The Forgotten Child

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  “Not a problem.”

  Michael’s jaw clenched.

  “Perfect,” she said. “I also would like to record this. Is that all right?” She picked up the digital recorder.

  “Yeah, that’s cool.”

  She hit record and supplied what she hoped sounded like a proper pre-interview statement, rattling off the date, time, and who she was talking to, and asked him to confirm verbally that he gave his consent to be recorded. She placed the recorder beside her legal pad, the microphone facing Francis.

  Guys like him, the cocky ones who got through life at least partly relying on their looks, often wouldn’t shut the hell up once you got them talking. A compliment here or there and they opened up like a flower in the sunlight. Add in the fact that this guy had gotten away with quite a few crimes with no one the wiser? Riley banked on the fact that once she gave him a little encouragement, he’d start blabbing.

  Riley had watched enough shows about guys like him, the ones who slipped through the legal system’s fingers, to know that they often found ways to mention the crime in question—wanting to brag without making a confession.

  “How long has it been since your statutory rape conviction?”

  Francis flinched slightly, as if startled by the question. What did he think they were going to talk about—baking? He recovered quickly, gaze focused on something she couldn’t see beyond the barrier of her open laptop. “I … uh … I was eighteen. My girlfriend was thirteen.”

  Quickly looking up, he pulled his brows together, silently daring her to judge him for having sex with a girl who had barely entered into puberty. Riley kept her face blank.

  “I got eighteen months,” he said. “So I was almost twenty when I got out. Been thirty years.”

  “Were you required to register as a sex offender?”

  “Nah. That didn’t really start until the mid-’90s.”

  Unfortunate. It also meant she could skip a handful of her prepared questions. She scrolled down the list, then looked up at him.

  “How did having a conviction on your record affect your ability to find employment?”

  “It was absolute shit there for a while. I had to let people know I had a criminal record and no one wanted to hire me—not even as a janitor. Plus, people I thought were my friends started thinking I was a child molester or something. I just had a young girlfriend and her parents were real uptight—religious nuts, you know. Thought it was a sin and all that.

  “But we were in love. And we wanted to express our love … physically.”

  He winked quickly on the last word. Riley threw up in her mouth a little.

  “So you felt the verdict was unjust?”

  “Of course. It’s no one’s business who I have sex with other than me and who I’m with.” Riley was about to ask something else, but he cut her off. “And none of that ‘Oh, she’s not old enough to make those kinds of decisions at thirteen’ bullshit. That girl was plenty capable.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael quickly walk away from the table where he’d been hovering, like he’d just narrowly avoided going through with his desire to bludgeon the guy with his camera.

  “You were a runaway when you were in your early teens, is that right? Your parents reported you as missing in 1980?”

  His head reared back slightly.

  “I’m a reporter; I’ve done my research.”

  Rolling his shoulders, he nodded. “Yeah, I took off when I was thirteen.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Is this relevant?”

  “Children with troubled home lives often wind up in the system one way or another. You’re a product of what was done to you.”

  He sighed, folding his arms on the table, shoulders bunched up by his ears as he smiled at her. The sudden change from guarded to … something else … threw her. She could only see his eyes and half of his partially crooked nose over the laptop. Reaching a hand up—which made Michael close the distance by a few steps—Francis placed a finger on the edge of her laptop, then slowly pushed it closed. She pulled her hands out of the way.

  “You said this is a conversation, right?” Francis said, gaze roving her face. “It’s easier for me to have a conversation when I can actually see who I’m talking to. Shame to have a pretty little thing like you hiding behind this. Besides, you got the recorder going, don’t you?”

  Riley swallowed. “Fair enough.”

  He relaxed a little, keeping his arms crossed on the table. “So, yeah, I left home because my dad lost his job when I was about ten or so. He worked in a factory and messed up his back—was on disability. After rent, we hardly had enough to eat.

  “Parents fought all the damn time. Mom developed a drug habit—and they were both alcoholics. She lost her job. Dad beat me pretty good on a regular enough basis that I finally just left.”

  “Where’d you go? Did you have extended family in the area?”

  “Stole some cash and took a bus to see my uncle. He didn’t want another kid to feed though. Kicked me out after a week or two.”

  “Then what?”

  “Shelters. Slept on the street. Did odd jobs—mowing lawns, tried a paper route but it was hard to swing without a bike, washed windows and cars.”

  “That must’ve been hard.”

  “I survived.”

  “Must have been a scary time back then, being on the streets,” she said. “That was when that serial killer was snatching up runaways, right? What was his name?”

  “Orin Jacobs,” Francis said automatically.

  “Yeah, him,” she said. “Were the shelter kids scared?”

  “Not really. I mean, the guys weren’t. Only chicks were getting taken.” Francis rubbed the back of his neck. “Wanna know something kind of interesting though?”

  Riley’s heartbeat stumbled. “What’s that?”

  “Well, funny thing. That girl who escaped? Mindy? I knew her.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah, we were actually staying at the same shelter when she was taken.”

  “Wow. Must have been scary to know you’d been that close to a killer.”

  “Like I said, I’m not a chick, so it never really got to me. Luck of the chromosome, I guess.” He stared at her for a long time.

  Riley started to get the impression that he was sizing her up now.

  “Did you ever see him? Orin, I mean. You know, after the fact, when his face was on the news—did you recognize him?”

  “Nah. I’d never seen the guy in my life.” He cocked his head. “You seem more interested in that than in me. You into that kinda stuff? Murder mysteries?”

  “I’m into finding out the truth.”

  He smiled. She mirrored it.

  Then she folded her arms on the table and slightly leaned forward. “What are you into?” Her voice took on a low purr.

  Slowly, he licked his lips. “Pretty girls who like searching for the truth.”

  She laughed. A fake, over-the-top waitress laugh. It brought out the full grin from Francis she’d been expecting. “What’s your truth, Hank?”

  “Ditch the pretty boy and I’ll show you.”

  Riley’d managed to forget Michael was there for a moment. Maybe Jade was right about the incorrigible flirt assessment. “My first priority is always the story. I need to uncover that truth before I … explore anything else.”

  Francis sat back, his arms wide as either hand gripped the edge of the table. “I know a challenge when I see one. I’m game. Keep asking your questions.”

  Michael stood off to the side, behind Francis, his mouth agape.

  “What do you think about murder mysteries?” she asked, regaining her focus.

  “I think too much time is spent harping on the past when only the present matters.”

  “You don’t think studying past behaviors leads to a better understanding of the present?”

  He shrugged. “I think the past should stay there; you can’t change it.”

  �
�You sound a little bitter. Have you done something you regret?”

  “Haven’t we all?” he asked. “What’s something you’ve done you wish you could take back?”

  She considered that for a moment. She regretted a lot about Casey but she wasn’t about to get that personal with Francis. “Letting work take over my life when I should be a better friend.”

  He scoffed. “You can do better than that. Cheating on a boyfriend, shoplifting, hurting someone …”

  “I can’t think of anything that specific. What about you?”

  “Well, if we’re going to be vague … I regret the trust I’ve put in people,” he said. “When I was a teenager, I fell in love with a girl who used me. Made me think she cared about me when all she wanted was an out. When I really needed her, she turned on me.”

  “The thirteen year old?”

  “Nah. Before Natalie.”

  Mindy. Had to be. She said he’d told her he loved her. Then she’d clocked him in the face and left him bleeding—possibly dead—before she made a break for it.

  “You’ve contradicted yourself,” Riley said. “You said the past doesn’t matter since we can’t change it. Why are you still so upset about something that happened decades ago?”

  “If we go by your way of looking at things, that betrayal all those years ago made me who I am today,” he said. “I learned never to trust anyone.”

  So he blamed Mindy for all this?

  “That’s mighty bleak,” she said. “That why you track who looks at your page?”

  He smiled. “Led me to you, didn’t it? Paranoia has its rewards.”

  “Paranoid about what?”

  Looking away for a moment, he broke the intense bout of eye contact they’d been maintaining. “What happened to this article being about me turning my life around?” His posture was more guarded now, arms crossed in front of him again.

  “I told you this was a conversation. Plus,” she said, motioning to her computer, “you closed off my access to the prearranged questions.”

  “Aw, you don’t need those. Something tells me you’re good on your … toes.” The disarming smile revealed white teeth arranged in a perfect line.

  Maybe she’d let Michael strangle him at the end of this after all. The look on his face said he’d be happy to.

  She got in a couple more questions about his parents before a group of six teenagers flooded out onto the patio. They took a spot in the opposite corner, laughing and talking over each other.

  Francis immediately lost focus, his gaze continuously flicking over to the boys. Riley couldn’t tell if he wanted to join them or hightail it back to his car. Did crowds make him nervous?

  “Wanna call it a day for now?” she asked.

  “Yeah, that’s cool,” he said, springing to his feet as if someone had just hit the eject button on his chair. “I got some stuff I gotta do.”

  Riley stood as well and held out her hand. “I really appreciate you taking the time to talk with me. Maybe we can chat on the phone if I need more material?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said, not even acknowledging Michael as he headed for the exit.

  Blowing out an exaggerated sigh, some of the tension left her shoulders as she grabbed the recorder and hit stop. The legal pad didn’t have a word on it. As she went to pick it up, she felt someone behind her. Michael, camera halfway back in its case, froze in place, attention focused over Riley’s shoulder.

  A hand lightly wrapped around her elbow and she stilled, back ramrod straight.

  With his chest pressed to the side of her body, mouth right on her ear, he said, “If you want to talk more in-depth, you could always come to my place for a one-on-one session. See me in my element. Uncover the real me.” His voice was deep and smooth. “Just make sure you leave Jansen behind.”

  Then he was gone, the patio door swishing shut behind him.

  CHAPTER 18

  In the middle of packing up her things, Riley looked up. Francis strode across the parking lot as if he hadn’t a care in the world. A smartly dressed woman walked past him and he turned to walk backwards for a moment to admire the view from another angle. Then Francis noticed Riley and smirked. He blew her a kiss. Face hot, she diverted her attention back to her belongings. She needed to get the hell out of there.

  When she cautiously glanced up again a few moments later, she caught sight of him just as he disappeared around the side of a sporting goods store.

  Michael and Riley left the café, loaded up the car, and drove away. It wasn’t until they were out of the parking lot, and sure the guy wasn’t following them, that she let herself have a full-fledged wiggle-panic-meltdown.

  “Oh my god! He is the most vile man I’ve ever met!” Shaking out both hands, goosebumps broke out across her skin at the memory of him standing so close to her. She wanted to take a shower in bleach.

  “You … you two were practically undressing each other with your eyes at one point.”

  “Michael!”

  “What!”

  “You can’t possibly be jealous of … of … that.”

  “Something was happening between you two—that’s all I’m saying.”

  Riley shuddered violently. Then she replayed her encounter with Francis in her head. “Jade says I’m an incorrigible flirt.”

  He started to say something, then stopped.

  “What?”

  With a shrug, he shook his head.

  “Okay,” she said. “You know how some people have that extra … something? Where you’re drawn to them because of something beyond physical attraction?”

  “Why do you think I’m currently in Santa Fe driving around with a girl who just had a chat with a murderer?”

  She laughed, semi-hysterical. “No, I mean, have you ever met someone you were drawn to, but it wasn’t sexual? Maybe even another man—like a boss or something where you just want to be around them. To soak up their knowledge or they have a really fun energy that always puts you in a better mood?”

  He considered that. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I think flirting is just … I don’t know … a result of that. Some instinctual thing that pulls you to another person, regardless of the reason,” she said. “There are billions of people on the planet and most of them you don’t even look at twice, right? But there are those few who have that something that makes them stand out. Sometimes it’s sexual, but for me it usually isn’t. It’s an … energy thing? Man, I sound so woo-woo, new age-y right now.”

  “Nah, I think I get it.”

  “He’s got that,” she said. “The non-sexual draw. And, I mean, how many times have you flirted with someone based solely on looks and then once they start talking you change your mind and the desire to flirt turns off?”

  He nodded.

  “Just because you’re showing interest on some level doesn’t automatically mean physical attraction. When I flirt, the intention isn’t to sleep with them, it’s just to get to know them. Flirting is fun and makes people open up more. But that’s all it is.”

  “You don’t think there’s a risk of leading someone on?”

  Riley shook her head. “I think that’s more about entitlement. You think because someone shows interest in you—and it could be sexual for one person, but not the other, and they’re taking things the wrong way—you’re owed access to them sexually. But that’s bullshit. You’re only allowed access if I say you are, flirtation or not. It’s not my fault if you read into my actions what you want to be true.”

  Mouth bunched up on the side, he quietly mulled that over.

  “When my ex flirted, he did so quote-unquote discreetly. To me, that shows intent to hook up. If you didn’t know I was meeting Francis and found me out on that patio with him, me in his lap—” Riley shuddered at this, “—my intent would clearly be different than what just happened. But you were there the whole time and you knew I was only trying to get information out of him, right?”

  “Yeah, for sure,” he said. “I thin
k I see what you mean. It was still hard to see, but that’s also because I had mild Kim flashbacks.”

  She hadn’t considered that and reached over to squeeze his free hand. “I’m sorry it made you uncomfortable.”

  “So you don’t want to run off with him and live like Bonnie and Clyde?”

  “My god!” She smacked his arm. “I loathe him. He fascinates the hell out of me, but more in that ‘I want to solve the puzzle’ way.”

  “Well, you did warn me that you were really into true crime.”

  “Maybe I missed my calling as a private investigator.”

  “Still time.”

  After a few minutes of driving, the low hum of classic rock the only sound, she said, “Did you really think I liked him?”

  “The intellectual part of me didn’t,” he said. “What did he say to you before he left?”

  “He wants to meet with just me,” she said. “He suggested his place.”

  “Hell no,” he said. “You’re not allowed alone with that guy—especially not in his house. I don’t care if that makes me sound like a possessive asshole, but I’m shutting that shit down right now.”

  “You’re hot when you’re feisty.”

  There was no sign of his usual good humor. “I’m serious, Riley.”

  “I know. Sorry. I know.” After a short bout of silence, she said, “I wonder if he knows what the dark room is.”

  “Come again?”

  Then she remembered he didn’t know about the EVPs. “You ready to hear something?”

  “Probably not.”

  After prepping the EVPs on her phone, she cranked up the volume. She was half tempted to hit play then shove her fingers in her ears, la la la-ing herself out of hearing Orin’s voice again, but held firm.

  Michael kept quiet through the first one, his hands gripping tight to the steering wheel.

  “Hank … lied.”

  With a full-body shudder, he said, “Hate to break it to you, Orin, but Hank lies quite often.” He sighed. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you, Ry. That guy is … off.”