by Debra Webb
“It’s not a problem.” Jess gave a shake of her head. “I have no idea if my aunt’s still alive, much less where she lives.”
No matter, he felt like an ass for not remembering. “If you’re certain you’re okay with this, we need you on it. This is going to be a hot-button issue.”
“I guess that explains the spiffy red folder.”
“Starting now we’re giving this case priority.” He’d scarcely gotten back to his office from the Chandler home when the mayor had called. His office had been fielding questions and complaints all morning. Mayor Pratt wanted this taken care of ASAP.
Dan had a long list of differences with the mayor, but on this one he was right.
Jess’s dark brown eyes narrowed again. “It’s a missing persons case. He’s not underage and there appears to be no indication of foul play or vulnerability, according to what you have here. What’s the hot-button issue beyond determining whether he left of his own free will?”
“This may turn into a race issue.”
“This is Birmingham, Alabama. That’s not a hot-button issue; it’s a way of life. And it’ll stay that way until we stop seeing color and social class and start seeing people. Why is this young man’s disappearance any different from that of the other four or five thousand folks who went missing across this country in the last forty-eight hours?”
The media would be blowing this out of proportion the next few days. There was no point in pretending it was going away without a public outcry. BPD had dropped the ball on this one in their eyes. Jess knew it as surely as he did, but she intended to make him say it.
“You’re well aware that two weeks ago we pulled out all the stops for five missing girls, all age nineteen, all Caucasian. This family wants equal attention. No one can blame them. Their grandson is missing and they’re terrified. When they didn’t get the initial response hoped for, they sought out other avenues.”
“The press has already called you or the mayor,” she surmised.
“Friends of the family are holding a rally at nine tonight. The press is going to be all over it.” Dan turned his hands up. “The officer who took the report followed the rules. BPD has made no true missteps legally speaking, but we can’t afford the bad press those kinds of accusations bring. Frankly, as long as we have the manpower, the extra effort should be made in every missing persons case. At the very least I want to see the cases treated individually. I’d like that change to happen now.”
“We both know that’s hardly feasible with budgets shrinking every year.”
“Maybe with SPU we can do more,” he pressed. This was a prime example of how badly they needed Jess’s extraordinary ability for seeing what no one else did. “That was the catalyst for forming a new unit. No family should have to wonder where their child, two or twenty, is when he or she doesn’t show up as expected. Particularly a young man like Simmons who has no history of trouble and who is on his way to a bright future.”
“You’re right.” She looked at the folder she held, then glanced back at him. “SPU can make a difference with cases like this. We’ll get right on it.”
“Take Harper with you to visit the family. The sooner the better.” There was another aspect to this case that he’d have to explain eventually but not today. He needed her on this and he needed her completely focused.
“If he’s available we can go now.”
“Make him available, Jess. I don’t want you making house calls in that neighborhood alone. Keep in mind that time is of the essence. We need to find this young man and prove to our citizens that things aren’t the same as they were in the sixties.”
“You sure about that? As the saying goes, you can put lipstick on a pig but… it’s still a pig. Would we still be having this conversation if racial and social lines had really changed? The case involving Andrea and the other girls got immediate attention because they’re white and nearly all are from a family high enough up the social ladder to generate real noise and to call in favors.” She tapped his desk with the red folder for emphasis. “Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”
The lady had always been disarmingly blunt. “You made your point. SPU was created to close that gap. To ensure no one gets overlooked. We’re making the effort, Jess. Starting right now.”
She stood. “Then maybe you need to have an all-hands staff meeting and let the folks over in the other precincts know that things have changed. When a nineteen-year-old with absolutely no criminal record and everything going for him goes missing, we don’t need to give the bad guys a forty-eight-hour head start.”
He pushed to his feet. No one else on this planet could rile his indignation quicker and still be right on the matter. “Already on the schedule. Monday morning, nine sharp. You’re the guest speaker.” She would be, at any rate, as soon as he scheduled the meeting. By tomorrow noon it would be on the agenda of every division chief in the department. Contrary to the statement he’d just made, maybe he hadn’t thought of it first, but he would make it happen.
“They may not like what I have to say,” Jess warned.
“Why change strategies now?”
“I’m right about the Chandler case,” she stated again, for the record apparently. “If Black isn’t careful his killer will get away. It happens all the time. Remember the Susan Powell case? Mother goes missing. Husband is sent home and a mountain of evidence and motive are overlooked. And look what it cost? Her children are dead, too, because her crazy husband got away the first go-around. Funny how easy it is to overlook the obvious sometimes.”
“Jess,” he offered patiently, “trust me when I say that we were investigating cases like this and doing a pretty damned good job before you showed up. If your instincts are on target, Black will reach those same conclusions and he will get the job done. You’re just angry because it’s not your case. That’s not a good foundation for the relationships you’re building here. If you want the others to accept you and invite you to play, you have to accept them and show some trust and respect for their abilities as well.”
That was more than he’d intended to say but she’d pushed all the right buttons. Jess was very good at pushing his buttons. In and out of bed.
“You’re right, of course,” she announced as she reached for that huge black leather bag she carried. “I’ll work on that. As soon as I find this missing young man.”
She gave him her back and marched toward the door. For about two seconds he got a little caught up in watching the sway of her hips. Kicking his mind out of the sack, he called after her, “Don’t go without Harper.”
“Yes, sir.” She slammed the door behind her.
He focused on lowering his frustration level and tried to relax in hopes that enough deep breaths would reverse the hard-on sparring with her had aroused. Even when she was cutting him off above the knees he wanted to spread hers and burrow between them.
The intercom buzzed, followed by his secretary’s voice. “Chief, Mrs. Burnett is on line two for you.”
No need for deep breaths after all. A call from his mother did the trick instantly. He grabbed the receiver and pressed the necessary button. “Hey, Mom. Everything okay?”
“Is there any news on Darcy?”
She’d called twice already. “Not yet. Chief Black may have news for the family by tomorrow.”
“I just can’t believe she’s gone. You have to get to the bottom of this, Son. We’re all depending on you.”
“We’ll know more when we have the preliminary autopsy results,” he told her. The Chandlers were friends of his mother’s and whenever a case involved part of her social network she made sure he didn’t forget.
“What about Jess? Is she working on the case, too?”
Since he was seventeen there had been one absolute certainty in his life. His mother did not like Jess. That she asked about her in connection with the case was surprising to say the least. “Jess is working on a missing persons case. Deputy Chief Black and Crimes Against Persons is handling
the Chandler case.”
His mother hummed a note of surprise, or maybe it was disappointment. “In any event, you’ll keep me informed, I’m sure. Darcy’s family is just devastated. Daniel, they need answers to this tragedy.”
With a few more assurances she finally let him go. For the second time today he hoped he’d made the right decision. The rules or Jess’s instincts?
Black had nearly thirty years in the department. He and his detectives knew how to investigate a case. Still, Jess had drilled her point about the shoes deep into Dan’s skull. He’d invited her to watch the interview with the husband since, as she’d pointed out at least a dozen times, she was the first on the scene and had interviewed the dancers and their mothers. Chandler’s family and friends were being interviewed even now. Maybe he should have suggested that she and Black work as a team on this one.
But she was needed on the Simmons case. His department had made a mistake on that one and he hoped like hell it wasn’t too late to make it right.
As much as Dan respected every member of his department, he knew in his gut that if anyone could find Simmons it was Jess.
He relegated Jess and her warnings to the back of his priority list for the time being and focused on clearing his desk. The autopsy report and evidence analysis would provide better insight on the Chandler case. Most of the assessments at this point were speculation. It was difficult to comfort a family when so few facts had been established. They needed the facts, not speculation.
Who was he trying to convince? Dan shook his head and chuckled at his own self-doubts. Even twenty years later Jess still possessed the power to make him second-guess his every move and decision. She had always held that power over him. Almost always bested him.
His cell vibrated against his desk. He shuffled through the files and papers to find it. Surely Jess and Harper hadn’t run into trouble already.
Annette calling.
He exhaled a heavy breath. He hoped things were better with Andrea. She’d been a mess since the kidnapping. After today, she may have fallen apart again.
If Andrea needed him, he was there.
A rap on his door prevented him from accepting the call.
The door opened and his secretary poked her head inside. “Chief Burnett, Mayor Pratt is here to see you.”
He’d known this was coming. He just hadn’t expected a face-to-face visit. “Send him in, Sheila.”
Five seconds later the door opened again and Birmingham’s esteemed mayor strode into the room. Sheila closed the door behind him. Taller than Dan, Joseph Pratt had maintained his lean build well into his sixties. He came from old money and enjoyed the power of holding public office without care as to the modest salary.
“Dan, I’m certain your time is limited, so I’ll get right to the point.”
“I’m caught up at the moment, Joe. Have a seat.” Dan had to wonder why the mayor would bother coming over for a discussion so brief that surely it could have been handled by phone just as their discussion about the Simmons case had been earlier today.
Pratt settled into a chair, his posture as well as his expression far from relaxed. “I’m here to urge you to ensure a speedy resolution to the Chandler case.”
The woman had scarcely been dead half a dozen hours. “I’m aware that your families are close,” Dan offered. The Chandlers and Pratts shared a passion for everything from the Historic Preservation Society to the Arts Council. Both families went back several generations and continued to represent the wealthiest of Birmingham’s residents. “I’m certain you understand that we will do all we can as quickly as we can.”
The urgency on Pratt’s face signaled he was far from satisfied with that response. “Darcy and Alexander have been frequent companions of my son Jarrod and his wife, Cynthia, for a number of years now. We do not want to see this drawn out in the media. The swifter the action by this department, the less time for the media to sensationalize this tragedy. There are those who thrive on gossip and innuendoes when it comes to families like the Chandlers.”
“That is an unfortunate reality,” Dan agreed. “I can assure you that we will work as quickly as possible on this case, just as we will on the Simmons case.” He felt confident that the mayor hadn’t forgotten his earlier request already.
“Chief Black assures me he is handling the Chandler case,” Pratt noted.
Dan shouldn’t be surprised that the man had spoken to Black already. Yet somehow he was. “That is correct.”
“Good.” Pratt nodded. “Chief Harris would bring undue media attention to the case, and the family simply doesn’t need that sort of added nuisance.”
Oh, Dan got it now. This wasn’t about a speedy closure for the Chandler family. This was about keeping the connection between the Pratts and the Chandlers off the media’s radar. “Of course. With Jarrod running for the senate, we wouldn’t want him connected to any sort of scandal.” And considering Darcy Chandler’s husband’s numerous affairs, a scandal was likely.
“I knew you’d understand.” Pratt stood. “Those of us in positions of community oversight must always consider the greater good.” He straightened his elegant suit jacket. “I’ll be expecting regular updates on the progress of your investigation.”
With that final order on the table, Pratt departed as quickly as he’d arrived.
Dan had a feeling Jess was right about this one. And no one, particularly not the mayor, was going to like the way it played out.
His cell vibrated, dragging him from the troubling thoughts.
Annette calling.
Again.
4
Druid Hills, 7:20 p.m.
As a kid Jess had lived just two streets over from this one. The neighborhood looked pretty much the same now. Sadly neglected; unnervingly hopeless. The major difference she saw today was the obvious signs of gang tagging. Thirty years ago the only gangs in the area were local ruffians with an itch to intimidate and a dime bag to sell.
Things had changed dramatically. Not just because of the symbols and threats spray-painted on the abandoned homes but because of the increasing lack of concern for one’s neighbor. Turning a blind eye was as rampant as drugs even here in the heart of the good old South.
“Several residents have reported gang activities in the neighborhood,” Harper mentioned as he drove through the cluttered streets, the yards and curbs lined with vehicles in various stages of disrepair. “That abandoned house”—he indicated a run-down ranch coming up on the right—“is one of many that pop up in police reports on a regular basis.”
Gang activities were increasing across the country, particularly in the financially devastated, chronically neglected neighborhoods of larger cities. It wasn’t enough that the United States had its share of homegrown gangs; there were increasing numbers of imports. And like the car business where the imports worked extra hard to outsell those manufactured domestically, the imported gangs were ruthless in their attempts to gain control of a given territory.
“How efficient is our Gang Task Force?” Jess had reviewed the divisions but there hadn’t been an opportunity for her to do in-depth research on any one in particular. She would need to familiarize herself with all the BPD’s divisions and various units. To do that she needed time. Two weeks wasn’t nearly long enough in light of the fact that those fourteen days included dealing with multiple abductions and her own personal stalker, a serial murderer called the Player.
“Word is Captain Allen is good,” Harper said. “He has twenty years under his belt and he’s organized an outstanding group of cops on his task force. They’re on top of this for sure, but they need all the help they can get.” Harper slowed for the turn onto Fifteenth Avenue. “This is the kind of support that typically falls to an SPU if a department is lucky enough to have one.” He sent her a quick smile. “Lowering the incidence of violent crimes is a number one priority of any Special Problems Unit.”
He was preaching to the choir. “At least we have a case now and can actually
work toward that goal. Since the one we were accused of hijacking was taken from us.” She was obsessing about Darcy Chandler. Not attractive no matter how it was accessorized.
“I guess we did. Hijack the case, I mean.” Harper chuckled. “I knew when I took the call that the case didn’t fall within the purview of our mission statement.”
“Our unit didn’t even exist until one week ago. You’re saying we have a mission statement and a purview that’s written down somewhere?” News to her.
“We do. There’s a copy in the folder you received from HR.”
“There’s something in that folder from Human Resources besides tax and insurance forms?” If she’d bothered to look this morning, she might have noticed that, but she’d had other business. Like finding the briefings she hadn’t been invited to. So much for team spirit. Cutting the department some slack, she was fresh from not-so-pleasant business with the bureau. Maybe she was a little defensive. And a lot sensitive. And Burnett was right. She was the new kid on the block. If she wanted to be invited to the parties, she had to take the first steps and make nice.
God, she hated all that dancing around. Why couldn’t people just do and say what they meant? Who needed all the social expectations and principles of etiquette? Work hard. Get the job done. What else mattered?
“You should read it,” Harper suggested. “Sheriff Griggs and Chief Burnett came up with quite an interesting philosophy for our mission. Reads like they had considerable input from other divisions.”
There was a warning in there somewhere. Harper had worked with Chief Black for several years and probably felt some level of loyalty still, so he didn’t name names. Sheriff Roy Griggs, Deputy Chief Harold Black, and Chief of Police Daniel Burnett were members of the same team—the good old boys. Harper wasn’t exactly a nonmember, but he liked and respected Jess and so did Detective Lori Wells. As much as she appreciated their support, Jess was still going to have to earn the trust and respect of every other member of the BPD. To do that meant playing by all the rules. Which also meant she had no choice but to go to that needless, utter waste of time psychological evaluation appointment Burnett kept bugging her about.
