“Do you want to sit down?” Bree asked.
Kelly shook her head. “Just say it. What happened?”
“I regret to inform you that James was killed very early this morning.” Romano gave her the news straight up. Bree appreciated her new partner’s no-bullshit attitude.
Mrs. Tyson just stared, as if she didn’t know whether she should believe them. “What?”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Romano said.
The color drained from Kelly’s face as she absorbed the news. “Lena was with James overnight. Where’s my daughter?”
CHAPTER TWO
Bree’s gaze snapped around the room and fell on some framed snapshots on a side table. Most of the photos focused on a little blonde girl. Bree’s heart kicked against her ribs.
She’d known homicide would be challenging. Instead of encountering only the occasional dead body, death would be her focus on a daily basis. She’d come to terms with her new reality, but kids . . . For most cops, it was the child victims who broke them.
“Lena is your daughter?” Romano asked.
“Yeah.” Kelly’s eyes went wild. “You gotta find her.”
Bree studied the photos. “How old is she?”
“Five.” Kelly covered her mouth with one hand. She wrapped the other around her own waist.
“Is there anyone James could have left Lena with?” Romano’s voice remained calm, but the tone had shifted. There was a layer of urgency under the quiet words.
“Maybe his father. That’s who he lives with.” Kelly raked a hand through her limp hair. She pulled out a phone and jabbed the screen. She turned on the speakerphone and held the cell in front of her mouth.
A man answered in an angry voice. “Why are you calling me?”
Kelly ignored his question. “Marty, where’s Lena?”
“I don’t know. With James, I guess,” the man said. “James said I’m not supposed to talk to you. Everything has to go through the attorney.”
“James is dead,” Kelly snapped.
Bree winced. This wasn’t the way a father should learn about his son’s death, but Kelly was—understandably—focused on finding her daughter.
Three heartbeats of silence ticked by, then the man said, “What?”
“Two cops—detectives—are here right now. They said James is dead. Lena was with him last night.” Kelly’s breaths came quicker, as if she might hyperventilate. “Are you sure she’s not there? Can you check the bedroom?”
“James can’t be dead,” Marty said.
“Please, just see if Lena is in her room.” Kelly closed her eyes.
“OK, but he wouldn’t leave her here without telling me.” The sound of heavy footsteps came across the line. A door opened, and Marty said, “She’s not here.”
Kelly’s eyes snapped open, and she cried out. “Where is she?”
“I’ll be right over.” Marty’s words broke, as if the reality of his son’s death was sinking in.
Bree waved at Kelly and shook her head. “We need to see James’s living space,” she said in a soft voice. “Tell him we’ll come to him.”
Kelly repeated the message. It sounded as if the father was crying when Kelly said goodbye and ended the call.
“When was the last time you saw James?” Romano asked Kelly.
“Yesterday.” Kelly paced, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “He came to pick up Lena in the morning.”
Romano stepped into the kitchen area and began making calls. A minute later, she lowered her phone. “Kelly? We need a description of Lena, a recent photo, and something that carries her scent.”
They were bringing out a K-9.
“She’s three and a half feet tall and about forty pounds.” Kelly hurried into one of the back bedrooms. Bree followed her, stopping in the doorway to scan the room. Discarded clothing littered the floor. A stuffed elephant lay nestled in the unmade bed. Kelly snatched a small pink pajama top from the floor. “This is the last thing Lena wore before going with James.”
Bree went out to their vehicle for an evidence bag. Back inside the bedroom, she put the pink top in it. “A recent photo?”
Kelly nodded and opened her phone.
“Text it to me.” Bree recited her number. When the pictured arrived, she forwarded it to Romano.
Her partner went outside to make arrangements for a unit to pick up the pink shirt and put out a BOLO. A be on the lookout would be sent to all area law enforcement with a description and photo of Lena, along with the known details of her disappearance.
Bree returned to the living room and the snapshots of Lena. The little girl was blonde, long-limbed, and bony like her mother. In each photo, Lena smiled but didn’t look at the camera. Her attention was on the stuffed elephant she clutched. The first picture was Lena at the zoo, in front of the giraffe exhibit, holding the stuffed elephant, staring at the floor. Another picture showed her in a classroom, with the same elephant in tow.
A flashback popped into Bree’s head. Her little sister, Erin, in the kitchen. Like Lena, Erin had been skinny, and she’d dragged a stuffed animal everywhere. Erin’s had been a bunny. When had Bree called her sister last? More than two weeks ago. More like three. She was a terrible sister. But she really hated to be reminded of her childhood. Every memory brought the horror and sorrow flooding back. It amazed her that grief could be so fresh more than twenty years later.
Bree shook off the memories. Her own personal horror show could wait.
“She hates having her picture taken.” Kelly picked at a scab on her arm.
“Why did Lena go with your ex yesterday?” Bree asked.
“We have an agreement. James takes her two days a week. He picks her up in the morning, takes her to school, then picks her up in the evening. She stays overnight at his place. I pick her up at school the next day after work.”
“Is James a good father?”
Kelly lifted a shoulder. “He loves her, and she loves him.”
But Bree sensed Kelly had reservations about her husband. Bree picked up a photo: Lena in James’s arms. The little girl wore the same smile, but again, she wasn’t looking at the camera. “Did anything happen when James picked her up yesterday?”
“We had a fight. James was late, as usual. Lena needed to go to school. I had to get to work at the coffee shop.” Kelly tore a piece of fingernail off with her teeth. “Plus, he was mad that I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for her on his day in a few weeks. I told him I have to take the appointments they give me. Of course, he wouldn’t trade days with me.” She jerked her hand away from her mouth. “That’s why I kicked him out. He wasn’t reliable.”
“Where does she go to school?” Bree set down the photo.
“Brighton Learning Center,” Kelly said. “I’ll call them in case James dropped her off before . . .”
She stopped before finishing the thought: he died.
Bree didn’t tell her that James had been dead since one in the morning. Kelly made the call. Then, with tears in her eyes, she said, “They haven’t seen her since James picked her up at five thirty yesterday.”
“There isn’t anyone else James could have asked to watch her today?”
Kelly shook her head. “No. Lena can’t just stay with anyone. Me, James, and Marty are the only ones who can handle her.”
“Handle her?” Bree didn’t like the sound of that.
“Lena is autistic. She’s nonverbal. She doesn’t do good with a break in her routine.” Kelly wiped a tear from her cheek. “If someone took her, she’s gonna freak out.”
“What will she do if searchers are calling her name?”
“I don’t know. Hide, maybe.” Kelly looked up, her eyes brimming with anger through her tears. “This is all James’s fault.”
Bree waited.
Kelly’s mouth set in a flat, bloodless line. “He wasn’t supposed to be doing drugs anymore. He promised, but I know he was.”
“How do you know?” Bree asked.
&nbs
p; “I just do. He always gets short-tempered when he’s using.”
A patrol unit arrived and collected the pink top. Two more units showed up. Bree and Romano left an officer with Kelly and assigned the other three to canvas the block. Maybe a neighbor had seen Lena.
“We’ll be back after we talk to James’s father and get an update for you.”
Kelly wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’d rather go look for Lena.”
“You need to stay here in case she comes home,” Bree said. “We have no proof that someone took her. She could have simply wandered off. She might come home. The scene isn’t far from here.”
Bree and Romano went outside. They stood on the sidewalk, the cold wind pelting their faces. Bree spotted a movement of the curtain in the window of the house next door.
“We informed the usual alphabet agencies and issued a BOLO,” Romano said. That would notify everyone from the local cops to the FBI. But Amber Alerts were not typically issued without sufficient information on the abductor and/or captor’s vehicle.
“Here’s hoping the K-9 picks up her scent at the scene.” Bree updated Romano on the conversation she’d had with Kelly. The curtain shifted again.
“A nonverbal child could be hard to find.” Romano rounded the vehicle.
Bree pointed to the next house. “Give me two minutes. I want to ask the neighbor a question.”
Romano squinted. “While you’re doing that, I’ll try the unit on the other side.”
Bree jogged to the stoop and knocked on the front door. A tiny old woman answered. The tops of her gray curls barely reached Bree’s collarbones. She showed the old woman her badge and introduced herself.
“I’m Mina Lawrence. Hold on.” The old woman adjusted her hearing aid. “Now go ahead.”
“Mrs. Lawrence, the little girl next door has gone missing.”
“Lena is missing? Oh, no!” Mrs. Lawrence cried.
“Yes, ma’am. When did you see her last?”
Mrs. Lawrence looked at the sky. “Yesterday morning, I guess, when her daddy came to pick her up.”
“You noticed?”
“They had a huge fight, and they weren’t quiet about it. They never are.” She touched her ear. “There are times it’s good to be able to dial down my hearing.”
“Did you hear any sounds from the Tysons’ place later in the day or during the night?”
Shivering, Mrs. Lawrence closed the front of her heavy sweater. “No, but I go to bed early.”
“Do you know what the Tysons were fighting about?”
Mrs. Lawrence’s mouth puckered. “No. Even with this”—she pointed to a small, flesh-colored device in her ear—“my hearing isn’t that great.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us to help us find Lena?”
Mrs. Lawrence shook her head. “That poor child. I’ll pray you find her.”
“Thank you for your time, ma’am.” Bree hurried back to the vehicle.
“Well?” Romano asked.
“The neighbor confirms the Tysons had a fight yesterday morning, but she didn’t hear the details.” Bree fastened her seat belt. “How about on your side?”
“No one is home.” Romano turned on the lights and siren to cut through traffic.
Bree directed her partner toward James’s father’s house. “Marty Tyson has lived at the same address forever.”
It wasn’t unusual for Philadelphia natives to stay in the same neighborhood where they were raised. Parents sold or left their homes to their children.
Marty Tyson lived just ten blocks from Kelly. He opened the door before Bree and Romano had even reached the stoop. Marty was a big man, with heavily calloused hands the size of whole hams. Devastation lined his craggy face.
He led them back to a warm, tidy kitchen that smelled of fresh coffee. He eased into a chair as if his bones ached. “My son is really dead?”
“We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Tyson.” Romano unzipped her jacket and sat across from him at a round oak table.
He nodded and appeared to be fighting tears. “I didn’t even see Lena yesterday. James said he was taking her out for pizza, and I went to bed early.”
Bree wandered a circle around the kitchen. She unbuttoned her coat to let the heat in.
“You wanted to see James’s room.” He pointed to the stairs. “Top of the steps. On the left. Help yourself.”
“Where did Lena sleep when she stayed here?” Romano asked.
“The room next to James’s. It’s small.” His face cracked in a bittersweet smile. “But so is Lena.” He turned watery blue eyes on Bree, then Romano. “You have to find her. She’s not like other kids.”
“We understand she’s autistic and nonverbal.”
Marty nodded. “Doesn’t talk, but she gets her point across.”
Bree headed for the stairs. She heard Romano asking more questions. “In what way?”
“She gestures.” He exhaled. “She knows what she wants. She might not talk, but she’s smart.”
“Sounds like you love your granddaughter.” Romano’s voice faded.
Bree climbed the stairs and went into James’s room. A basket full of folded clothes sat on the bed. Pulling on gloves, she searched every inch of the bedroom. No guns. No drugs. No illegal substances of any kind. The room didn’t smell of pot. If James was doing drugs, he hadn’t kept any at home.
She moved into the little girl’s room. It was small, but cozy and neat. Built-in shelves overflowed with picture books and stuffed animals.
Bree went back downstairs. She caught Romano’s eye and shook her head.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Tyson.” Romano stood and zipped her coat.
Mr. Tyson was putting on his own coat.
“Where are you going?” Bree fastened her coat buttons.
“I’m going with you to look for Lena.” He grabbed a pair of heavy gloves.
Bree glanced around. Marty’s house was warm and welcoming. “What if Lena comes here? Shouldn’t someone be here?”
Marty went out onto the stoop and knocked on his neighbor’s door. A tiny old woman in a fuchsia tracksuit opened it. “Marty, what’s wrong?”
“Lena is missing.” Marty didn’t mention his son’s death. Maybe he was blocking it. Maybe he just couldn’t talk about it. “I’m going to go look for her. Would you stay at my place in case she comes back here?”
“Of course.” She nodded, her head of white curls bobbing.
Marty gave Romano a problem solved look. “Lena won’t go to just anyone. She might hide.”
Wonderful.
A dog will still find her.
Bree and Romano shared a Look. They’d only been partners for a couple of days, but they already communicated pretty well.
“You have to stay behind the barriers, Mr. Tyson,” Romano said.
He didn’t promise, just turned left on the sidewalk and got into a battered pickup truck.
Standing in the wind, Bree blinked as a second flashback hit. Bree, her little sister, and her baby brother hiding under a porch on a winter night long ago. Fear crawled up her throat just as it had that night. A gunshot blasted. Bree flinched.
“Hey, you OK?” Romano paused and stared at Bree over the roof of the vehicle.
“Sure. Just thinking.” Embarrassed, Bree slid into the passenger seat.
She and her siblings had survived their abusive father and traumatic childhood, but they’d been left with scars, both physical and emotional. Had Lena seen her father killed? How would she cope?
“About what?”
“You know my background.” Bree was convinced almost everyone on the Philly PD knew that at the age of eight, she’d hidden her siblings under their porch while their father shot their mother and then himself.
“I do,” Romano said. “Will it affect your job performance?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.” Romano glanced sideways at her. “Can’t pick your family.”
Except Bree un
derstood childhood trauma. She could put herself in a frightened child’s place all too well. Normally, she tried not to think about it, but today she might have to.
“Let’s take a fresh look at the surveillance footage.” Bree pulled out her phone. “I don’t see a kid leaving with the suspect. I don’t see a kid at all.”
Romano leaned across the front seat and squinted at the screen. “You can’t see into the back seat of the vehicle, and there are plenty of shadows.” She started the engine and drove back to the scene, parking behind a K-9 unit.
The handler was working his big German shepherd around the vehicle. They got out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk.
Romano approached Officer Reilly. “Any luck with the dog?”
Watching the dog, Bree hung back. Sweat dripped down her back. Though the bite scar on her shoulder was more than twenty-five years old, it itched. She knew the symptom was psychological, but she couldn’t stop it. She knew what it was like to have a big dog’s teeth sink into your flesh. But she was at no risk from this dog. He was a well-trained K-9. If Lena was nearby, the dog would find her.
Unless Lena was afraid of dogs . . .
Reilly shook his head. “The dog isn’t picking up a trail. He keeps going back to the vehicle.”
Romano walked back to Bree. “Did you hear?”
Bree nodded. “So, Lena probably didn’t walk away from the Ford. Either she wasn’t in the car last night, or she left by vehicle.”
She could be anywhere.
Romano moved away to answer a call. Bree checked the time. Almost ten o’clock. The child had been missing for at least nine hours.
Romano hurried back and waved toward their vehicle. “We’ve got a lead. A thumbprint from the Ford. Belongs to Dillon Brown, a suspected drug dealer. He’s currently out on parole after serving six months on a narcotics possession charge.”
Bree compared the surveillance photo with Dillon Brown’s driver’s license picture. “Looks like him. Maybe he was James’s supplier.”
Bree rushed to the passenger seat.
Romano slid behind the wheel. “BOLO already went out looking for Brown.”
Maybe Dillon was also the killer.
Her Second Death: A Short Story (Bree Taggert) Page 2
