Bending the Rules

by Susan Andersen

  “I’ve got it here.” She’d been scrolling through her cell phone, clueless, thank God, to the direction his thoughts had taken. She rattled off an address in south Seattle. “You want me to call first to see if she’s home? It’ll save you some time.”

  “No. Calling can be a time-saver, but with kids it usually just gives them the chance to book.” He fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb.

  “Man, I wouldn’t have your job for the world,” she said. “You really do see the worst in people, don’t you?”

  “As opposed to through your Pollyanna-rosy glasses, you mean?”

  “Yeah.” She grinned at him and launched into a story about her art-class kids. One thing you could say about the Babe, he mused during the crosstown drive, you never had to worry about digging for things to talk about. After regaling him with an anecdote of one of the boys in her project, she segued into the logistics of the selection process of the three Seattle high schools that had contributed kids to her program. Emilia, for instance, the girl they were traveling to see, had been culled from Chief Sealth on the recommendation of a teacher. Jase was cresting Highland Park Way—more commonly known as Boeing Hill—and headed toward White Center by the time Poppy finished praising the girl’s apparent aptitude for drawing landscapes and buildings and shit.

  He turned off the arterial before they reached Roxbury, the main east-west street cutting through the area shopping district, then turned again and cruised down Tenth until he spotted the house he was looking for. It was a small but beautifully maintained wood-frame single-family residence with a landscaped yard. After he parked in front of it, they got out of the car and for the third time that evening walked up to a front door. He stood one step behind Poppy while she rang the bell.

  A pretty teenaged girl around Poppy’s mid-five-feet height opened the door, and he took a wild stab and guessed it was the much-touted Ms. Suarez—a conjecture he figured was right on the money when the girl’s big brown eyes went wide and she said in patent surprise, “Ms. Calloway!”

  The look she gave Poppy was at once thrilled and horrified…and Jase’s professional radar went on red alert over the latter.

  “Hi, Emilia,” Poppy said. “I’m sorry to bother you at home but—”

  “The hell with that,” he interrupted gruffly and the girl jerked, as if just now noticing him. He stepped forward, towering over her. “Where’s Darnell?”

  Emilia blinked rapidly as Poppy whipped around to stare at him through narrowed lashes. The Babe slapped a warm-fingered hand against his chest to hold him away from the girl and snapped, “Back off, Detective!”

  He gave her a level look and dipped his head to mouth, Good cop, bad cop. She immediately whirled back to the teenager and he didn’t have a clue whether or not she’d play along.

  “Ms. Suarez, this charming gentleman is Detective de Sanges,” she said dryly. “Darnell’s missing, his grandmother is worried sick and Detective de Sanges has some questions he needs to ask.”

  With a quick look over her shoulder, Emilia stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “I don’t know why he’d wanna ask me, Ms. Calloway,” she said, but couldn’t hold Poppy’s clear gaze and wouldn’t look at Jase at all. “I don’t know nuth—”

  “I suggest you put some thought into playing the I-know-nothing card,” he interrupted in a hard tone and shot the girl a feral smile when her gaze snapped to his. He jerked his chin at Poppy. “The teach here might buy that, but I don’t. And you don’t want to know what I can charge you with for hampering my investigation—” not a damn thing “—should I discover you’re lying. Which you are, Ms. Suarez.” Then he added more gently, “But I’m going to give you a chance to rectify the situation. Where’s Darnell?”

  Grabbing Poppy’s hand, the teen hauled the blonde along with her as she leaped off the porch and headed around the house. She shot Jase a sullen look over her shoulder. “Let’s take this to the backyard.”

  He fell into step behind the two females and they rounded the south end of the house, then edged single file down a narrow side yard that was mostly dormant garden. A moment later they stepped out into a deep backyard with a lush lawn and even lusher grasses and plants surrounding it. In the corner of the property stood a little shake-covered shed built to look like a microscopic house. Trees and shrubberies offered strategically planted privacy from the neighboring houses that encroached on either side.

  “Emilia, this is gorgeous!” Poppy exclaimed with the uninhibited enthusiasm Jase was learning characterized her.

  The girl smiled with pride. “My papi did it,” she said. “He works for a landscape and yard service guy who says he’s got a real green thumb.”

  Jase allowed the teen to show Poppy around and point out specific features for a few minutes. Then he said, “Where’s Darnell?”

  Reluctantly, she turned to face him. “I told you—”

  He crossed the distance separating them in two long strides. “And I told you what the consequences would be if you lied to me again. Don’t mess with me.”

  “I’m not messing with you! Just because me and Darnell go out sometimes don’t mean I know where he is.” But she looked at him and gave a significant thrust of her chin toward the corner of the yard.

  Following the trajectory, Jase found himself looking straight at the little shed. He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

  Looking miserable, the girl sketched a barely there nod.

  “You better not be lying to me,” he said for Darnell’s benefit—if indeed the boy was in there—and started in that direction. “I’m sure you don’t mind if I look around to make sure for myself.” Slowly approaching the structure, he reached under his T-shirt and drew out his gun.

  “Jason!” Poppy exclaimed at the same time that Emilia screeched, “No!” and raced to his side, where she grabbed for his gun hand.

  With an easy twist, he slid his wrist out of her grasp and pinned her in place with his coldest cop expression. “Interfering with a police officer in the performance of his duty is a serious offense, Ms. Suarez.”

  “You don’t need a gun,” she cried fiercely, giving the weapon in his hand a look of loathing.

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “Everything I’ve heard about Darnell paints the picture of a good kid. But he’s disappeared for no good reason. I’m guessing he’s holed up in your shed and for all I know he has a weapon of his own. I do not go into that sort of situation unarmed.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” came a muffled voice from within the shed. “I’m opening the door.”

  Jase drew on it in a two-handed grip. “Do it slowly, Mr. Jackson. You don’t want to make any sudden moves.”

  “For heaven’s sake, de Sanges,” Poppy said as he watched the door down his gun’s sight. “Is that really necessary?”

  “I hope not. But too many good cops have been killed in situations where they trusted in the goodness of man, and I don’t plan on joining their ranks. I do this by the book.”

  “Don’t shoot, man!” The door slowly creaked open. “We’re coming out!”

  We? “Put your hands out the door first, then slowly step out one at a time,” he instructed.

  A young medium-skinned black man did as he said, bending to clear the door opening before straightening to a height that had to be a good six and a half feet. In his wake came a shorter and darker-skinned teen, who upon closer inspection looked like he’d recently had the crap kicked out of him.

  “Misters Jackson and Gordon, I presume,” he said dryly. “Step to the side, both of you, then turn and face the shed and put your hands against the wall.”

  They complied and he quickly frisked both youths. Finding them clean, he shoved his piece back into the waistband of his jeans and stepped back. “Okay, you can turn around.”

  They did, looking both scared and sullen, and he swallowed a sigh. Damn, teenagers were work. “Let’s hear it.”

  Neither boy spoke and Jase said dryly, “Do
n’t everyone talk at once.”

  Silence reigned and he turned to Darnell’s friend. “Okay, let’s start with you, Mr. Gordon. Who beat you?”

  No answer.

  He looked at Darnell. “You care to field this one?”

  He, too, remained mute. And Poppy, whom he knew to be firmly in the boys’ corner, lost patience.

  But, surprisingly, not with him.

  “Darnell Jackson,” she snapped. “You’ve worried your grandmother sick and tied up the better part of Detective de Sanges’s evening, when he’s here as a favor to me. I am here as a favor to your grandmother and because I, too, was worried. So you had better start talking, mister.” When the teen failed to immediately respond, her voice snapped like a whip. “Now!”

  The boy remained stubbornly silent. Then Freddy said, “It’s my fault.”

  Darnell shifted. “Freddy—”

  “No. You think I don’t know who she is?” He jerked his head at Poppy. “That’s your teacher from that class you got such a big love-on for. And you ain’t gettin’ bounced outta it on account a’me.” He peered at Poppy through swollen, slitted eyelids. “Don’t be mad at him. He was just trying to help me.”

  “Why don’t we sit over here?” Jase said and led the boys to a set of wooden benches under an old lilac tree. He looked over at Emilia, whose gaze kept jumping from Darnell to Freddy to him and back again. “Do you think you could get your friends a glass of water or something?”

  Looking relieved to have something to do, she raced to the back door. He turned back to the boys.

  “Okay, let’s start with something simple. Why were you in the shed?”

  The boys admitted that Freddy had needed a place to hide so Emilia had let them in the house while her folks were at work, and then again when they left after dinner to visit their married daughter.

  “So you were there when Ms. Calloway and I arrived?”

  Darnell straightened from his slump on the bench. He looked toward the kitchen where Emilia had disappeared then met Jase’s gaze squarely. “She’s not gonna get jammed up over this, is she?”

  “No. So far I don’t see that anyone’s done anything illegal.”

  He nodded. “Then, yeah. We were in the kitchen but slipped out the back when the doorbell rang.”

  Jase turned his attention back to Freddy. “Who beat you?”

  “I had a difference of opinion with my homies.”

  “And that difference was?”

  He essayed a shrug, but dark shadows haunted his eyes. “I want out. They don’t believe in quitters.”

  Shit. That wasn’t good. Remembering some of the stories he’d heard from gang-unit detectives, he thought fast. The kid’s home life hadn’t struck him as wonderful and he doubted the mother was likely to smother him in TLC anytime soon. He studied the boy’s contusions, trying to assess the damage. “How badly are you hurt?”

  Another shrug. “I’ll live.”

  He established the boy didn’t have any broken bones, double vision and wasn’t peeing blood, then took a deep breath. “You have any family outside Seattle?”

  For just a second hope flickered across Freddy’s face, but it was immediately subdued, making Jase think the boy probably hadn’t had many of his hopes realized. “Got an uncle in Alabama.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Conrad Gordon.”

  “Your father’s brother, huh?” When Freddy nodded, he inquired gently, “Have you considered calling him?”

  “Yeah. But I ain’t got no money for long distance and my cell phone’s got a dead battery.”

  Man, when it rained it poured for this kid, didn’t it? “I’ve got a phone. Why don’t you give me his number and let me see what I can do?”

  That hope flickered a little stronger before Freddy once again stuffed it down. But he had clearly memorized his relative’s number because he rattled it off without consulting anything.

  Jase entered it in his notebook, then looked at his watch and figured it was late enough in Alabama to improve their chances of finding someone home. “Poppy, why don’t you give Darnell your phone so he can let his grandma know he’s okay,” he suggested. He shot her an assessing glance, surprised at her reticence since they’d arrived. He would have expected her to jump in and take over with the teens, but except for that once, she’d pretty much stayed out of his way. Then, shrugging the matter aside, he crossed the yard to make the call.

  Living a cop’s life meant he usually saw the worst in people, and he wanted to be out of Freddy’s hearing if the uncle didn’t come through. The boy would need to know one way or the other, of course, but if it was bad news, at least Jase would have a minute to find a way to break it to him.

  Hell, he shouldn’t even be doing this. The kid was a minor and regardless of the fact that he thought the mother was just this side of abusive, his job was to return Freddy to her.

  But for once he didn’t care. His cynical side doubted the teen would get his fairy-tale ending, but he could at least see if anyone else was willing to be responsible for him.

  Freddy’s uncle Conrad surprised him. After hearing Jase out, the man admitted he’d suspected things weren’t great and knew he should have done something sooner, but he’d been tied up in his own life and had let it slide. He offered now to assume guardianship of the boy, stating that he couldn’t do a worse job of it than that bitch Arlene, whom Jase had no trouble identifying as Mrs. Gordon. He also mentioned some cousins for Freddy to hang out with and said the small Alabama town where he lived was a good place for a boy to grow up.

  “We have some gang problems here, too, unfortunately,” Gordon said. “But there’s plenty of good kids in this town and you can be damn sure I’ll steer Freddy their way and monitor things to see he stays on the right path.” He blew out a breath. “I doubt Arlene will kick up a fuss, but she might just because she can.”

  “If that happens, tell her I’ll be over to talk to her personally. And this time I will bring CPS.” If she knew the law, Freddy was sunk, but he was betting on her indifference.

  “In that case I’ll get back to you as soon as I get him a ticket. I might not be able to score one today.”

  “I know a good man I’m pretty sure will take Freddy in if you can’t.” Making a mental note to give Murphy a call, he found himself wondering if this was what Murph had felt like when he’d yanked him off the path to destruction.

  He called Freddy over to talk to his uncle and handed him the phone.

  Then watched with a rare smile as a battered boy’s face lit up with joy.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I am so over that frickin’ sheik fantasy. Swear to heaven I am!

  DEFINITELY NOT ONE of my brighter ideas, Poppy thought as she stood outside Jason’s Phinney Ridge apartment at half past seven the next evening. She set down her cloth Trader Joe’s shopping bag on the corridor carpet, smoothed the fine gauge of her aqua sweater over her hips, fussed with her curls for a moment, then—giving up on them as hopeless—shifted her purse strap more securely over her shoulder. Finally, practicing a yoga relaxation breathing technique, she stooped to pick the red-and-white Hawaiian print bag back up. After straightening, she knocked on the door before she could lose her nerve and talk herself out of it. Hey, she was here; no sense in turning into a big chicken, thus making the carbon footprint she’d burned on the way over here even more of a waste than it already was.

  She knocked once more for good measure, then didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when no one answered. Considering the way she’d been trying to talk herself out of this ever since it had occurred to her to bring Jason a homemade meal as a thank-you for his marvelous handling of not only the Darnell situation, but Freddy’s as well, she should be downright giddy at the reprieve, right?

  And part of her was happy about it. She felt lighter, the way she had that time back in the fifth grade when she’d escaped having to take a test she’d studied insufficiently for because of a rare
snow-day school closure, which had given her a second chance to prepare. Now, as then, she’d been saved from her own less-than-brilliant impulses.

  Yet at the same time…

  An excitement she couldn’t deny had percolated inside of her as she’d assembled the Stroganoff, taken a quick shower, shaved her legs and donned the new undies she’d bought from a sale bin at Victoria’s Secret last week. Facing her intentions squarely, she admitted that feeding de Sanges probably hadn’t been the primary motivation driving her.

  That leg-shaving thing was the big clue.

  Grinning to herself—because, really, she had a feeling the man was waaaay out of her league, sexually speaking—she put the bag back on the floor in front of his door, hunted up a pen and notepad in her purse and scribbled a quick thank-you note. Ripping it out of the pad, she placed it atop the casserole dish in the cloth bag, which she left behind as she headed back down the corridor to the elevator.

  Only to have the door to the stairwell open and Jason step out before she reached it.

  They both stopped short, and while Poppy guessed his heart probably wasn’t doing a sudden tap dance, hers sure was. “Um, hi.”

  “What are you doing here?” He jerked his tie loose, directing Poppy’s attention to his snappy suit. Then his eyes narrowed. “How the hell did you get my address?”

  “Jeez, not paranoidly suspicious or anything, are you?” Still, she couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t suppose you’d buy me looking you up online?”

  “I’m a cop, Blondie. You could search the Net until your pretty tight skin sagged around your ankles and still find damn few of us with a published address or listed phone. So which politician did you buy off this time?”

  “Same guy as the past two times—the mayor. He looooves me. And get over yourself. I’m not stalking you and I’m not here to bomb your apartment house. I brought you a pan of the famous Calloway beef Stroganoff to thank you for all you did yesterday.”

  He went still. “You cooked for me?”