“It fits,” Bellows admitted. “There are other possibilities, but when you hear hoofbeats…”
“Think horses, not zebras,” Micah finished, impressed that he knew the expression. She supposed that, like with medical research, police too had to focus on the obvious answers and not get sidetracked with ‘what if’s’ and chase down rabbit trails.
“I’ll put in some calls to CFS and see if anyone can identify her from the description and the pictures. If we can at least identify Mama, we’ll have much better chances at finding her and getting her story.”
Micah let out her breath, happy that he had agreed to follow her lead. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. It’s a good suggestion. Fits together nicely. I just hope it’s not another dead end.”
❋
Micah had other things to do. There were plenty of new files for her to play with. And plenty of old ones that the police hadn’t been able to make arrests on yet where they would be happy to have another picture or two with other possible variations. But she wanted to stay focused on the Sweetgrass Doe case, to move it forward even further, if she could.
She wandered out to the lab and stood near Chastity’s bench, waiting for her to finish preparing a sample for analysis. Chastity looked up, brows drawn together, when she was done.
“Micah.”
“I wondered if you could do a Lazarus for me.”
Chastity dutifully labeled and logged the sample and put it on the shelf with samples to be processed.
“For who?”
“For Sweetgrass Doe’s father.”
Chastity considered, lips pursed. “Start with Sweetie’s profile, remove Mama’s contribution, and we get Daddy.”
Micah nodded.
“Well, half of Daddy,” Chastity pointed out. “It’s not going to give us a very good phenotype. We can pin down the dominant traits. Go with the most common pairs for the rest. It’s a lot of guesswork, and it’s not going to be accurate. Not without a sample from him or other offspring.”
“I know. I just want… to have something. It’s going to be pretty broad, I know. I’d just like to have something in my back pocket. A place to start.”
Chastity shrugged. “Yeah, I can run it through the system. If trace recovers anything from the clothing that matches, maybe we’ll be able to build a better profile.”
“Yeah, good idea. I haven’t heard anything, though I don’t think they’ve been able to find anything usable.”
“That’s the way some of them go. We haven’t been able to get very far with this file.”
Micah didn’t tell her about her idea that Mama might have been a foster child. If it didn’t pan out, there would be no need to explain what had happened. If it did, then the Sheriff’s Department would make the fact known. They would probably give Micah the credit for the idea, but if they didn’t, it didn’t matter. She was more concerned about solving the case than she was with getting credit. EvPro already knew how good she was and what she could do with a computer and some colored pencils.
❋
Micah was getting ready to go home at the end of the day when her email notification flashed. She looked at it, hesitating between ignoring it and leaving the email until the next day, and taking a quick peek to make sure it wasn’t urgent. If she left without looking at it, she could honestly say that she hadn’t known there was anything urgent waiting for her when she left at the end of the day.
Curiosity killed the cat. Maybe some of the kitten’s curiosity was rubbing off on Micah. She tapped the mouse and opened the email window.
Deputy Bellows.
The unread email was bolded. The subject line read Mama Doe.
Micah sat back down. She double-clicked the email to read it. The first thing she saw was a photograph. A teenager. Brown hair and eyes. Narrow face. A tentative, uncertain smile. Eyes somewhere beyond the photographer.
It was a very close match to Micah’s picture of Mama Doe.
She read the information below the picture.
Trisha Madro. Seventeen. She had disappeared from her group home a year earlier. She was a chronic runaway, so CFS hadn’t put all of their resources into tracking her down yet again. She knew how to get help if she needed it. She’d been in the system for long enough to know how it worked.
“They never filed a missing person report?” Micah asked aloud.
There was no one there to respond to her.
Maybe they had, and maybe they hadn’t, but the police would not have been inclined to put a lot of effort into it either. She was a voluntary. People walked away from their lives sometimes; that wasn’t a crime. Mama Doe was couch surfing at a friend’s. Or had run off with a boy. Or preferred sleeping rough to having to answer to group home supervisors.
Considering the outcome—Sweetgrass Doe—Micah guessed that she had run off with a boy. Maybe they had thought that they were old enough to manage on their own. But things hadn’t turned out to be as easy as she had thought.
No contact in the past year, Bellows had noted.
That seemed like a red flag to Micah. Yes, kids ran off sometimes, preferred partying to having to answer to someone in authority, but they usually surfaced again. Picked up for drugs or shoplifting, borrowing a car without permission. Returning to a previous family or showing up at a homeless shelter, looking for a place to sleep. Maybe involved with a gang. A social worker couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t force a girl back into foster care or a group home situation when she refused. Sometimes she could be incarcerated on a minor charge or evaluated for mental health concerns but, before long, she would be back on the street looking for the next high.
But disappearing completely?
Obviously, Mama Doe—Trisha Madro—had not been killed. She had survived without institutionalized care for another year, long enough to get pregnant and deliver a healthy baby girl.
She picked up the phone and called Bellows. There was too much for her to put into an email response. She wanted to hear the inflections in his voice.
“Hello, Miss Miller.”
“Can you call me Micah, Deputy Bellows?”
“If you’ll call me Frank.”
Micah smiled, feeling like things were moving forward. They had a professional relationship now. Bellows was willing to give her information and to accept her ideas. If the two of them put their heads together, maybe they could figure it all out.
“Okay, Frank. So tell me everything you know about Trisha Madro.”
“I summarized it in the email.”
“I know, but… did anyone look for her? Run into her at any shelters or youth outreach events? Did they have sightings? Have an idea where she had gone?”
“I’m going to meet with her social worker tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?”
“Could I?” Micah was surprised.
“I wouldn’t ask you and then tell you no. It’s not exactly regular, but you’ve been instrumental in getting us this far. You have some insight into her lifestyle and experience. I don’t know how much we’ll get from the social worker, or if it will intersect with any of this… genetic stuff… but it’s easier than trying to relay everything to you after the fact, and then finding out that there was a question I should have asked.”
“That would be great. I’d love to be involved. You’re sure it’s okay? I’m not law enforcement.”
“I’m aware of that. And I wouldn’t take a private citizen just anywhere. But I don’t think we’re walking into a dangerous situation. I’m not expecting the social worker to come after me with a blade.”
Micah laughed. “No, I guess not.”
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow once I’ve had a chance to organize my day. It will probably be early afternoon but, as a cop, my schedule is subject to change.”
“Okay. I’m pretty flexible. Early afternoon is fine. Just let me know.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was a chilly day, the air crisp and the sky blue and smooth as gl
ass. Micah checked the forecast before dressing and tried to pretend that it was just a routine day, like any other. If Bellows ended up having to follow up on breaking cases, their interview might not even happen for another day or two. It wasn’t written in stone.
But she didn’t believe it. It was the first major break in the case. If the social worker had any idea where Trish was or what kind of life she was leading, it could be the interview that led them to her door. They might get all of their answers about why Sweetie had been abandoned in the Sweetgrass Hills.
The kitten meowed and purred around her feet, and Micah had to take care not to step on her while she was walking around the house, getting her breakfast ready and trying to put her thoughts in order.
In a few hours, she could know the story behind what had happened to Sweetie.
❋
“Social Worker is Ardith Pitz,” Bellows advised as he drove. He looked much like Micah had pictured him, hearing his voice over the phone. A large man, stomach a little too big for his duty belt, his hair in a buzz cut receding around the temples. He had a grim, stern sort of face, but Micah judged that was mostly genes and lifestyle, not a sour temperament. He seemed pleasant enough as he greeted her and filled her in on the details he knew. “I’ve dealt with her a time or two in the past. She’ll be cooperative, but that won’t necessarily help. She has her ethics to think about, which include not sharing private information about her children. In addition to that, social workers learn pretty quickly that there is only so much they can do.” He turned a corner smoothly. “They can’t afford to get emotionally wrapped up in every child. They know they can’t ‘save’ them all, especially teens. So I don’t know how much she’s had to do with Trish Madro.”
“Right. The social worker might know a lot about her, or practically nothing.”
Bellows nodded his agreement. “We have to be ready for either scenario.”
“I’m trying not to expect too much from her.”
“Good plan. And before we talk to her… I don’t know what your thoughts are on Trish Madro. We don’t know what kind of kid she was. We don’t know if she is a victim or a criminal. Right now, she’s a person of interest.”
“Which means suspect.”
He glanced at her. “It means person of interest. But yeah, we don’t know yet what her involvement in the abandonment was. So keep an open mind. Maybe something happened to her, and maybe she’s just a cold-hearted…” he cleared his throat and didn’t voice his chosen noun.
Micah stared out the window as they approached the CFS office. She had never understood child abandonment. How could anyone neglect her own flesh and blood or leave her alone, with no one to care for her? She couldn’t fathom it. She couldn’t help feeling judgmental whenever she heard of or read an article about a child being abandoned. How could anyone be so cold-hearted?
“We’re here,” Bellows advised quietly. Micah wondered whether he had noticed her distraction. Whether he had any idea what it meant.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“You ready?”
Micah unlatched her seatbelt and opened her door, letting her actions be her answer. Bellows preceded her, but stopped at the door to the social services building and motioned her to enter, though he didn’t actually open the door and hold it for her.
He followed her into the reception area and spoke to the woman at the desk.
“Bellows. Here to see Ardith.”
“Yes, she’ll just be a moment, Deputy.”
Neither of them sat down. They moved around the reception room restlessly, looking at the paintings and pictures on the walls, the certificates and awards, ignoring the worn state of the carpet, the chipped paint, and the dreary little toys in the toy box awaiting children who might go there for evaluation or supervised meetings with parents.
Eventually, a woman came out to meet them. She was a heavy woman in slacks and a print blouse. No skirt suit or plaid. She did have a lanyard around her neck with her identification badge on display—an older woman, probably around Marianna’s age. Her red-brown hair was undoubtedly dyed.
“Deputy Bellows, come in. And you are…” Ardith Pitz looked at Micah, frowning.
“I’m Micah Miller.” Micah stretched out her hand to shake. Ardith Pitz took it in a smooth, cool grasp, looking into her eyes for a moment.
“Miller…” she repeated thoughtfully.
Miller wasn’t an uncommon name. No reason she would have known who Micah was. Maybe she had dealt with Cole Miller on a case sometime in the past. But Micah didn’t bring him up.
“Well, let’s get started, then,” Mrs. Pitz turned and led them down the hall to a meeting room. A room that looked more like the room a board would meet in than a place for families to meet. Micah chose a chair and sat down, trying to look comfortable. Which she was not.
“Trish Madro,” Mrs. Pitz said, before she was even seated. There was a thick file open on the table. “I’m not sure I have anything useful to tell you. As I indicated on the phone, she left her last group home a year ago. She hasn’t been under the care of CFS again since then.”
“That’s not quite the same as never having heard of her again,” Micah said.
Mrs. Pitz cocked her head, looking at Micah. “No,” she admitted. “That’s not what I said.”
“So you have seen her since then. Or know something about where she could be.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Mrs. Pitz countered.
“Maybe you could be more clear,” Bellows suggested. “This meeting will be a lot more successful if we all just lay our cards on the table. What do you know about what happened to Trisha after she left her last group home?”
Mrs. Pitz smoothed the papers in the file before her. She picked up a water bottle, opened it, and had a small sip. “I have not seen Trish since she left. I have not talked to her.”
“But you’ve heard something,” Micah said. “Maybe a rumor.”
“She was a difficult child. She came into the system when she was… oh, nine or ten.”
“She’d been neglected. Malnourished.”
Mrs. Pitz nodded her agreement. She glanced over at Bellows, waiting for one of them to explain why Micah was there and what her role was supposed to be. Neither of them did.
“She was very quiet. Timid. I hoped that by placing her in a home with a nurturing mother, she would open up. Blossom. Sometimes, all you need to do is give these kids an environment they can grow in, and the changes are remarkable. You wouldn’t even guess that there was anything out of place. Unfortunately… that’s not the way things turned out with Trish.”
“She doesn’t have a juvenile record,” Bellows said. “I checked.”
“No. She didn’t get into trouble with the law. From the beginning, she had problems with school. I don’t know how much she had attended before she was apprehended. Things didn’t work out. Whether it was because she hadn’t gone to school in those early years, or because the neglect and abuse had caused brain damage, or maybe she was just born with a learning disability. We tried several programs that we hoped would help her, but nothing seemed to click.”
With such a small population, maybe the county hadn’t had the money to run the kind of programs Trish had needed. Or maybe it didn’t matter; her brain was just programmed the way it was. The same way Micah’s wiring was different, making her feel like she was operating on a different plane from others.
“So with the problems she was having at school, she fell in with the wrong crowd,” Bellows suggested.
“She grew angry and resentful. Even though many people were trying to help her—parents, social workers, psychologists, tutors, teachers—she acted like no one cared. She didn’t bond with her family. She had… an attitude.”
Micah thought of the photograph Deputy Bellows had sent to her. Trish hadn’t looked sullen and angry, but she certainly hadn’t looked comfortable or happy. An outsider. Someone who wouldn’t let others in.
“We trie
d some other families. Therapeutic programs. Group homes. She broke the rules. She failed at school, wouldn’t complete her work even in special education. She didn’t make friends.”
Micah could see where it was going. Trish moved on to smoking and drinking, maybe partying with drugs. She became more promiscuous, not observing boundaries.
“We did our best to meet her needs,” Mrs. Pitz said regretfully. “But she was… damaged.”
“So you’re not surprised that she would abandon her child,” Bellows suggested, jumping ahead.
“I doubt if she was qualified to care for an infant. I don’t know if she could bond with a child or comprehend its needs. If she had still been in care when she delivered, we would have done some very intensive training with her. Or if she wasn’t willing to do that, we would have seized the baby at the first opportunity.”
Micah’s chest hurt. She felt like there was a fist-sized hole in it. What a tragedy. Trish’s own neglect had set her up for failure as a mother.
“What did you hear about her during the past year?”
“People had seen her. It’s not the big city. You really can’t go anywhere and be sure you won’t run into previous acquaintances.”
“Do you know who her boyfriend was?” Micah asked
Mrs. Pitz shook her head.
“How was she living? Was she on the street? Rooming with someone? In a shelter?”
“Living with someone, I suppose. I don’t know details. She wasn’t accessing any public welfare services. We didn’t have any direct contact.”
“She wasn’t ever reported missing?”
“She wasn’t missing. She was a runaway. She had taken off many times before, for days or weeks at a time. We did our best to keep her safe, but she didn’t want that. She didn’t want people looking after her or supervising her.”
“Do you know where she is now?” Bellows asked.
Mrs. Pitz looked away. “I knew you were going to ask that. I’ve made inquiries. But no one has seen her recently. Wherever she has been living, she’s been keeping her head down. Not telling people what she’s doing. No one who has been aware of her said anything about her being pregnant. I don’t think I would have believed it, if I hadn’t seen that picture.”
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