Three little ones missing.
Three children who had slipped through the cracks.
It was…incomprehensible. How could something like this have happened? How had it not been reported to the police? I’d already called Aiden to let him know this latest development. Detectives would soon be on their way to the CFC to investigate the allegations. Would they be bulldozed? Or would the agency ’fess up to misdeeds and reveal the names of the missing children?
Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly.
Sean said, “You okay?”
“I’m…disgusted with mankind right now.”
“Yeah.” He stared out his window.
My GPS was programmed to find the hospice care center so Sean and I could speak with Patty Keefe, but as we drove along, I realized we weren’t that far from where Dustin McDaniel had lived.
“Side trip?” I asked Sean.
“Sure.”
I threw him a look. “You didn’t even ask me where.”
“We’re not far from where Dustin lived. You want to go to his house to see if any of his belongings remain there so you can give them the sniff test, and you want to ask around to see if anyone knows Jarvis. From the timing of her call to Elliman, we have to assume that Jarvis is the one who told Kira about the blue car. Which means he or she probably saw that car near Dustin’s house to have any relevance to this case.”
“Actually, I was thinking about stopping for an iced coffee.”
He laughed and the sound washed over me, chasing away the coldness of this case and filling me with warmth. “Lies, Ms. Valentine, lies.”
I couldn’t help but smile. He’d been right, of course. We were so close to where Dustin had been living that it seemed a shame to waste a perfectly good opportunity to stop by.
Five minutes later, we pulled into a visitor space in front of a low-income apartment complex. There were six three-story buildings in total on the street, three on each side. Despite the threat of imminent rain, several children ran around a playground, seemingly without a care in the world. I hoped that was true. Their squeals carried easily through the air, and it was all too easy to imagine Dustin McDaniel sitting in the toddler swing, his toothy smile wide as he sailed into the air.
At the corner, not fifty feet from the playground, I noticed a trio of men loitering near a lamppost—a buzz-cut blond with ghostly pale skin dressed in black from head to toe, a tall Latino covered in tattoos, and a short brown-haired guy who couldn’t tear his gaze from his smartphone. Could one of them possibly be the mysterious Jarvis?
I kept staring at the blond. There was something about him that seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “We don’t know him, do we? The blond?”
Cigarette smoke wafted above the guy’s head as he puffed away. Sean squinted. “I don’t recognize him.”
“Something about the way he’s standing…” I shrugged.
As I watched, two more men, one black, one white, came out of the woods across the street and approached the group. Money and a small bag of something were exchanged with the blond guy. The whole transaction took less than thirty seconds, and the two men from the woods wandered off again. It made me feel ill to see the trio operating their little business so close to the little kids. Ill and mad as hell.
My anger rose and rose until I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved open the door.
Sean clamped my arm, stopping me from getting out. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
“Someone has to say something to them. Get them to move along. There are little kids right there. It’s sickening.”
“You’re not that person.”
Frustration stung my throat. “If not me, then who?”
“I don’t have an answer to that, Lucy, but all three are carrying guns in their waistbands. You are not going over there.”
I squinted. “I don’t see any guns.”
“Lucy.”
I recognized that tone—I’d used it on him yesterday morning.
“Fine,” I said, eyeing the three. My blood pressure continued to creep up. “We should call the police.”
“No need.” He pointed. “Look.”
A Randolph police cruiser rolled slowly down the street and the trio quickly darted into the woods. They were gone for now, but how soon until they were back?
I squeezed my keys until I yelped, realizing I’d broken the skin on my palm.
Compassion filled Sean’s expression. “Hating mankind again?” he asked, carefully lifting my hand.
“Yes.”
He brought my palm to his lips and gave it a kiss. “Better?”
“Maybe a little. I…” I shook my head. “They’re going to come back. How soon before they’re selling to these little kids?”
“As the saying goes, not your circus, not your monkeys, Lucy. You can’t fix everything and everyone.”
“But I want to,” I said.
He gave my hand another kiss, sending little zaps up my arm. “I know. It’s one of the reasons why I love you so much.”
Some of the anger dissolved. Some. Not all. “Yeah, yeah.” I managed a small smile as I pushed open the door. “Let’s do this. I think the sooner we get out of here the better for my peace of mind.”
“Start with Dustin’s old address?” he asked as a wind gust caused a sapling to bend like a limber yoga teacher.
“Sure.” The building had twelve apartments, four on each floor, and each had its own separate entrance. The cloud cover cast the stairwells in creepy shadows, sending a shiver down my spine. But fortunately for me, the apartment we were looking for was on the first floor.
Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about that trio, and as I fished my crutches out of the backseat, I threw a glance toward the woods. “But…”
“No,” Sean said, following my gaze.
“Party pooper.”
He crossed to the front of the car. “Come on, Bullwinkle.”
I crutched over to him. “You did not just call me a moose.”
Shrugging innocently, he said, “Did you ever watch that cartoon? You have to admit that he wasn’t the most graceful moose around.”
I poked him with my crutch. “What are you getting at?”
With a smirk, he led the way up a cracked walkway leading to Dustin’s last-known address, an end unit that had a cranberry-colored door and a pot of wilting geraniums on the front step. Three shiny pinwheels had been stuck in the ground and were spinning crazily as the wind whipped them into a frenzy.
I clumsily followed him, trying desperately to think of a snappy joke about squirrels and nuts, but, by the time I did, Sean had already knocked on the weathered door and a young woman had yelled, “Who is it?” through the sidelight to the right of the door.
A window air conditioner screeched above us as Sean said, “We’re investigating the disappearance of Dustin McDaniel,” he said, flashing his PI identification.
I held up my state police ID, too.
Locks clicked as the woman released them and pulled open the door only enough to wedge her thin body into the opening. “I need to put a sign on the door.”
“Sign?” I asked.
“I moved in the first of this month, and you’re like the tenth person to ask. Newspaper reporters, TV reporters. It’s annoying. I need to put out a sign saying I don’t know anything about that little boy.” In her mid-twenties, she had pale red hair streaked with pink stripes that framed a heart-shaped face. Freckles dotted a hooked nose, and thin lips pursed with frustration. She wore a nametag from a local department store, and I heard the sound of cartoons in the background.
“Did Kira Fitzpatrick stop by? The reporter from Channel 3?” I asked.
“Talked to her last week,” she said. “Told her the same thing I’m telling you. I don’t know anything. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get my kids down for naps.”
“Wait,” Sean said as she went to close the door. “A couple of questions, that’s all.”
&nb
sp; “Like what?” she asked. “I told you, I just moved here. I don’t know anything or anyone that has to do with that little boy.” Under her breath, she muttered something about knowing she should have moved to Quincy instead.
“Were there any belongings left in the apartment when you moved in?” I asked.
She stared at me derisively. “No. It had been cleaned out. Not so much as a nail hole.”
“I don’t suppose you know where they took the previous resident’s belongings?” Sean asked.
Full of scorn, she said, “Are you joking? I gotta go.” Backing up, she started closing the door again.
Deflated, I let out a breath, then suddenly jammed my crutch in the door so it wouldn’t shut. “One more question.”
“Don’t make me call the cops on you,” she warned, color flaring in her cheeks.
I wouldn’t mind the cops coming. I knew a section of woods they could search… “Do you know anyone named Jarvis?”
Pale eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Jarvis Kinson?”
Adrenaline shot through my veins. “Yes,” I said, having no idea if that was the Jarvis I was looking for or not. I wanted to keep her talking, to give us a lead. How many Jarvises could there be? It was an unusual name.
“Why do you want to talk to him?” Concern filled her eyes, widening them. “He doesn’t have anything to do with that missing boy, does he? Because he babysits my boys from time to time, and I always thought he was a good kid.”
Kid. Jarvis was a kid?
“We don’t know that he’s not,” Sean said, trying to reassure her. “His name has come up in our investigation, and we need to talk with him. Do you know where we can find him?”
“Right across the street.” She motioned with her chin. “Directly opposite here, but on the second floor.”
When Sean and I turned to look, the door slammed behind us.
“I think she liked us,” he said dryly.
“You do have a way with women,” I said as we headed for the apartments across the street.
Frowning, he said, “It’s the hat.”
“Maybe so,” I said, trying not to laugh. “It’s not nearly as sexy as your shower cap.”
Dimples popped as he slid me a smile, and I was suddenly so grateful that he was here with me. If he hadn’t been, I might have done something supremely stupid like chasing that trio into the woods.
As we approached the stairs, he said, “Do you want me to give you a piggyback up?”
“As fun as that sounds, I think I’ll hop.” The truth was if he hadn’t been injured, I’d have taken that offer in a hot second.
The apartment was easy to find and, the same as across the street, a woman yelled out asking what we wanted. There were no sidelights here, so Sean and I held up our IDs to the peephole.
Sean said, “We’d like to speak with Jarvis.”
The landing had a railing that overlooked the street, and as I stood there, I realized that all the front-facing windows of this apartment would have an unfettered view of where Dustin had lived.
Had he seen Cat on January third? If so, it was a huge lead, because supposedly the last time she’d come here was in December.
Locks tumbled, and an angry-looking black woman, late twenties, filled the doorway. Beautiful brown eyes dotted with flecks of gold shifted from Sean to me and back again.
“What do you want with Jarvis?” she asked, her tone sharp. Short black hair had been gelled into stylish spikes and it suddenly made me think of raised hackles. A mama protecting her young.
“We believe he may be a witness in the disappearance of Dustin McDaniel,” I said.
“No.” She shook her head. “He didn’t see anything.”
“Ma’am…,” Sean said.
She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t even start. The answer is no.”
“But there’s a little boy missing,” I said.
“And my heart goes out to him, but my son is staying out of it.”
Sean gave her his best innocent face. “We only have a few questions.”
“No.”
I almost smiled. I had a feeling he was going to ditch that hat as soon as possible.
“You don’t have a warrant or something like that, right?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then we’re done here.” She crossed her arms over a large chest.
I handed her a business card. “Unfortunately, he’ll have to talk to someone, us or the police detectives. How old is he?”
“Thirteen,” she said, staring at my card. “And I guess we’ll be talking with the detectives because he isn’t speaking with you.”
As much as it frustrated me, I understood her desire to protect her son. “You might want to consider talking with an attorney.”
“You think if I had money for a lawyer that I’d be living here?” She snorted. “It’s time for you to leave.”
Sean tipped his hat. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Look,” she said, her tone softening a bit. “I understand how frustrating it is not to know where that sweet little boy is, but it isn’t any of our business. You might want to ask his father a few questions.”
“Jarvis’s father?” Sean asked.
“No.” She shook her head as though he was dense. “Dustin’s father.”
Corey McDaniel? “You think he had something to do with it from prison?”
“He’s not in prison anymore,” she said. An eyebrow rose and smugly she added, “I guess you two weren’t at the top of your detecting classes.”
I couldn’t quite argue with her on that. We should have known Corey McDaniel had been released. “When did he get out?”
“You expect me to know everything? All I know is that he’s been hanging around here at least three weeks now. I saw him not ten minutes ago at that corner.” She pointed to the same corner where the trio had been hanging out. “Sad to say he’s back to his old ways, doping and dealing.”
I peeked over the railing. The corner was empty. “The blond guy?”
“That’s him,” she said. “Some people are just born bad. He’s one of them.”
With that, she stepped back and closed the door in our faces.
I was reminded of Danny Beckley and his parting words yesterday, about the world being an evil place.
I didn’t want to believe people were born bad or that the world was evil.
But right now it was hard to argue.
Sean said, “We’re still not going in those woods.”
I’d call Aiden and get him on it—he had resources I didn’t. Corey would need to be formally questioned. As would Jarvis, no matter how much his mother didn’t want him to be.
I stared at that empty corner. “I just realized why I thought I might know him. I do.”
“You do?”
Gripping my crutches tightly, I looked at him, held his gaze. “Yeah. I saw him on video yesterday in the Channel 3 garage. He’s the guy who left the doll in Kira’s SUV.”
14
A half hour later, Sean and I were sitting across from Patty Keefe. The walls of the hospice care center were painted in neutral shades, but artwork burst with color, bringing a sense of light and joy. I fully expected a somber mood, but I found most everyone we’d come across to have a smile on their face. It was a relaxed atmosphere, and I suspected that came from the employees who strived to ensure their patients were surrounded by happiness during their final days.
It was humbling to say the least, and made me feel extra appreciative for all I had. But it didn’t change the sad facts of this case—or that we’d brought up a painful topic to discuss with Patty.
Dressed in a loose floral-printed dressing gown, she was propped up in an armchair. A heating pad peeked out from an elaborately-crocheted blanket on her lap. An oxygen machine’s narrow tubing snaked upward, branching at her neck to wrap around her ears. It then looped down to her nose where a nasal cannula delivered the supplemental breathing help. A support pillow cushione
d her head that looked like it held the weight of the world.
Short blond hair had been clipped behind her ears with double bobby pins. Although her thin face and sunken eyes told the story of her terminal diagnosis, she still wore full makeup complete with fake eyelashes and perfectly-applied lip liner and lipstick. Her nails had been painted a bright pink as well. It brought a lump to my throat to see her attempting normality despite the abnormality of her situation.
“I knew Corey was trouble from the start,” Patty said softly, barely able to shake her head.
On the way here, I’d spoken with Aiden, who’d gone momentarily silent after I told him my suspicion about Corey and that doll. Aiden promised to contact his superior and attain the reinforcements we needed to not only track Corey down but to pull Jarvis in for questioning. Then he cursed a blue streak about being stuck in the hospital and Em took his phone away.
“But,” Patty said, her blue eyes suddenly flashing with a spark of life, “there was nothing I could say to sway Alisha from marrying him. Love.” She brought a trembling hand upward, stuck a finger in her mouth, and made a gagging noise. “I did my best to keep my mouth shut and be a part of her life, especially when Corey went to prison and she found out she was pregnant. It took everything in me to swallow that ‘I told you so.’” She inhaled deeply as though trying to catch her breath. “It’s hard to hate Corey, however. Because of him, I had Dustin. He was the sweetest baby. But unfortunately he didn’t hold the power to keep Alisha from slipping back into her old ways.”
“Old ways?” I asked for clarification.
With her lower lip jutting, her fingers worked tirelessly, rolling the edge of the colorful afghan between her thumb and forefinger. “Alisha started using drugs her senior year of high school, at first recreationally.” She drew in a deep breath. “It snowballed after graduation. A year later, she was arrested and sent to a rehab facility. That’s where she met Corey.”
Patty glanced down at her hands, her fingers finally stilling for a moment.
“Did they get married straight off?” I asked, trying to keep her talking.
“They waited a year,” she said, looking up again. Her fingers went back to rolling the crocheted yarn. “Then came news that Alisha was pregnant. She quit the drugs cold turkey—or so she told me. But Dustin was born with marijuana in his system. Alisha said she’d only smoked it because of nausea from the pregnancy…I don’t think that’s true. Anyway, that’s how she came to the attention of the DCF and CFC.”