by Brian Shea
Barnes sat back, exchanging the camera for her beer. “A girl goes missing from suburbia and ends up dead in Dorchester a year later?” She took a long pull. “This has all the tell-tale signs of human trafficking. We see this a lot in my unit. Kids are mislabeled as runaways but are in fact being passed around by local pimps. Typically starts with weekend parties and eventually the girls get lost to the streets. Any leads?”
“I’ve got a prick-of-a-teen at a prep school in North Andover who may be involved, or at least knows something about the case. But he lawyered up while I was trying to get some info.”
“That’s a red flag. What’d the lawyer say?”
Kelly shrugged and took a sip. “Usual stuff. Told me not to go near his client.”
“Maybe we can put a little pressure on him.”
“We?”
Barnes smiled. “I figured you called me because you needed my assistance.”
“I did, but I know you’ve got your own caseload to worry about. I really just wanted to pick your brain on this one.”
“Who are you partnered with?”
“Solo.”
“Michael Kelly, you’ve stepped in a great big pile of shit and you’re going to need a little help. Give me a second.” Barnes pulled out her phone and dialed. “Hey Sarge, I’m talking with Homicide. They’re working a body of a young girl. Looks like it might have some ties to local prostitution or maybe even trafficking. Michael Kelly’s assigned. I’m going to assist him on it.” There was a slight delay as Barnes waited for the man on the other end of the line. She nodded to herself and then ended the call. She looked at Kelly. “All set, partner.”
“I see who calls the shots in your unit.”
“I guess after tonight’s exploits with the creeper my boss was more than happy to oblige. Plus, I’ve cleared most of my caseload, so I’m all in. Let’s see what we can find out about our young victim.” Barnes reached across the table and tapped her glass against Kelly’s. The two drained their remnants in unison.
Kelly looked at his watch. “Let’s call it a night so we can get a fresh start in the morning.”
“You’re getting old. I remember times we’d walk out of this place as dawn was breaking.”
“Lot’s changed since those days. Let’s plan on meeting at my office around ten.”
“Ten? I thought you wanted to get an early start on this?”
“I do, but I’ve got to meet up with my union attorney to do some prep work for my deposition in the Baxter Green death.”
Kelly winced. “I know you’ve taken a brutal beating on that one. I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I’m pulling for you.”
“Thanks.” Kelly drained his shot and stood. He walked over to the bar and flagged the bartender.
“You sure you don’t want to do one more round?” she asked.
“I’m sure. I need to close my tab.” He turned and went to the register. “I also need you to pull another tab.” He hated himself for doing it, but family first.
“What’s that?” the bartender asked over her shoulder.
“Pull Brayden Kelly’s tab.” Kelly looked over at Cooney.
She saw the amount and did a double take before adding it onto his. “Do you know how much he owes?”
“I do. Don’t worry, Cooney’s going to clear it.” Kelly held the tab in his hand and waited until the doorman looked his way. Once he did, Kelly held it up and waved it. Cooney’s broad shoulders slumped ever so slightly at the gesture, then he nodded at the bartender.
“Okay,” the bartender said. “I’ve never seen Cooney pay somebody’s tab before.”
Kelly gave a laugh and smiled. “He and I go way back.”
Kelly glanced back at their table. In the short interim it took him to close his tab, a drunken patron had made his way over to Barnes. Kelly’s initial reaction was to ride in and be her knight in shining armor. But, deep down, he knew she didn’t want his help, nor did she need it.
The man was in his early thirties, thick-chested, with the well-developed forearms of a construction worker. Kelly scanned the crowd and saw the guy’s cronies huddled together by the jukebox. They were laughing, a crew of intoxicated day-laborers who had made some type of wager and goaded their friend to make a move on Barnes.
The man leaned in. He said something inaudible. The message was clearly distasteful by the furrowed brow and clenched jaw of Barnes. She pushed back her chair and stood to leave.
Then, the large man made a mistake. A big mistake. He grabbed Barnes by the wrist and tried pulling her closer.
Barnes sprang into action. Where she didn’t match the man in strength, she more than made up for it in speed. Before he could count to three, Kristen Barnes had twisted free of the man’s grip, spun him, and slammed his face into the nearby brick wall. That was a sound Kelly could hear, even across the noisy bar. Barnes held him there for a second, enough time for her to whisper something into his ear before she released him. The man cowered back to his friends like an injured dog with his tail tucked tightly between his legs. They broke into an uproar.
Kelly approached Barnes, who was beaming with well-deserved pride. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, Kris.”
“What can I say? I attract men like flies to shit.”
“I think he’ll think twice before he tries that with another girl.”
“That’s my second creeper for the night. I think I’ve had my fill of idiots for a while.”
Kelly and Barnes walked out together. As he passed Cooney, Kelly said, “His debt’s settled, right?”
“Mikey, if you keep bailing him out, he ain’t never gonna learn.”
“When it’s your brother, let me know what you do.”
Kelly and Barnes walked out to the lot on the north side of the building. She broke the silence. “Some things really never change.”
“You know better than most.”
“I was hoping he’d figure himself out by now.”
“He’s the same man-child you dated seven years ago.”
Barnes gave him a coy smile. “Well, his older brother was taken.”
Kelly let the comment hang in the air, not sure how to react to it. They parted ways with the promise of reconvening their collective efforts mid-morning.
12
The office was small but immaculately maintained, each book neatly in its place in the one bookcase set beside the modest desk. A brass-based lamp with a polished green glass shade was nestled in the corner, near a framed picture of Kelly’s ex-wife. Samantha looked genuinely happy in the photograph. It’d been a while since he’d seen her smile like that, longer since it was him who gave her the reason to do so. Seeing his replacement sitting behind the desk looking over paperwork, he couldn’t help but blame himself for pushing his wife into the arms of another man. This man.
“Holy crap! I didn’t see you there. Scared the bejesus out of me.”
Bejesus? Who spoke like that? Who drank tea first thing in the morning? Kelly thought. He took solace in the idea Martin Cappelli was as boring in bed as he was at work. “Sorry, force of habit.”
“Have a seat.” Cappelli used the file in his hand to motion Kelly across his desk.
Kelly sat and pulled the chair forward so that his knees grazed the desk’s wood backing. He couldn’t help but feel like a child sent to the principal’s office, a feeling he had much exposure to in his adolescence. But, sometimes the most troubled youth made the best cops. At least he told himself that, anyway. “Did you have a chance to read it?”
Cappelli looked up at him over his glasses. “I did.”
“And?”
“I think you’re throwing yourself to the wolves. You write, and I quote, ‘Baxter Green died at the result of a decision I made.’”
Kelly nodded. “It’s true.”
“Doesn’t matter. The other side will eat you alive if you say this.”
“Look Marty, I made a decision after eleven hours of hard-fought negotiations. At the time we
hadn’t had proof of life the boy was still alive. Tactical wanted to force entry. I saw an alternative solution of directing the gunman, the boy’s father, to the window. You’ve seen the transcripts. You’ve read my summation. In my experienced opinion, he was going to execute the kid. I saw our best and safest option was to direct him into the open so our sniper team could take the shot. Now, looking back, maybe tactical was right and a frontal assault and breach would’ve ended differently.”
“Mike, you can’t continue to second-guess your decision. Enough of that has been done with little to no benefit. I know you’ve been beating yourself up about this over the past year.”
Kelly’s eyes flashed with anger. “Oh, I know you know. My depression gave you a window to snatch my wife out from under me.”
“Let’s not go down that path again. Your deposition is tomorrow, and based on what you’ve written, you’re nowhere near ready.”
Kelly hated the fact his union-appointed attorney was also dating Samantha, but as far as pro-cop litigators went, Cappelli was the best. The two had first met after the Joe Rory shooting a few years back. Kelly had taken the life of a drug dealer during a gun battle that took place in broad daylight. It was a drug rip gone bad, and Kelly had been point on the takedown. It was clear cut. Thankfully, a traffic camera captured the incident in its entirety. Regardless, officer- involved shootings are terribly stressful, and Marty had taken care to not only argue on Kelly’s behalf but monitor his mental well-being throughout the process. They’d become friends during the course of the case, and Cappelli had been over to the house for social calls on several occasions afterward. Maybe that’s what hurt most, he’d opened the door to his home and befriended the man who eventually won over his wife. Or, maybe, he hated himself for not putting up the fight to win her back. Either way, complicated understated their relationship.
“Fair enough. So, what would you prefer I say on the stand?”
“I drafted this up for you to review. You can rephrase it to fit your natural way of speaking, but the emphasis should be made that you were the negotiator. SWAT took the shot. You didn’t pull the trigger that ended Baxter Green’s life, and to lay that burden at your feet doesn’t do anything to help your situation.” Cappelli slid the revised paperwork across the table. “You need to distance yourself from the shooter. The further away, the less this will damage you.”
“Damage me? How so? Is it going to give me back my peace of mind? Is it going to fix the mistakes of the past year?” Kelly looked Cappelli dead in the eyes. “Tell me, Marty, is it going to give me back my family?”
Cappelli fidgeted with the eraser on the end of his pencil. “No. But it may help you come out relatively unscathed. It’s an election year, and the mayor will be looking hard at the findings in this case. It’s received a lot of media scrutiny lately.”
“That’s because Trevor Green is writing every legislator he can think of to plead his case. He’s got the time to do it sitting in max up at Walpole.” Kelly crinkled the papers in his hand. “He’s the one who should be stepping up and acknowledging his role in Baxter’s death. The bastard put his son in the situation to begin with.”
“I couldn’t agree more. But he’s not the one being brought forth in the civil suit.” Cappelli softened his expression, picked up his mug with both hands, and took a sip of his tea. “Everybody here knows you were trying to do the right thing. You’ve got supervisors, past and present, lining up to speak on your behalf. Sometimes the political nature of the beast overrides sound judgment. I just don’t want to see that happen to you.”
“Neither do I. But I’ve always been one to stand toe to toe and bang it out. Don’t see much changing Friday when I take the stand.” Kelly stood and turned to leave.
“Just read it,” Cappelli pleaded. “If nothing else, take a moment and consider the slant I put on this.”
“I’ll take a look at it, but I’m not making any promises I’ll use it.”
Kelly walked out of the quaint office. It was nine-thirty. A half hour should be plenty of time to navigate the distance between Cappelli’s office, located near Faneuil Hall, to One Schroeder Plaza. He knew Kristen Barnes well enough to know she was already at work, digging up any and all she could find related to the disappearance and death of Faith Wilson.
He’d made good time as far as he was concerned, arriving a few minutes before ten, and with coffee to boot. He sent a text, I’m here.
Kristen Barnes responded almost instantly, At my desk. Come to SAU.
Kelly took the elevator up to the second floor. The Sexual Assault Unit was down the hall from Homicide.
He walked the hallway. A pair of detectives assigned to Homicide with the sole responsibility of investigating fatal collisions passed by. They gave him a nod but were engrossed in conversation. Kelly only caught a piece as he briskly strode along, something about a DUI crash involving a patrol district captain. Kelly had heard grumblings about it a few weeks ago but was absorbed in his own messes and didn’t pay it much mind. Rarely did an opportunity present itself for investigators to vest much energy in a case not assigned to them. That’s why he’d been so caught off guard by Barnes’s willingness to assist.
Kelly entered the main space of the SAU headquarters. It was about half the size of Homicide’s, and less than that in staffing. The unit had long complained that more detectives were needed to carry the load, but at a time when budgetary cutbacks were the norm, it didn’t look like it would be addressed in the near future. At least the unit was lucky enough to have an investigator like Barnes. She easily doubled—or tripled—the case productivity of her counterparts through her tireless work ethic.
Her brunette hair was in a messy bun atop her head. Kelly watched it wiggle as Barnes moved around the paperwork strewn about her desk. Martin Cappelli would have an aneurism if he saw the disarray in which she worked. Her back was to the door and she apparently hadn’t heard him enter.
“Hey Kristen.”
She spun in her chair to face him. “I’ve been busy pulling files from any recent locals falling under the missing and possibly trafficked category.”
Kelly stood in awe of the pile of case files stacked on the desk and the floor around the file cabinet. “That’s a lot more than I would’ve guessed.”
“This is just from the last two months. I figured we’d start there. Probability says the trail will be fresher.”
“What time did you get in?”
“Six. I wanted to have something together by the time you got here.”
This was the reason Barnes graduated top of their academy class, and why she’d made Officer of the Year three of her five years on patrol—an unbridled work ethic, second to none. “What are we looking for?”
“I’ve crosschecked patterns in the initial reports to what your North Andover report documented. I looked at past history and any supplemental reports on girls located.”
He set her foam cup down in a small clearing of paperwork. “Find anything?”
“As far as girls talking when they return home or are found by police, not much. These girls aren’t known for opening up about their experiences. A little bit of a modified Stockholm syndrome coupled with the grooming they undergo. These girls are put through the psychological wringer, not to mention the physical abuse.”
“Then why wouldn’t they want to talk?”
“The people that do this kind of thing are usually very good about manipulation. Sometimes done with threats of force, but more commonly done by gifts.”
Kelly knew a little about the sex trade, but admittedly steered clear of it. Raising a young daughter was scary enough without developing an intimate knowledge of the depravity out in the world. It appeared he was about to get a crash course. “You mentioned gifts?”
“Many of these girls either suffer from low self-esteem or come from extreme poverty. More times than not, both. The grooming process is designed to create loyalty and endear them to their handlers.”
�
��Handlers?”
“Pimps, though the ones doing the prepping aren’t always the ones doing the selling. You get a trafficking organization big enough and there’s a division of labor. But yeah, handlers are more or less pimps. They make sure the girls are fed. They take them shopping and give them makeovers. Careful steps are taken to build their confidence.”
“Makes me want to take Embry to some remote town in New Hampshire and raise her away from all this.”
“It’s there too. Just look at your girl from North Andover. It’s pervasive and everywhere. The best thing you can do for your daughter is teach her to identify the warning signs.”
“I’m glad I have your input on this case,” Kelly said. “So, doing your initial comparison, did any look like potential starting points for a lead?”
“I’ve got five girls we should look hard at. I put them in this stack.” Barnes pointed to the files stacked to the side from her mess of other case work. “The one on top should be our first stop.”
“Why’s that?”
“She was reported missing on Tuesday. The report listed her as a habitual runaway.”
“Why her? Besides the fact she disappeared on the same day my body dropped.”
Barnes opened the file and flipped several pages to the last paragraph of the narrative. The words were highlighted in yellow: corresponding with a high school boy on Facebook. He goes by the username PrinceBransonthefirst.
Kelly stared at the name. “It looks like our fancy new friend’s got a little explaining to do. I think I’ll give his lawyer a call.”
“Already did.” Barnes gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I get hot on these kinds of cases and I’m used to dealing with little turds and their lawyers.”
“What’d he say?”
“Clive is on his way in now.”
Kelly’s eyes widened, impressed. “How?”
“I can be persuasive, especially when I mention the potential of trafficking. Even for a juvenile, if implicated, he could be tried as an adult. Looks like the attorney wants to get ahead of this thing before it comes to that.”
