[Abby Kanem - SG 01.0] Suitcase Girl

by Ty Hutchinson

I sat back down in the chair, her eyes locked on mine the entire time.

  “So you understand what I’m saying? Nod if I’m right.”

  A beat later she nodded.

  I let out a breath of relief. Progress.

  “She understands English so language isn’t an issue,” Kang said.

  “How old are you?” I held up ten fingers. “Ten?”

  She shook her head no.

  I held up one finger. “Eleven?”

  She shook her head no.

  “Twelve?”

  She nodded yes.

  “What about your name, sweetie. Do you remember what it is?”

  This time she didn’t acknowledge me, and her gaze fell to her lap.

  “Do you live in San Francisco?” I asked.

  This time she shook her head no. Okay, this is good.

  “Can you tell me where?”

  “You probably need to ask her the question in a way she can answer with a head nod,” Kang suggested.

  “Do you live in Oakland?”

  No response.

  I continued my line of questioning, naming the major surrounding cities, but none of them elicited a response from her. To be honest, there were hundreds of cities I could rattle off.

  She yawned, and her eyes closed slightly. I removed one of my business cards from my purse and placed it in her hand. “If you want to talk or if you remember anything, just tell a nurse and they will call me. Okay?”

  She gripped the card, shut her eyes, and a few seconds later, fell asleep.

  Once we were out of the room, I turned to Kang as we walked back to the elevator. “There’s a chance she’s not from this state. Interstate comes under federal jurisdiction.”

  “It does, but crossing state lines to abandon a child is still abandonment. I think we need a stronger case to convince Reilly,” he said.

  “I think the suitcase is our trump card. It’s the one thing that makes no sense. Add in the sedative and the thinking that maybe she wasn’t supposed to be found alive, and we might have enough cause to spend some time digging.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The aroma hit me the moment I walked through the front door: aniseed, chili, garlic, ginger, and Chinese cinnamon. Combined with the hissing of the wok I heard coming from the kitchen, I knew a Sichuan treat awaited me. My favorite style of cooking followed by Hunan. Po Po was well versed in both styles.

  “Mmmm, something smells good,” I called out as I closed the front door to our Victorian home.

  From the entrance I had nearly a straight view down the narrow hallway that ran the length of the home. The kitchen was at the midway point, and I headed straight toward it.

  Lucy stuck her head out from the kitchen doorway. “Mommy, you’re home,” she said. “I’m helping Po Po with dinner.”

  “Look at you. Soon you’ll be the second best cook in the house.” I gave Lucy a kiss on her forehead.

  I entered the open kitchen. Po Po had just finished scooping the last of a dish from the wok and into a serving bowl. I looked over her shoulder and spied Mapo tofu. One of my favorite dishes. “Smells wonderful.” I gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “Lucy, where’s your brother?”

  “He’s upstairs taking a shower.” She took the serving dish from Po Po and headed toward the dining room.

  “Anything I can help with?” I asked.

  “No,” Po Po replied. “Everything finish already.”

  As usual, Po Po wore one of the three different housedresses she owned, at least that was what it seemed like to me. That night she wore the light-blue one with tiny white flowers, white terry cloth slippers on her feet. They made a swish-swish sound on the wooden floors.

  She handed me a pot filled with rice. “Go, go,” she said as she pushed me out of the kitchen.

  The dining room table had already been set. “I did this all by myself,” Lucy said with a smile.

  “That’s very nice of you to help Po Po. Did your brother help?”

  “What do you think?” Lucy rested her hands on her hips and did her best to cock an eyebrow. It really only looked like she was opening one eye wider.

  Po Po shuffled to the dining room table carrying a pot of green tea. She placed it down and then told Lucy to call her brother. The child walked to the bottom of the steps and then proceeded to yell her brother’s name.

  “Lucy!” I said. “Go upstairs and get him. Don’t yell.”

  I turned back to the table and eyed the dishes. “This looks wonderful. Let me guess. I know this is Mapo tofu. That’s Sichuan dry-fried green beans. That’s Kung Pao chicken, one of Ryan’s favorites. This is…” I peered closer. “Stuffed eggplant fried in garlic?”

  Po Po nodded.

  “That’s one you love. And this last dish I already know Lucy loves: Dandan noodles.”

  In fact, the entire family loved that dish. Dandan noodles were nothing more than simple street food. A small bowl of wheat noodles served with a topping of your choosing. Po Po always prepared a stir-fried mixture of ground pork, chili, garlic, ginger, vinegar, and a selection of spices she wouldn’t divulge.

  There was a time when I felt extremely threatened by my mother-in-law’s ability to keep a home. My domestic skills paled in comparison to hers. She watched everything I did, closely. It made me feel as if I would never live up to her standards, especially when my late husband, Peng, her son, was still alive. It was hard back then.

  Nowadays, I didn’t get worked up over it. I’d accepted that I would never be as good as she. So rather than feel inferior at the dinner table, I opted for feeling hungry and simply enjoying the gift that is her cooking.

  The kids entered the dining room.

  “Hi, Abby,” Ryan said as he pulled a chair out and sat.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  He got up, walked over to me, and gave me a hug and a kiss.

  We have a tradition at our house during meals—mostly it’s observed during dinner. For the first ten minutes or so, we focus on eating. There was no murmur of conversation, only the sounds of slurping and chopsticks tinkling against bowls. I mean, one could try to ask a question, but no one would answer. That was just the way it was in our family.

  Sit.

  Eat.

  Talk.

  That was the preferred order. Once we had quelled our hunger to some degree, we’d open our mouths to communicate.

  “Ryan, you showered late today,” I said.

  He swallowed a mouthful. “Yeah, I stayed later at the dojo helping another student. It’s all good though. I like helping out.”

  “Lucy, how was your day? Anything exciting happen in school?”

  “You mean besides me not wearing the best possible eighties outfit ever?”

  “Wasn’t that last week?”

  “It was, but my friends still bring it up because I was the only one who didn’t participate.”

  “Awww,” I said as I pretended to wipe tears from my eyes. “Besides that.”

  “It was a normal day.” She slurped on some noodles.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” I said, “Guess what happened to me today? I discovered I have a doppelganger.”

  “Doppel-what?” Lucy asked, again trying to cock her eyebrow but failing.

  I pulled up the photo of Suitcase Girl on my phone and then showed it to everyone.

  “Wow, she looks just like you,” Ryan said, grabbing hold of my phone for a closer look.

  “Lemme see, lemme see.” Lucy hopped off her chair and ran around to the other side of the table where Ryan sat. Po Po sat next to him and leaned over for a better look.

  “What do you think, Po Po?” I asked.

  She looked up at me and then back at the picture. “Poor thing.”

  “Holy cow!” Lucy shouted. “She looks like a double of you.”

  “I know. Weird, huh?”

  “Who is she?” Ryan asked.

  “We don’t know. One of the FPS guards found her abandoned outside o
ur offices.”

  “Her mom and dad threw her away?” Lucy asked.

  “Well, I’m not sure yet. We’re trying to figure it out.”

  Po Po tsked, picked up her chopsticks, and resumed eating.

  “I hope you find her mom and dad,” Ryan said as he handed my phone back to me. “Is that against the law, to do something like that?”

  “It is, if the intent is to cause harm to the child. It’s a bit different if she were lost by accident.”

  “Oh, like the time you lost Lucy in Macy’s department store.”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember when you lost me last Christmas.” Lucy smiled at me from her seat.

  “I didn’t lose you. Stop saying that.”

  “You lose Lucy?” Po Po asked.

  “No, it wasn’t anything like that.” I waved off the accusation.

  “You had the store call her name on the speaker,” Ryan continued.

  I laughed playfully at his comment. “I was just being thorough.”

  “I dunno. You looked panicked.”

  “That’s my game face,” I mumbled.

  “Huh?”

  “Look, enough about that. We’re talking about this girl and what her parents did. Okay? We have video footage of a man leaving her there, so it wasn’t an accident.” I left out the suitcase. They didn’t need to know that horrible detail.

  Ryan picked up his rice bowl. “If her dad left her there, why would you give her back to him?” He shoveled the last of his rice into his mouth with his chopsticks.

  “That’s a good question. If and when we find her parents, we’ll have to determine if she’s safe to be back with them.”

  Later that night at the hospital, the night staff had settled into their shifts, visitors were long gone, and all of the patients were asleep. In room four, the lights were off, and the girl in the first bed slept soundly.

  But not Suitcase Girl.

  Soft grunts escaped her lips while she slept. She kicked her legs before finally turning to her side. Her eyes were jittery under the cover of her lids.

  She’s walking down a white-walled hallway. Single fluorescent lights run perpendicular above her. A man passes by. He’s wearing a long, white coat. He has black hair. She can’t see his face. He grabs her hand.

  “Hurry,” she hears him say as he jerks her arm, prompting her to speed up. “I know you’re tired, but it’s important we don’t stop.”

  Two other men dressed similarly walk toward them. They’re speaking in hushed tones as they pass by.

  The man holding her hand stops in front of a stainless steel door. He opens it and orders her to enter the room. She hesitates.

  “Come on,” the man says, prompting her forward. “Everything will be okay.”

  He motions for her to enter the room.

  Suitcase Girl’s eyes shot open, and she gasped. She drew in deep breaths as she tried to recall exactly where she was. Slowly she remembered, and her breathing calmed. She looked at the bedside tray table and grabbed something off of it before sliding her legs over the edge of the bed.

  The tile floor was cold against her bare feet and prompted goose pimples to appear on her arms. She walked quietly toward the door, stopping briefly to look at the girl who shared the room with her.

  Slowly she turned the door handle and opened the door just a crack. The lights in the hall were off except for one near the nurse’s station. A lone nurse sat in a chair behind the counter.

  She waited.

  She watched.

  The nurse stood and walked away from her post, disappearing behind double doors at the end of the hall. Suitcase Girl entered the hallway and hurried toward the station. Picking up the phone, she dialed a number.

  For a brief moment I thought I was a dreaming, but I wasn’t. My phone was ringing. I plopped a hand down on my bedside table and searched until I felt it. I looked at the time. A little after two a.m. I hope it’s not work.

  “This is Kane,” I said softly.

  No one answered, but I detected ambient noises, maybe breathing. The line was definitely open.

  “Hello?” I tried once more. “Can I help you?”

  Dead silence. Then the line disconnected.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sokolov sat at his desk. Paperwork covered most of it, though he had cleared a small circle, revealing a table calendar from a few years ago. Drips of coffee stained it. He tore open a white paper bag and removed an overly stuffed chorizo breakfast burrito from inside before flattening the bag into a makeshift plate.

  Bennie’s desk sat facing flush with Sokolov’s, whose desktop was the complete opposite: a laptop, a penholder, a single legal pad, and acres of uncluttered real estate. Bennie had a large coffee with milk and sitting on his makeshift paper-bag plate were three different types of Mexican sweet bread: a concha, a chilindrina, and a chorreada.

  He rubbed his hands together. “If I can’t have a capuchino cake with my coffee, these three will satisfy.”

  “This is good,” Sokolov said through a mouthful.

  “I discovered this place over the weekend,” Bennie said as he took a bite of the chorreada and then sipped his coffee.

  About two minutes into their breakfast, a booming voice interrupted them.

  “Sokolov! Bennie!”

  A short, pudgy man wearing an ill-fitted brown suit walked toward them. It was only nine in the morning and already Captain Richard Cavanaugh’s forehead bubbled with sweat.

  “Why is Jane Doe up there?” he said, pointing at a whiteboard that kept track of the department’s outstanding homicides.

  “It’s a mistake. We know,” Sokolov answered. “We’re just tying up a few loose ends. There was a suitcase, and we—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Is she dead?”

  Sokolov glanced at Bennie before looking Cavanaugh in the eyes. “No, she’s not.”

  “And what does this department investigate?

  Sokolov said nothing.

  “Bennie, perhaps you can help your partner with the answer.”

  Bennie swallowed his bite of food and said, “We investigate homicides.”

  “That’s right. So being that she ain’t dead, there can’t be a homicide to investigate. Take her name off the board. She’s CPS’s problem. Am I clear?”

  “As always,” Sokolov answered with a dismissive breath.

  Cavanaugh leaned in and said in a lowered voice, “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you have a ninety-percent clearance rate, you keep trying me and I’ll have your badge.”

  The captain eyed Bennie before turning around walking back to his office.

  Sokolov kept his head down, his right hand squeezed tightly into a ball.

  Bennie leaned forward over his desk. “You forgot to tell me the Cap was a prick.” He flashed a smile. “Forget about it. What we did was right. I know his type. He just needs to puff out his chest every now and then to make up for his short, unattractive stature.”

  Sokolov nodded his head and picked up his burrito. “He’s not a prick, and I’m his favorite person.” He smiled before taking a bite.

  “Well, the girl’s been fingerprinted, so has the suitcase, which I found logged in the evidence room. A couple of techs swept the site this morning. I don’t know if they found anything. We can forward all of this over to missing persons. At least this stuff will be in a file.”

  Sokolov chewed and shook his head. “I still think this suitcase is being misread.”

  “I hear you, but the captain was pretty clear where our efforts need to be focused. I understand you two have the history, but I’m still a newbie… You understand where I’m coming from?”

  “I understand. You want to earn his wrath on your own merit.” Sokolov chuckled. “Give it another month.”

  “That quickly, huh?”

  “Faster if you’re lucky.”

  Kang and I were sitting at our desks. I was munching on a salted bagel with smoked salmon, red onions, and cream cheese. He ate the same thing except his b
agel was onion.

  “What are the odds Reilly assigns us to a low-profile operation?” he asked.

  I swallowed my bite. “Eh, Reilly’s not the type to punish like that. He understands one has to investigate in order to determine if there’s anything there. Our best bet would be to suggest something to him. It’ll give us a little more control over our fate.”

  “That sounds like a better plan than sitting here and taking what’s dished out. You have any thoughts on the ongoing investigations we might jump on?”

  “I do. There’s one that has absolutely no attention by anyone in the office.”

  “Tell me you’re not talking about Suitcase Girl.”

  “I am. We established last night that she might not be from this state.”

  “Barely.”

  “Doesn’t matter; the possibility exists. At a minimum, SFPD will need our help.”

  “That’s if they still have the case.”

  “Call Sokolov and see if anything new has transpired since our last conversation.”

  “Sokolov speaking,” he said gruffly.

  “I would say it sounds like your day is off to a great start, but I know that’s how you answer every call.”

  “I’ve had better mornings. Cavanaugh’s angry about his height again.”

  “Were you standing next to him and looking down?”

  “Nah, I sat while I looked down at him.”

  “Good one. Listen, I’m calling about Suitcase Girl. Where are you guys with the case?”

  “Nowhere. That’s the beef I had with Cavanaugh. We can’t touch it.”

  “I see.”

  “Why?”

  “Last night when we spoke to the girl, we got the impression she might be from another state. That could make it a federal case. We were thinking joint task force.”

  “Another task force with the FBI? Yeah, that’s exactly what Cavanaugh is looking for. You’ll have to find a way to force his hand, but if you guys do move ahead, we can forward everything we have.”

  “All right. I’ll let you know where we land.”

  Kang disconnected the call. “Remember my old captain, Cavanaugh?”