by Brian Shea
“Clive, this is not a game. We talked about this. Cut the crap and tell these detectives what they need to know,” Shapiro scolded the boy. “Your father is expecting my next call to him will be one in which I tell him your issue with the police has been resolved. I’d hate for it to be anything but.”
Branson sighed, his face teetering on a temper tantrum. Kelly watched the boy in amusement and wondered what horrible punishment would await the spoiled brat. Maybe his dad wouldn’t buy him a Lamborghini for his birthday. Kelly let his mind wander to more suitable consequences if the prep schooler had come up in his neighborhood, the thought of which gave the detective a moment of mental bliss before reengaging his interrogation brain.
“Okay.” Branson huffed. “I talk to girls. Lots of them. I use a variety of social media accounts to connect. Most of these girls I’ve never met before. But when I get a girl that’s interested, I mean really interested, then I have her meet me at the spot.”
“What’s the spot?”
“I got the address in my phone. It’s in Dorchester. A house where I take them.”
“What happens there?” Kelly asked, dreading the answer.
“We party. That place throws the sickest parties. Run by some Polish guys.”
“Names?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did you ever meet up with these people?” Barnes asked, leaning in, very interested.
“My dad.”
Shapiro shot the boy a worried glance.
“Your dad?” Kelly asked.
“Nothing like you think. My dad’s a powerful man. He knows lots of people. Throws an annual BBQ around the Fourth of July. This Polish guy was there. I guess his family runs some restaurant my dad supplies. I really don’t know. Anyway, the guy approached me and asked me if I wanted to make some good money.”
“A rich kid like you needs money?”
“Everybody needs money.” Branson smiled. “He gave me a thousand dollars for bringing girls around to his parties.”
“A thousand dollars to bring girls to a party and you didn’t think anything was off with that?” Barnes asked through clenched teeth.
“My client is being very open and honest with you, detectives. I’d appreciate if we lowered judgmental questions to a minimum,” Shapiro admonished.
“What happened to the girls after you brought them to this spot?”
“Don’t know. Never asked.”
Kelly clicked his pen and waited while Branson retrieved the information from his phone. He looked over at Barnes. She was teetering on the edge of her seat like a mountain lion prepared to pounce on its prey. Her disgust toward the teenage hustler had peaked.
“We’re going to be needing that address.”
14
The storm door was unhinged and set aside on the porch. There was a busted couch on the landing. The gashes and exposed coiled springs of the cushions seemed more a home to rats than a comfortable place to sit, but the cans littered with cigarette ash pointed to the contrary, indicating the front porch of Tabitha Porter’s foster home was commonly used as a hangout.
The doorbell had a strip of tape over it that read broke. Kelly knocked loudly, giving three good raps across the lightweight door. He and Barnes stood waiting.
“Who is it?” The woman barked the question with a tone conveying her dislike for unwanted visitors.
Kelly noted the black trash bags covering the windows. Could be a poor man’s shades, but more likely, based on his time in Narcotics, it was done to conceal some low-level drug operation. “Boston PD. Detectives Kelly and Barnes.”
“You ain’t got no business barging in my house,” the woman said through the closed door. “Need a warrant to come up in here.”
“We’re here about Tabitha.”
There was a silent pause, a creak of a floorboard, and then the sound of several internal locks being released. The door opened a crack, providing an inch gap from the frame. An older, dark-skinned woman peered out. Her eyes squinted at them. Kelly positioned his badge so she could see it clearly.
“What’d that girl get herself into now?”
“Not sure. We’re here to figure that out and thought maybe you could help us along.”
“You ain’t found her yet? What good are ya if you can’t find a dang loud-mouthed teenager? DCF’s been breathing down my neck about it ever since she went missing.” The woman lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out the door, not at them, but there was no way to avoid the acrid blast. “That girl’s been more trouble than she’s worth. Only been with me four months and already got detectives at my door. That one ain’t worth the money.”
“Mind if we come in and talk?” Barnes asked.
“Like I said before. You need a warrant to come in. We can talk just fine from where you’re standing.”
The strong odor of marijuana confirmed Kelly’s suspicion that Tabitha’s foster mom had a side business in the drug trade. “Is there anything you may have left out when speaking to the patrol officers the other day?”
“Not that I can think of. I told him she was talking to some skinny white kid. Gave them the boy’s info from her account.”
“It was mentioned at the time of the report that Tabitha left with her cell phone, but you didn’t have any account information.” Barnes leaned in. “Were you able to locate any of it?”
“I did. Let me get it for you.” The woman retreated deeper inside and closed the door.
“Sweet lady,” Barnes snarked.
“Let’s see how helpful she is. Otherwise, I may have to place a call to one of my former Narcotics buddies. Pretty sure she’s running a grow.”
A few moments later she returned. “Here you go.” She handed over a sheet of paper. It contained the iPhone’s number and password to get into her cloud account.
Kelly was impressed. “This will be helpful.”
“I did that ‘find my iPhone’ application and saw her phone was on until yesterday around noon. Hasn’t updated since.”
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch if we locate her.”
“Don’t bother. I already told DCF to take her back. You’ll need to talk to them if she’s found.”
Kelly and Barnes walked down the rickety landing to the sidewalk. “Great system. Borrow a kid, get a paycheck. Return said kid if you’re not happy with her.”
“Been broken for a long time. But they’re not all in it for the money. Not sure where I’d be if it weren’t for my foster family.” Barnes gave a contented smile. “I definitely wouldn’t be wearing a badge. That’s for sure.”
“Sorry, I totally forgot.” Kelly felt like putting his foot in his mouth. “They ended up adopting you, right?”
“Yeah. During my senior year. I’d been living with them for two years at that point and after getting through some rough patches, we felt like family.” Barnes cleared her throat. “But seeing them stand up before the Family Court judge during my adoption ceremony was the single most important day in my life, with a close second being the day we pinned on our badges.”
Kelly took a moment to appreciate the woman getting into the passenger seat. Her involvement in this case was exactly the perspective he needed.
She’d never felt prettier in her whole life. Tabitha Porter did a pirouette in the mirror hung from the back of the bedroom door. The seafoam green skirt and matching top looked amazing against her skin. She didn’t feel fat or frumpy, no matter what her foster brother had called her. Well, he hadn’t used words so kind, but she liked to lessen the impact when recalled. That had been a lifetime ago. She had a new family now, one that actually took her shopping, then to a salon.
Tabitha held up her newly painted acrylic nails. The deep pink shimmered against the diamond decals. They even bought her a pretzel. What a life! she thought as she flopped back onto the bed.
Slice told her to put on her new outfit. She said tonight would be special. Tabitha couldn’t believe it could get any more special than it already had. Maybe
they’d take her out for a fancy dinner before the party? There hadn’t been time to meet anybody else yet. But Slice said everybody was really nice.
There was a knock at the door. It opened a second later and Slice appeared in the doorway. “Are you ready?”
“I am. How do I look?”
Slice rolled her eyes. “Let’s go. Everybody’s already waiting.”
Tabitha was a little hurt by the sudden curtness. “Okay,” she mumbled.
“Drink this.” Slice held out a plastic cup of red juice.
Tabitha took it in hand. “What is it?”
“Just drink it. It’ll take the edge off.” Slice gave her a wink. “Trust me, everybody needs a little liquid courage in the beginning.”
Tabitha didn’t argue. She knew they were going to a party, and she wanted to fit in. She tilted the cup and chugged its contents. It tasted like cough medicine and grape juice. She smacked her lips together trying to get rid of the tart aftertaste. “Yuck!”
“You’ll thank me later.” Slice put a hand on Tabitha’s back and gave a gentle push out of the room and into the hallway. She then walked ahead at a hurried pace. Tabitha did her best to keep up but wasn’t used to walking in raised platform shoes.
At the bottom of the stairs the floor felt as though it shifted under her feet. Tabitha placed a hand on the wall for balance. Slice turned and looked at her. She said something but the words were garbled. Tabitha staggered forward and felt like she just got off the tilt-a-whirl at the Bolton Fair.
She heard a strange beeping sound as she swayed into the kitchen. Then the back door opened. Her mind skipped forward. The next thing she knew, she was bouncing in the backseat of a large van. Techno music was pulsing in her ears, and another girl next to her bobbed her head to the tune. Tabitha felt like she was watching everything from outside her own body. Unable to gain control, she gave in and let go.
15
Ithaca Best had left a voicemail to call her back while Kelly was in with Clive Branson.
“Ithaca?” Kelly asked upon connecting.
“Hey Mike. I did an expedite on the sex kit I performed on our girl from yesterday. I got prelims back.”
“Anything?”
“CODIS hit. Apparently one of the four male specimens found inside the girl matched a previous offender.”
“I’m sorry, did you say four male specimens?”
“Not uncommon in prostitutes.”
Kelly stopped his mind from swirling around all of the awful things. “But she was thirteen.”
“I emailed you the hit. It returns to a Phillip Smalls, age forty-two. His DNA was taken in a rape case from four years ago.”
“I’ll see what pops on my end.”
“I got the tox screen back, too.”
“Anything unusual?”
“Nothing other than the girl was pumped full of drugs. Heroin was the front runner, though. Looks like she was a sniffer. We didn’t see any track marks on her arms or feet during the autopsy.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you pushing this forward. I know how long it can typically take. I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”
“I may cash in on that.”
Kelly hung up and looked at Barnes. It had been a while since anybody had flirted with him. He wasn’t even sure if that’s what had just happened.
“Anything good?”
“Good’s a misstatement, but we’ve definitely got somebody to go after. Faith’s rape kit came back with several specimens, but only one identified. Phillip Smalls.”
“Not that turd. No way he could already be out,” Barnes fumed. “I arrested him a few years back. Actually, it was my first case when I’d come into SAU.”
“Didn’t stick, I guess.”
“The vic was a prostitute. The prosecution wasn’t overly sympathetic toward a working girl getting raped. They joked it was a theft of services.” Barnes rolled her eyes. “I’ve spent a lot of time with corner girls. Enough to know their life is no bed of roses. It takes a pretty tragic event for one of them to come forward on an assault.”
“What do you remember about either him or the case that might help us now?”
“I remember he was transient. It took me months to track him down last time. He bounced from shelter to drug den to back alleys. Almost impossible to find.”
“Great.” Kelly sighed. “We may have another angle. It’s a long shot, but might be worth a try.”
“What’s that?”
“Faith Wilson had heroin in her system. I didn’t see tracks at the ME’s. So, the drug side wasn’t on the forefront of my brain. I should’ve assumed.”
“Pretty common nowadays, especially among trafficked girls. Their handlers don’t want to present girls with marks up and down the arms. The johns look at them as damaged goods. If they dose ’em, it’s usually snorted.”
“Makes sense in a sick sort of way.” Kelly jotted the time and new information into his notepad. “I know a guy who might be able to shed some light on this.”
“Before we do that, let’s check out the address Branson gave us.”
“He did say the place runs all day and night. The bigger parties happen at night, but who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Barnes laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Get lucky? Nice choice of words, Mikey.”
The gray, triple-decker house was quiet. It was a little past one p.m. The two detectives sat with the car off. They’d opted to take Barnes’s Caprice, since the brass apparently liked her better and gave her a car made within the past ten years. Each had a cup of Dunkin’ coffee in their hands, warding off the cool afternoon temps while giving them a much-needed jolt of caffeine.
“Not much happening here today.” Kelly took the lid off his cup. He hated drinking through the small opening. “Maybe we should come back later tonight?”
“Give it a few. The after-lunch crowd will be arriving for their quick release before returning to cubicle hell.”
“You’ve really got this stuff down to a science, huh?”
“Spend enough time dealing in sex crimes, you start to see the underbelly of society for what it is.” Barnes sipped at her coffee. “Honestly, I wish I could erase from memory half the crap I now know. Can’t go anywhere without noticing some skell.”
“If normal people had an inkling of what was swirling around them at any given time, they’d probably lock themselves inside their homes and never come out.”
A light blue sedan pulled up along the curb in front of their target. The driver remained inside the vehicle.
“Looks like our douchebag teen’s intel might’ve been right after all.” Barnes jutted her chin in the direction of the newly arrived car.
“Let’s hope so.”
Kelly watched as a middle-aged man exited. He was tall and thin. His dark hair was slicked back, and the man wore a windbreaker over a collared shirt. He had on neatly pressed slacks and shiny brown shoes. He looked more like a banker or accountant, and maybe he was, but this particular area on the west side of Dorchester wasn’t known for its commerce, unless you happened to be in the drug trade.
“For a guy who seems a bit out of his element, he doesn’t look too nervous,” Barnes said. “Probably means he’s stopped by here before. Maybe daily.”
The man gave a casual scan of his surroundings and then proceeded up the dilapidated wood steps leading up to the first-floor porch. He opened the door, disappearing inside.
“What’s the play?” Barnes asked.
“We could wait until he comes out. Or we could stop in and pay a visit.”
“I like option B.”
“I figured you would.”
“Doing exigency?”
Kelly smiled. It was as if she read his mind. “I’m pretty sure I just heard somebody scream. Let’s call it in.”
Barnes keyed up her radio. “Detectives Barnes and Kelly at the corner of Millet and Wheatland on a possible disturbance. Investigating.”
Kelly and Barnes exited their vehicle and picked up a slight jog as they trotted across the street to the triple-decker. Moving in tandem, the two crested the rickety stairs quickly. The warped wood creaked loudly.
In the upper right-hand corner of the covered porch was a security camera. The blinking red light was an indicator that if somebody was monitoring, their element of surprise was now compromised. Kelly looked to Barnes as he withdrew his service weapon and bootlegged it along his right thigh. He gripped the doorknob. Barnes tightened her body close to his and nodded.
“It’s unlocked,” he whispered.
“Now or never.”
Kelly turned the knob and shouldered against the door, bringing his weapon up to a low ready as he entered. The door opened to a stairwell on his left and narrow hall to his right.
Kelly announced their presence. “Boston PD!”
A large man in a soft gray track suit stepped out from a door ahead of them. “What the hell is this?” His voice sounded layered in a thick Eastern Bloc accent.
“Hands!” Barnes barked.
The velour gorilla raised his hands slowly, as if each inch came at some great toll to his ego.
“Down on your knees!” Kelly closed the gap and holstered his gun, exchanging his Glock for cuffs. He brought the big man’s hands to the small of his back while Barnes provided cover. With the man secured in a seated position outside the doorway, he withdrew his pistol again and visually cleared the room the giant had come from. It was empty. A small television played in the background and a cigarette burned in an ashtray by the kitchen sink. “Where are the girls?”
The man said nothing. He spat on the wood floor next to Kelly’s foot. Kelly fought back the urge to pistol whip him. Then he heard the sound of a door opening and closing on the second floor.
Barnes ascended the stairs two at a time while Kelly moved to the bottom of the staircase, monitoring his partner while keeping an eye on the handcuffed detainee.
