk of having to ride with Officer Sparks again. She didn’t think her ears could stand the abuse.

  12

  The Uber to Ancient Oaks was much more peaceful than the ride with Sparks. But it was a lot colder, seeing as how the driver kept his window down, letting the icy air freeze Susan in the backseat, so it seemed like she traded one bad element for another.

  But the quiet at least allowed her to think without any interruption. She found her mind continuing to slip back to the conversation that she had with Charlie this morning. She knew she hadn’t handled it well. Saying nothing was the worst possible way for him to leave.

  Unable to push the thought of him from her mind, Susan called him. It rang six times and then went to voicemail. She hung up and then tried again. This time it was two rings before the call went to voicemail, which meant he saw that it was her and ignored it anyway. Her cheeks flushed red and grew hot from the cold shoulder.

  Susan shook the thoughts of him from her mind. She was being stupid, foolish, and acting like a school girl. The only thing that mattered right now was the case and getting to the bottom of Katy’s murder.

  Susan called Nate, hoping to get the scoop on Ancient Oaks and the folks who ran it.

  “It’s one of the smaller shelters in the area,” Nate said. “It was run by Walter Hickey for decades, but after his death years ago, it was taken over by a Shawn Foster. Looks like he runs it with two other full-time employees and some volunteer workers. Last time I was there, they had completely renovated the place, I mean really spruced it up. From what I’ve heard, Shawn has done a great job.”

  “Did you ever talk to Shawn?” Susan asked.

  “Yes, I spoke to him about three months ago actually,” Nate answered. “Younger guy, very charismatic.”

  “Any problems with the place that you know of?” Susan asked.

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Nate answered.

  “Thanks, Nate.”

  “Anytime, Susie.”

  The call ended, and Susan buttoned the top button of her jacket, trying to shield herself from as much of the wind blowing into the car as she possibly could.

  She saw the sign for the shelter on the side of the road before she saw the building itself, which was hidden at the end of a long drive and a forest full of oak trees, which was probably how the place received its name.

  When Susan finally saw the building itself, she had a hard time keeping her mouth shut. What Nate had described as a “smaller” shelter looked anything but. In fact, the building looked brand new.

  The Uber driver stopped at the end of the line of cars near the front doors, and when Susan opened the door, he finally spoke up. “Er, do I…need to wait for you? Or are you staying?”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “Don’t wait.” She shut the door and walked up to the front door, peeking around the sides and the edges.

  From what she could see at the entrance, the property stretched for a few acres, providing a reclusive experience, something that people weren’t generally used to experiencing in the city, and she imagined that the real estate here would be worth a pretty penny if they ever decided to sell.

  When she entered through the glass double doors, she was welcomed by a woman behind a reception desk, who stepped around the barrier to greet Susan. “Welcome to Ancient Oaks. How can I help you?” Her cheeks stretched tight from the smile.

  Susan lifted the badge around her neck. “I need to speak with Shawn Foster.”

  “Oh.” The smile vanished, surprise replacing happiness. “Okay, um.” She stutter-stepped back to her desk and then clasped her hands together. “Actually, I don’t know where he is at the moment, but—”

  “Is everything all right, Rachel?” The voice came from behind Susan, and she turned to find a young man dressed casually in a plain blue long-sleeve shirt with a front pocket, jeans, and white sneakers.

  “Shawn Foster?” Susan asked.

  “Yes, how can I help you, Officer?” Shawn looked past Susan and then smiled at Rachel. “It’s okay, I’ve got this.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Foster.” Rachel walked back to her desk, and the young twenty-something in high heels and a tight dress returned to whatever she had been working on.

  “Is she one of the full-time employees? Susan asked.

  “No, she’s an intern-slash-volunteer,” Shawn answered. “It’s for college credit over at SCC.”

  Susan raised her eyebrow. “You always hire pretty college girls to work your desk?”

  Shawn offered an awkward smile that fought against a frown. “I hire friendly faces.”

  “Is there a place where we can talk? I’d like to ask you a few questions about a girl that used to be a resident here.”

  “Yes,” Shawn answered. “I’ll take you back to my office.”

  Susan followed him, taking stock of the man’s appearance. The scruff that covered his face was trimmed to make him look a little sloppy, and the product in his hair offered the same effect. The shirt, jeans, and shoes were all designed to give a look that said, “I try really hard to look like I don’t try.”

  Foster led her to the left side of the lobby down a hallway. They passed several doors, the hall similar to ones she’d seen in hotels and apartment buildings.

  Most of the doors were closed, but the few that were open had folks hanging out inside. Foster waved to each of them on their way past, making quips and inside jokes that triggered laughs that filled the hallway.

  Susan caught quick looks inside the rooms, which were tiny and crammed with bunk beds. From the sleeping areas that she saw, Susan counted that six people could sleep in a single room. Counting the doors they passed and assuming the other rooms held just as many, the hallway could hold one hundred and twenty folks at a time. And this was only one hallway of the building.

  “Here we are,” Foster said, stopping at the last door on the right, which he unlocked with a key.

  “Do you always keep that door locked?” Susan asked.

  “Protocol,” Foster said, opening the door. “I have confidential files in here.”

  The room was small like the others she passed, but because it was only filled with a desk, three chairs, and two filing cabinets, the sp
ace felt bigger.

  “So, Officer,” Foster said, closing the door and settling into his chair behind the desk. “What can I help you with?”

  “How long have you been working here, Mr. Foster?” Susan asked.

  “Two years and a couple of months,” Foster answered.

  “And you’ve been in charge of this facility since your employment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me a little bit about what you do here?”

  “Um, yes. Well, I handle all of the financial reports for the shelter, making sure that bills are paid and we have enough money to cover costs.” Foster swung his left leg over his right, leaning back, really pushing that ‘not trying hard’ persona. “I also do a little bit of counseling if one of the other counselors here needs me to fill in.”

  “And who are the other counselors?” Susan asked.

  “We have two full-time employees,” Foster answered. “Monica Willet and Kevin Marsh. Both of them are licensed for therapy and have degrees in social work.”

  “How long have they worked here?”

  Foster frowned and gestured to Susan’s hands. “Do you need something to write with?”

  “No.” Susan held his gaze, letting the silence fill the space until Foster finally dropped the subject. She wasn’t in the mood to answer his questions.

  “Monica has been here for five years, and Kevin has been here for about a year,” Foster said.

  “So you inherited Monica from the previous operator, and you hired Kevin?”

  “That’s correct, and both have done a great job. I don’t know if you’re aware, but over the past year we have doubled the number of successfully recovered addicts per year through our programs.” Foster picked up one of the pamphlets from his desk, a more updated version than the one that Susan received from the Matthews family. She didn’t take it, and he dropped it back on the pile. “Is there something wrong?”