by Brian Shea
“Him and me both. Thanks again for the assist on this.”
Chalmers escorted Kelly back out to the lobby. The fragrant smell greeted him once more.
Kelly entered his car and took a sip of his now tepid cup of coffee. Hot was better, but he settled for caffeine in any form. When he and Danny were on patrol together, they had a simple goal each shift—get a cup of coffee. In the Dot, working the Eleven, the call volume was non-stop. They’d finished many a shift without accomplishing the goal. On other occasions, they’d manage to get a cup, but it grew cold by the time they were able to drink it. Kelly measured the pace of the day by the temperature of his coffee.
He punched in the destination of the next address into his phone. Only fifteen minutes away. Kelly used the time to prepare for the difficult task of telling a parent his child was dead. He’d done it too many times in his eleven years to keep an accurate count. No amount of repetition made it any easier.
Explaining death was never easy, and Faith Wilson’s would be anything but, compounded by the fact that, as of right now, Kelly had more questions than answers.
The ride to Faith Wilson’s home was a scenic one, bending along Great Pond Road. The lack of foliage in the early phases of spring’s transition from winter left the trees relatively bare, giving Kelly a clear view of the water. Had the journey not come under such circumstances, it might have been enjoyable.
No two people reacted the same to learning of a loved one’s passing. Kelly had seen people collapse to the ground. Some remained silent. One woman actually slapped him across the face. He remembered the painful sting of the blow and how his field training officer had laughed when they’d returned to the cruiser, saying he’d never seen that before. Kelly hoped today’s encounter was less eventful.
He sat in the car and let his Impala wheeze and whine while he read over the missing person case file one more time. Kelly wanted to get the facts straight before speaking with Faith’s father. The parking lot to the condo was nearly empty; most of the residents hadn’t returned from work. He’d much rather speak with Faith’s father in the privacy of his home rather than seeking him out at his place of business.
The Wilson condo was the end unit on the right. Kelly noted a bedroom window that opened up to a flat landing extending approximately four feet. A large, twisted branch from a nearby maple tree was close enough to grab if standing on the ledge. A perfect egress for a sneaky teen. Had Faith used this window to exit her world into the one that cost her life?
No security cameras. At least none visible on the exterior of the houses. The report noted a canvass of all the neighbors. Nobody reported seeing anything out of the ordinary on the day of her disappearance. One of the neighbors reported seeing her get on the school bus in the morning. Nobody saw her get off the bus in the afternoon. That didn’t mean she didn’t come home. It just meant nobody saw. The school said Faith rode the bus home and this was verified by the bus driver. There was no sign of forced entry. No theory of an abduction. It got listed as a probable runaway. His attention again turned to the window with the tree branch. Why would she run from here?
Kelly made the short walk to the condo’s front door. The welcome mat on the stoop looked less than welcoming. It was covered with dirt and old leaves in various states of decomposition, obvious that Mr. Wilson hadn’t done much upkeep before winter’s arrival. The file had said he was a single father, but didn’t go into much detail beyond that.
Kelly rang the doorbell twice. He heard a faint chime from within. Kelly listened. No barking dog. No sounds of movement. The blinds were drawn. Kelly was disappointed. He preferred to get this bit of nastiness over with fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Kelly opened the storm door. It creaked loudly. It seemed as though much of the Wilson house was in varying states of disrepair. Kelly banged loudly with his balled fist. The heel of his closed hand struck the white wood of the door three times.
He waited. Nothing. Kelly looked at the file for the work address and then at his watch. It was just past 4 p.m. If Gary Wilson was at work, Kelly would most likely miss him if he left now. Turning to leave, he heard a cough on the other side of the door. And then the deadbolt released with a thud.
The door opened. A man wearing a worn-out blue sweatshirt and stained jeans stood in the threshold. The top of his head was mostly barren, with only a few wisps of greasy black strands. One of the strands was flopped forward and hung over the man’s left eye. He didn’t seem to notice or care about the obstruction. “Whatever you’re sellin’, I don’t want it.”
Kelly squared himself to the man. “Mr. Wilson?”
“Who wants to know?” His voice crackled and he cleared his throat. He hocked loudly before spitting a loogie past Kelly. Milky phlegm landed on the W of the welcome mat, making it even more disgusting and less inviting.
Kelly slid his badge into view. “Mr. Wilson, I’m Detective Kelly with Boston PD.”
“What’s Boston PD want with me? Aren’t you a little out of your jurisdiction?”
“I’m with Homicide.” Kelly let the words sink in. He could smell from Wilson’s emanations the man was on the downside of a six-pack.
Gary Wilson staggered back a foot. Kelly wasn’t sure if it was the booze or the impact of understanding. Either way, Kelly seized the opportunity and closed the gap, placing his left foot on the lip of the door frame to prevent Wilson from slamming it closed.
“No! Not my baby!” Wilson sat back, landing hard on the steps. He folded his head inside his knees and began to rock.
Kelly stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The funk of the condo’s interior left a sour taste in his mouth. Upon a quick scan of his immediate surroundings, he could see the interior was not in much better shape than the mat outside. Old newspapers and empty beer bottles decorated the floor. Kelly spied down the narrow hall to the kitchen and saw it too carried the same décor.
“When?” Wilson shot his head up. Tears streamed down his cheeks. The slight chub of his face was similar to that of his daughter. Kelly immediately saw the resemblance.
“She was found early this morning.”
“Where? Boston?”
“Yes. In Dorchester. Mr. Wilson, would you be more comfortable in the living room or kitchen?”
Gary Wilson got up without speaking and walked to the kitchen. Kelly followed. A cigarette burned in an ashtray on the table. Wilson went to the fridge and pulled out a Miller Lite. He popped the top and sat facing Kelly. Wilson retrieved the cigarette and took a long drag.
Kelly looked at the chair nearest him and cleared off some crumbs before taking a seat.
“The maid’s off this week,” Wilson grumbled. His tears slowed with each sip of the beer.
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I’ll do my best to give you what I know up to this point. Maybe you can help fill in some things as well.”
“You’re with Homicide? So, she was murdered?”
“As of right now we are still determining cause of death. I won’t have an official confirmation until tomorrow when the autopsy is completed.”
A flash of anger came across from the bereaved father. “That’s not what I asked you. I asked you if my daughter was murdered.”
“I’m treating it as such.”
“How?”
“Like I said, we’re still working on the how. From the looks of it she was struck in the back of her head. There was a visible injury on the back of her skull. As soon as I know for sure, I will tell you.”
“Who did it?”
“Not sure. It’s the early stages of the investigation.”
“I’m hearing a lot of I-don’t-knows and not-sures out of your mouth. I thought you city guys were better than this. You come here to tell me my daughter’s dead and offer nothing else.”
Kelly took the verbal blows in stride. He’d been through much worse. All in all, Mr. Wilson was handling the news of his daughter’s death quite well. “I’m goin
g to work your daughter’s case until I have some answers for you.”
“I heard that before. Detective Jeffries said something similar and look where that ended up.”
Wilson got up, leaving the empty can on the table. He grabbed another and returned to his seat.
“So, what now?” Wilson sneered.
“Is there anything, looking back on Faith’s disappearance, that you may not have thought important then that you do now?”
“I told Jeffries everything I knew. Faith was twelve. She kept to herself. Ever since her mother ran off two days before her eighth birthday. She had emotional issues. Faith ate her depression away. She suffered from low self-esteem. I probably didn’t help, working at a grocery store. I brought home too many snacks. But, like I told Jeffries, she didn’t have many friends. No boyfriends. None of that. So, as far as who could’ve taken her, I’ve got no idea.”
“Did Faith ever mention a Clive Branson?”
Wilson took a long pull from his can and belched. He ashed out his cigarette and pulled another from the nearby pack, lighting it before answering. “No. Why?”
“Did Jeffries?”
“Like I said, the name doesn’t ring a bell. Who’s Clive Branson?”
“Not sure. But he was noted in the missing person case as a person of interest. Nothing further. I thought maybe he was a friend of your daughter. Maybe somebody I could talk to.”
Kelly watched the man carefully. It was hard to gauge Wilson’s reaction to this line of questioning. The alcohol and mental instability created by the news of his daughter’s death made him a hard man to read.
“I see you looking around here. Judging me. You think I’m some drunk slob. No wonder my daughter ran away, right?”
“I’m not here to pass judgment.”
“I wasn’t always like this. Our house—life was better. I gave her—my Faith—a good, decent life. I was a manager at StarBrite Grocers when she disappeared. That little girl was my world. Ever since her mother left, it was her and me against the world. When she disappeared, I took a lot of time off from work looking for her. Too much. When I ran out of personal time, I called in sick. Eventually they threatened to fire me. My union rep got me a medical discharge, mental health stuff.” Wilson tapped the near empty beer can against his head for added effect. “Pretty good compensation package too. By the looks of this place, you wouldn’t know it, though.”
“Would you mind if I take a look around your daughter’s room?”
Gary Wilson sighed weakly. “Upstairs on the right.”
Kelly could see the grieving father was not going to give him the guided tour. He climbed the stairs and nearly tripped over an empty bottle at the top of the landing, tucked by the banister. He rounded to the right and saw the unmistakable door of a pre-teen girl, “Faith” in brightly colored letter stickers surrounded by a rainbow.
Kelly turned the knob and the door swung inward. The room was bright pinks and purples. An obvious favorite of the girl. It was also clear Gary Wilson’s depressive fall had not scathed the room’s interior. The bed was made, and her dolls were neatly arranged on her bed and neighboring shelves. It was spotless. A moment frozen in time. In this room, Faith Wilson was still alive. Kelly moved inside.
His earlier conjecture had been right. The window with the tree escape ladder belonged to Faith. Kelly wandered to the window. He pushed up at the base of the sill. It resisted momentarily, then gave way. If nothing was touched since her disappearance, then she had most likely left through the window. Maybe she wasn’t running away from something, but running to something. Or someone. Who and why? Those were the questions that needed answering.
“Find anything?”
Gary Wilson stood in the open doorway, his eyes downcast and his body rigid, as if he were physically incapable of entering the room, or even laying eyes upon it.
“You said she had no boyfriend?”
“She didn’t.”
“Then why’d she sneak out the window?”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Wilson looked up slowly.
“Window’s unlocked. I’m assuming you didn’t touch anything since she left. So, I’m guessing she left out the window.” Kelly pointed to the now opened window. “Usually, sneaking out means she was setting out to meet somebody in secret. From the report it appears her small circle of friends were all interviewed. None of them saw her after she was reported missing. My guess is it was a boy. My question is who?”
“Faith didn’t have any boyfriends. Not that I know of, anyway.”
Kelly closed the window and stepped out into the hall. Wilson closed the door behind him and this time guided Kelly down the stairs toward the door.
“I will do my very best to bring to justice anybody responsible for the disappearance and death of your daughter.”
Wilson eked out a whimper and a tear rolled down his cheek. “She’s dead. Not much matters now.”
“It matters to me.”
He stood and shook hands with Wilson. The father of Faith Wilson didn’t show him out. Instead he sat on the stairs with his hand cupped around his beer can as if praying for an answer at its bottom, an answer Detective Michael Kelly hoped he’d be able to deliver.
The Impala sputtered out its glee at finally being free from stop-and-go traffic. Kelly walked up the back steps of the wraparound porch. As a child he’d often tucked himself under the steps in an effort to hide from his brother during one of their many games of hide-and-go-seek. As a teen, he’d used the same steps to hide his beer from his mother.
The floorboards creaked loudly and dipped slightly under his weight. The condition of the house was starting to slip. Since he returned home to live here once more, he intended to put in some sweat equity as soon as he had time.
The Dot’s crime rate had risen significantly since his parents emigrated from Ireland in the fifties. Even so, Deidra Kelly refused to lock her doors. An area of contention between Michael and his mother, especially after Danny Rourke’s home invasion.
“Ma, I’m home,” Kelly called out as he entered.
“In the parlor.”
Kelly entered the living room. His mother was watching Jeopardy!, a game show she’d become more fanatical about in her later years. Kelly knew his mother had a not-so-secret crush on Alex Trebek.
He leaned down and kissed his mother on the forehead. Her right leg was extended, a pillow tucked underneath. An icy fall during the last snowstorm of the year left her with a fractured right hip, but she was on the mend. Kelly took a couple weeks of leave during the first steps of recovery, but his caseload began to stack, and he had needed to return to work. The liquor store, normally overseen by his mother, was being managed by Reyansh Gupta, her best employee. Kelly had asked his younger brother, Brayden, to step up and help, but he was too busy with God knows what.
“My! You look like the devil’s been chasing you.” She turned to greet him. “Have a seat. It’s getting close to the Daily Double. That young boy there is giving everybody a run for their money.”
Kelly disappeared into the kitchen and grabbed a cold beer. He cracked the top and took a sip. “Ma, you want one?”
“I guess it’s about that time.”
Kelly brought his mother a beer and plopped down onto the couch beside her. He watched her watching the show. After each question was presented, his mother would inch forward just a bit. She’d then wait until the answer was announced and pretend like she knew it all along. Every once in a while, she’d actually get one right before the contestants. It usually came when the category had something to do with European history or geography. When she beat one of the contestants to the punch, she used to get up and do a jig. With her hip in disrepair, it would be a while before she resumed her celebratory dance.
“How’s the leg today?”
“Good as gold. I’ll be up and running in no time.” She gave an exaggerated wink.
“I was in the neighborhood today.” Kelly never talked about the cases he worke
d. He never saw fit to unload his burdens on people who hadn’t worn the shield. There was always too much explaining, and something was always lost in the retelling. Plus, he never wanted to worry her. “I was planning on stopping by and checking in but got tied up.”
“A bad one?”
Even though he never gave details, nor did she want them, his mother always made a point of asking. “They’re all bad, Ma. You seen Brayden?”
She answered him by not answering him, turning her attention back to Alex Trebek. “Useless junkie,” Kelly seethed. “I guess that’s a no. He should be helping you with the store.” Kelly shook his head. “He’s an absolute train wreck.”
“Michael Kelly, I will not have you speaking ill of family.” His mother gave a stern look. “He’s got problems.”
“He’s on drugs,” Kelly snapped.
“That stuff’s ruined him. He had such a bright future. Smart as a whip, that kid.”
Kelly had gone around and around with his mother on this issue and the topic was an exhausting one. “You’ve got to stop supporting him. He needs to hit bottom and get help. No way he’ll do it if you keep giving him money whenever he comes by. Stop feeding the cat, Ma!”
“He’s not a cat. He’s your brother.” She muted the commercial in the background. “Sweet Mary and Joseph, we never turn our back on family. You know this. He’s got a sickness and needs treatment. Why can’t you help him get back on his feet?”
“I’ve tried. A million times I tried.” Kelly slumped deeper into the worn cushion. “Every time he gets arrested, who’s there to bail him out? Me. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve personally driven him to a treatment facility, only to find out he ran out the back door before I drove away. He isn’t ready for my help.”
“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t meet the good Lord before he gets it.” Alex Trebek was back on the television and his mother reached for the remote. “Just promise me you’ll try and knock some sense into him next time you see him.”
