by KJ Kalis
Carson walked to the back of the department’s building where the holding cells were. Getting the child’s fingerprints off the knife had been easy. Finding him had not. A couple of officers had found him overnight, but Carson hadn’t talked to him yet. The Park’s were in the building. One problem at a time.
The officer on duty nodded at Carson as he approached the holding area. “Can you bring the kid into interview one?”
“Sure.”
Carson went into the room and sat down, straightening his tie, setting a bag with a breakfast sandwich in it on the table. He flipped open the file in front of him. On the left side was information about the child whose fingerprints had been found on the six-inch hunting knife. Carson leafed through what they knew, which amounted to a picture and three lines of information from child services. Miles Nobesky was the child’s name. The only information they had on him was that he was an orphan and had been placed with a foster family a few months before. He expected the foster family to be filing in at any minute, demanding to see Miles. Child services had been called the minute they brought him in but hadn’t shown up yet. It has been hours. Carson shook his head. Legally, all he could do was make a soft pass at the kid until some adults arrived to represent him. As much as he didn’t like it, that was the law.
Within a minute, the officer on duty in the holding area had Miles in the room. He looked disheveled, his hair flopping around his face. “Miles, come on in, pal. I brought you some lunch. Thought you might be hungry. They don’t give a good breakfast in the back.” The boy didn’t make any eye contact, but he nodded. “Your foster parents are on their way in. We can talk once they get here.”
Carson looked at the boy. The officers that had picked him up found him at a park near his home. His foster family had spent the night out looking for him when he didn’t come home. Officers had called the house when they found him explaining he was wanted for questioning.
“Miles!” A woman burst into the room, looking disheveled, wearing leggings and a t-shirt. Her pasty face made it look like she hadn’t been out of the house in months. “We have been so worried! Where have you been?”
Miles didn’t look up. “Out.”
A man walked in the door quietly behind the woman, “You have a curfew. We were up all night looking for you.”
“So?”
Carson watched as the man clenched his fists and walked out of the room. The woman stayed, sitting in a chair next to Miles, running her hand down the back of his head. “You have no idea how scared I was. Why didn’t you come home?”
“I had things to do,” Miles said between bites of sandwich.
The woman sat back, her eyebrows furrowed. “You had things to do? Like what?”
Carson had the feeling that things were going to degrade if he let the foster parents talk much more. “Miles, how’s the sandwich?”
“Good.”
“Can you tell me about yesterday?”
“Nope.”
“Were you at Calhoun Square?”
“I don’t know.”
Carson had the urge to pull the pictures of Hailey’s dead body out of his file folder but decided against it. He didn’t need the foster mom getting upset and trying to defend Miles. Instead, he pulled a picture of Hailey out that they had grabbed from her social media. “Do you know this girl?”
The foster mom leaned forward, “I’m sorry. What is this about? I thought we were here because Miles ran away last night?”
Carson sighed, “That’s part of it.”
“Part?”
“How about if we step outside for a minute while Miles finishes his breakfast?”
The mom followed Carson out of the room. He closed the door with a quiet click, “We haven’t really had a chance to meet. I’m Detective Martino.”
The foster dad, who had been sitting on a bench outside of the room got up and extended his hand, “I’m Ken McRaney. This is my wife, Barb.”
“I appreciate you coming down to the station. Can I ask you, do you know this girl?”
They both peered at the picture and shook their heads no. “I’m sorry, we don’t. Who is she?”
“Her name was Hailey Park. She was stabbed yesterday at Calhoun Square.”
“How awful!” Barb breathed.
Ken looked at Carson, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what that has to do with us.”
Carson shifted his weight and looked at them, wondering for an instant how they were going to take the news that he was about to give them. “The knife we recovered from the scene had Miles’ fingerprints on it.”
“What?” Ken said, staring at Carson. “That’s not possible.”
Carson tilted his head. “I wish it weren’t, sir. Miles’ fingerprints are in the system since he was placed in foster care. It’s standard procedure. According to the forensics report, we’ve got three solid, full fingerprints that match Miles’ exactly.”
Barb shook her head from side to side as if she were trying to get the facts to line up in her brain. “You think Miles stabbed this girl, whoever she is?”
“It was more than a stabbing. She’s dead.”
Silence filled the air for a moment. Carson didn’t say anything. He was waiting, watching. He’d worked enough cases over his career that he knew much of investigating was what was left in the blank spaces. What people didn’t say. What they didn’t do. He saw Ken look right at him and then at Barb. Carson couldn’t tell by their expressions what they were thinking.
“Excuse me…” a man with a briefcase approached from behind the group. “Are you Detective Martino?”
“I am, but as you can see, I’m busy at the moment.”
The man, tall and thin with a square jaw and brown hair, pushed up his glasses and extended him a business card. “I’m Alberto Soza. I’m here to represent Miles Nobesky. The foster center sent me.” He turned to look at the foster parents. “You must be Ken and Barb. We should have a conversation outside. Why don’t you head on out and I’ll meet you in the parking lot?” He held up one finger at the parents before they walked away, “Please don’t answer any questions from anyone unless I’m present, okay?” The McRaney’s walked away, nodding.
Alberto fished around in his briefcase and handed Carson a sheaf of papers. “This is paperwork to get Miles released from your custody. You can see it has been signed by Judge Nicastro. That should give you enough authority to send him out with me.”
Carson frowned, “We haven’t even had a chance to question him.”
“I’d be happy for you to question him at another time, but for now, I do need him to be released. You see, Miles is in a sensitive psychological state. There’s an affidavit from his psychiatrist, Dr. Oskar Kellum, that states that keeping him at the police station could be detrimental to his mental health and long-term viability as a healthy child.” Alberto leaned in closer to Carson. Carson smelled something like strong mouthwash. He refrained from wrinkling his nose. “Miles has been through a lot. I’m sure you can imagine. Foster care is a last resort. Dr. Kellum said he’s been making such great progress that we don’t want to interrupt that.” Alberto closed his briefcase and opened the door to the interview room, “Miles, son, it’s time to go. Dr. Kellum sent me to get you. Let’s go home.”
Carson didn’t say anything. He had the urge to ball up the papers that Alberto had given him and launch them into the closest wastebasket but didn’t. “At what point can we question Miles?”
Miles had come out of the room. Alberto put a hand on his back. “Call my office and we will set up a time.” He looked around, “We probably won’t meet here, though. Might not be healthy for Miles.” Without another word, Alberto pushed Miles forward and they disappeared among the cluster of desks and officers.
Carson stood in the same spot in stunned silence. He stared at the business card that Alberto had pressed into his hand. Alberto Soza, Attorney at Law, Soza, Clark and McGinnis.
Lisa McAllister, another detective, walked by. “What
was that?” she asked, putting one hand on the butt of her gun, resting it there.
“I have no idea. That lawyer just showed up, stuffed a bunch of paper in my hand and walks off with my suspect.”
Lisa frowned. “The papers are legit?”
“Signed from Judge Nicastro. Guess the kid has some mental problems.”
“Who sent him?”
“He said it was the foster center.”
“Not sure I believe that.”
Carson turned to look at her. He had always liked Lisa. She had joined the police department about five years before, assigned to the cold cases they had to get them closed. It was hard work, but she had earned herself a reputation as a dogged investigator. He could respect that. “Why?”
“He works for the foster care system and he wears a three-thousand-dollar suit? Just his briefcase alone is probably worth more than the amount I pay for my mortgage each month.” She poked at the business card in his hand. “And, he’s a partner in a law firm. One that has offices downtown. My guess? Someone is paying for his services.”
Carson stared at the type on the business card, taking in what Lisa said. “The question is… who?”
6
Kat was shaken. Once Hailey’s parents had pulled away, she had driven back to the parking lot where the visitor’s center was. It was the only familiar place she had to go, other than the hotel. Her hands gripped the wheel as she made each turn, the faces of Hailey’s parents playing over and over again in her head, their ashen color, the way that Sam Park had nearly collapsed with grief.
Kat knew about grief. From the loss of her parents while she was in college, to the loss of SEALs that were the result of her giving in to a blackmailer, Kat knew what it felt like. She pulled into the parking lot by the visitor’s center and took the first spot she could find. She didn’t get out. She sat, her eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Seeing Sam and Nora devastated by the loss of Hailey was more than Kat could take. Images of her parent’s funeral ran through her head, the way the caskets had been placed next to each other, the silence from her brother, the family members she hadn’t seen in years trying to comfort her. Kat swallowed hard. Losing a child wasn’t natural. The parents were supposed to go first.
Kat’s mind flashed to Jack. What if she died while out on some investigation and Jack was left alone? Her breath became shallow, her heart pounding in her chest, a couple of tears running down her face. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jack losing her. She belonged at home. She reached for the gear shift, ready to put the car in reverse, drive to the hotel and get the first flight home. She stopped, watching a family pass her car, a mom and dad and two little kids circling their parents paying some version of tag. The mom and dad were laughing, holding hands and dodging their little ones. Kat wondered if Sam and Nora Park had those kinds of memories to hold onto. Certainly, the last twenty-four hours had changed that. Kat wiped her eyes and gritted her teeth. She couldn’t leave Sam and Nora without answers. She needed to go home to Jack and Van knowing that she had done what she could to help them. She sighed. Whether she could find those answers, she didn’t know. But she had to try.
Kat grabbed her phone and her notebook and typed the address for Hailey’s apartment into the GPS. It was a seven-minute drive from the visitor’s center parking lot. Kat put the car into gear and headed out, hoping to find the answers she needed.
The apartment building, constructed of wood and stone, gave off the feeling that it was craftsman inspired. The front door, surrounded by stone, didn’t feel as much like Savannah as maybe a more rustic town, but it looked attractive next to the old Georgian brick buildings. Kat looked around. There was certainly plenty of shopping, places to eat and clubs for Hailey and her roommate.
After parking her rental car in the back lot, Kat walked to the front door and buzzed the apartment from the call box by the tall wooden door. “Yes?” a girl’s voice answered.
“Hi, I’m Kat Beckman. I’m a journalist. I wanted to talk to you about your roommate if that’s okay?” Kat paused, not sure if Missy would let her in. A moment later, the door vibrated. Kat pulled on the handle, surprised by its weight.
Inside, Kat took the steps to the second floor, moving down the hallway to the back of the building. The smell of fresh paint followed her. Everything about the building seemed to be new. Kat furrowed her brows. Certainly, this wasn’t the lifestyle of college students, she thought. She didn’t have time to follow that train of thought, though. The door to Hailey’s apartment was at the end of the hall. Kat knocked.
When the door opened, Kat saw a small girl with jet black hair. “Come on in.” Kat glanced around. The room was spacious, with two-story windows in the back and a picturesque view of the park behind the building. The floor was covered in stone and a few throw rugs, furniture placed carefully around the perimeter of the room.
“I’m Kat. Thanks for seeing me. You must be Missy.”
“I am. You said you are a journalist?”
“Yes, from an online paper in California.” Kat pulled a business card out of her notebook. “I’m so sorry about Hailey. Quite a shock, huh?”
“Yeah.” Missy shifted from side to side, her hip jutting out from the side of her leggings. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket, wiping her nose and sniffling. “She was just here and then she was gone.”
Kat noticed there were some boxes in the corner. “Are you packing Hailey’s stuff up already?”
Missy walked into the living room, “No, that’s my stuff.”
“Are you moving out?”
Missy nodded. “Yeah. This place is Hailey’s. She bought it. I figured the family would want me out.”
Kat furrowed her eyebrows. An apartment like that had to be more than three hundred thousand dollars in an upscale market like Savannah’s. How could a college kid afford that? “It’s awfully nice for college kids.”
“Yeah.” Missy plopped down on the couch. Kat sat across from her in a leather chair. The glass coffee table in front of her was strewn with art magazines and rings left from cups.
“I just gotta ask, how did Hailey afford this? Did her parents buy it for her?”
Missy curled her legs underneath her, wiping her nose again. “No. It’s so funny…” she looked out the window, “...everyone thought I was a trust fund kid.” She looked straight at Kat. “I’m not. Hailey let me live here for free.”
“Really? Can you tell me a little about that?” Kat retrieved her notebook as Missy started talking.
“Yeah, we met during freshman year in a drawing class. Sat right next to each other.” Missy paused for a moment looking far away. She sighed. “Became friends right away. Besties. Hailey was from Illinois.”
“Yeah, her parents said Bloomington.”
“That’s right. She got a partial art scholarship and her grandma picked up the rest of the bill until about halfway through our freshman year.”
“Her parents didn’t help with tuition?”
Missy shook her head. “Didn’t want her to be an artist. Knew she had the talent, but man, they were not into it. Said she’d never get a job.”
“You said her grandma helped with the tuition?”
“Yeah, until she died. Hailey thought she’d have to quit school and go back to Bloomington. I went there once. Nothing there. Definitely not the place for an artist.”
“What kind of art did Hailey do?”
Missy pointed to an enormous canvas hanging on the wall, filled with images of children playing. The colors were alternately light and bold, the figures barely defined. It looked like they were playing in the fog. “She did oils, mostly. Liked Expressionist artwork. That’s where she found her inspiration.”
“It’s beautiful.” Kat looked back at Missy, “So, did she sell some of her artwork to help with bills?”
Missy frowned. “Sort of. She had something going with one of the art professors, Dr. Roux.”
“What kind of thing?”
Missy shook her head and
crossed her legs. “I’m not really sure. All I know is that it let Hailey stay in school. Paid for everything.”
“You weren’t ever curious about what she was doing?”
“A little, but I’ve got my own stuff going. And she let me stay here free. I didn’t want to pry. You know, that old ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,’ or whatever.”
Kat nodded. “What’s the name of the art professor again?”
“Dr. Roux. She’s over in the Mannheim Building, I think.”
Kat got up and headed for the door. Missy followed. “Thanks for the info, Missy. I appreciate it.”
“No probs. I’ll be here if you have more questions.”
Kat stepped out into the wide hallway and ran down the steps, thinking about what Missy had said. How could a junior in college afford an apartment that looked like the one Hailey bought? The job she had gotten with Dr. Roux had to be lucrative, that was for sure. Kat got into the car and stopped for a moment, pulling up an online map and looking for the building Missy had mentioned, the Mannheim Building. Finding it, Kat started the car.
The buildings on the campus of the Savannah College of Art and Design ranged from completely modern to as traditional as could be. As Kat drove, she passed one building that looked as if it had been formed from sheets of molten metal. Another looked like it could be housing Confederate soldiers. The contrast was startling. Even though it was summer term, there were students peppered across the campus, toting their art equipment to classes. She saw a few students laying on blankets in the sun, one man tossing a frisbee to a dog.
The Mannheim building was a two-story modern building, with sides of brick and a black, sloped roof. Kat guessed it had been built in the 1970s. It fit right in with the range of building styles on the campus adding to the helter-skelter design of the architecture. Kat parked and headed into the building, the air conditioning hitting her in the face like a wall as soon as she opened the door. Inside, there was a long hallway running left and right and another running down the center of the building. She smelled a faint odor of solvents probably from studio classes in the building, she guessed. A sign posted near the door had a list of professors and their offices. Kat ran her finger down the list, finding Dr. Roux second from last.
