Criminal Affair Pt. 06

-Derek-

I can't believe I have to go to this judge and plead the case of why I don't have to pay child support to my ex-wife. I can't believe this, because I have my son right now, because she dropped him off and left him with a stranger. What am I paying for exactly?

"Your honor, this is absurd," my lawyer says to the judge, who's sitting at the desk, his head supported upright in his palm with his elbow on the desktop.

Caroline has been my lawyer since Grace and I got divorced. She's a good lawyer, but this judge is insane. We've petitioned five times to have a different judge appointed, but they keep getting denied because Grace keeps fighting the petition. No surprise, this is the same judge that ruled an unemployed former drug user with prior convictions a more fit parent than a decorated veteran who's a police officer.

I should have learned my lesson with her, but I didn't. We continued to hook up even while divorced, some bad habits dying slow. Jesse was born when we had already been divorced for three years. I'd question the paternity if he didn't look so much like me. Jesse is the only good thing we ever did, and she uses him like a pawn. The first time she used him as leverage, that was when I was completely finished with her.

Caroline is old enough to be my mother and has all of the indications she used to be one hell of a prosecutor. Her own son was divorce raped years ago, and that made her change her practice into strictly divorce law. Now she represents the man in the divorce, taking payment based on income and circumstance of the divorce.

"I need to consider the reasons she could have done so. Perhaps allowing her to accumulate a few payments will allow her to reestablish..."

"She's been unemployed for over a year," I say, the judge's eyes darting to me. "How exactly was she ever stable to begin with? Last year she took them on a trip to Disney world, then said she was out of money."

"I will not judge how she spends her money..."

"Are you serious?" Caroline chimes in. "You're a judge, judging is literally your job. And it isn't her money, it's his money given to her directly to support their son that she is not using for that purpose."

"Watch how you talk to me in my chambers," the judge shot back, anger on his face now.

"What is there to consider? Is child support for the other parent, or the child? Who has the child? Why is this even a discussion?" Caroline asks, and the judge sighs. She's backed him into a corner.

"Current alimony and child support stays..." he starts.

"Petition number six mother fucker, seeing now that she's gone, it'll work. We're done," Caroline says and storms out with me.

Caroline is digging into her pocket for her cigarettes before she even reaches the bottom of the stairs from the court house. Reaching the bottom stair, she found her reds and lit one up with a zippo she snapped back shut. It's silver with a Betty Boob decal on the side.

"I really hope he loses his fucking bench over this," Caroline says, taking in her first drag and exhaling it away from me into the air. "I've dealt with some pussy worshiping judges before, but I'm pretty sure this is fucking illegal. How the fuck is he making the decision you pay child support, when you have the kid."

"On paper she still has custody..."

"On paper my fucking cunt," Caroline says.

Damn, to see her in her prime. That mouth, smoking Marlboro Reds, that must have been mesmerizing. The kind of chick after you finished fucking her, she tells you to drink some Gatorade and come back in five minutes because she isn't done yet. Now she's just a sixty-year-old lawyer with a low voice who curses a lot.

"I'll file the petition. We might actually be able to blind side her with it this time. Get a more sympathetic judge. Bonus, if she doesn't show, you win by default. I'd say pursue child support but we both know she'll stiff you and not go to jail for it. She's a monumental piece of shit and still got custody. All because you shot a guy, on the job, who was pointing a gun at you."

"That guy was also the Alderman's nephew unfortunately," I say.

A few months back before I transferred precincts, I was working in the narcotics division. During a sting we catch a guy trying to sell undercover officers about fifty pounds of cocaine. When the sirens were approaching, he pulled a gun on me and I put a round into his shoulder. The drug trafficker was the nephew of a city Alderman named Douglas Hart.

Then my Captain, wanting to save my job and his own, transferred me into a precinct that would put me outside of the Alderman's reach. The only opening was in missing persons.

"You shot a drug dealer. How the fuck does that hurt your career and not the Alderman's?" Caroline asks and I shrug.

"Politics," Is all I can muster to say.

"Go to work, I'll let you know when I formally file it," Caroline says, pinching the cherry of her cigarette off and crushing it under her foot before flicking the butt to the curb.

"Let me know," I say, Caroline kissing my cheek before walking toward her parked car at the front of the building. With a final wave she merges into traffic, and I walk to my car.

-

I'm standing the doorway of a little girl's room with her window broke. Shards of glass are still on the sill, with a few sprinkles on the floor in the carpet. Other than the window smashed, it looks like any other room. Her bed is against the wall across from the entrance, unmade with pink sheets with a princess cover of a popular movie. The shelves of her room are filled with toys, as are the bins under them. There is a small plastic table surrounded by four chairs, one occupied by a brown stuffed bear in a top hat and monocle. A princess doll with a tiara is sitting in another. The table is set for three, the cups properly placed on top of small plates with a small fake tea pot in the center.

The mother is in the hall, crying while trying to give a statement to my partner. Another team is already setting up the kidnapper phone kit to trace a call. We're already treating this like a kidnapping.

I walk into the room and sit down for tea after the tech is finished with pictures and sample collection.

I close my eyes. Stop, look, listen, smell. One of the few skills I learned in the Army that I carried over to my detective work.

What do you see Derek?

I see this girl is spoiled. Her toy bins are overflowing, but her room is clean. The mother is either very attentive to the mess she could make, or the girl cleans up after herself. She may be spoiled, but she's probably not a brat.

The window is broken, but by the looks of it, from the inside. Too much glass is outside for the blow that broke it to have originated from the outside. This already puts into question the mother's statement.

What do you hear Derek?

The walls are thin, I can hear the mother from here. I close the door and I can still hear her. The walls in the house are very thin, putting into question the mother saying she didn't hear it happen.

Her initial statement was that she woke up to get a glass of water and checked on her daughter on her way back to bed. I doubt she is a heavy enough sleeper to not hear a window being smashed, her daughter struggling, maybe even shouting for help.

What do you smell Derek?

I smell laundry. It smells like lavender scented fabric softener. I open one of the girl's drawers, but it's not the source. It gets stronger as I approach the bed. The sheets are fresh. So fresh they're still warm when I place my palm on the pillow case and sheet.

Did the mother do laundry, after she was taken?

The initial report says she was taken before five in the morning, because the mother discovered her missing at roughly five. It's ten. These sheets were changed hours ago, but still recent enough to still be warm. These were changed after midnight, at the time the mother says she was asleep.

I walk out of the room and gesture for my partner who steps over to me.

Theo is my young partner, and I mean young. At twenty-six he's the youngest detective we have. Handsome guy, clean shaven face because he admits he can't grow any facial hair that doesn't make him look like a middle schooler trying to appear mature. Average height, roughly five feet, ten inches. His hair is long, black, and slicked back and held in place with a odorless gel. Dresses to impress with a suit and tie. I keep telling him to dress down, but he never does. Shoulders holsters under his left arm.

"Theory?" Theo asks.

"Not sure yet, but what she's said so far, doesn't add up," I say and Theo pulls out his book to take notes. "Window was likely broken from the inside. The walls are thin, I could hear your conversation with her clearly, yet she says she didn't hear anything. Also, the sheets were changed, recently."

"What does that mean?"

"They're still warm from the dryer. She's not telling us something," I say and walk over to her myself. "When did you change the sheets?"

"A few days ago maybe..."

"Don't lie, they're still warm from the dryer," I say bluntly, and she's evasive immediately.

"What are you suggesting detective?" she asks.

"I'm not suggesting, I'm stating as a fact those sheets were changed hours ago," I say and she looks away and took a long step into her kitchen.

"What are you doing to find my daughter, besides questioning me and when I did my laundry?" She asks, and Theo sees my face and jumps in.

"I assure you ma'am, we'll find her, we just need to hash out the facts we can determine. Sometimes what appears small is all the difference," Theo says as I step through the living room and out the sliding glass door to the back yard.

Stop, look, listen, smell.

What do you see Derek?"

The backyard is poorly maintained and fenced in. The fence is seven feet tall and even in elevation at every point. There's a gate at the side of the front and back with a padlock securing both. If a kidnapper came through her window, how did he get her over a fence this high? To the left and right are neighbor's backyards, and I doubt he escaped or moved through another property and risked drawing more attention to himself. We found no indication of anyone being behind the back fence recently. If this was a kidnapping, he went around to the street to a vehicle, taking the chance that someone sees him or his car.

The grass is patchy, but by the looks of it, she's been trying to fix it. There is a wheelbarrow next to the door full of gravel and a pile of garden stones. She's in the process of creating a garden with a path edged with the stones that she's pouring the gravel between. No trees or sheds, so it's a generally open space. I see the girls broken window, and the glass confirms my original theory.

What do you hear Derek?

I hear the wind blowing the branches of the trees on the other side of the fence in her neighbor's yard. Geese are flying overhead. A car drives by the house on the street. It's a very quiet neighborhood where sounds echo for a few seconds. There is so much resonating sound on this street and no one heard anything? Not even a child screaming and a car speeding away?

What do you smell Derek?

I smell moisture. It's humid today. The end of summer has welcomed this awful wet heat. The rain earlier this morning isn't helping. I smell the old coffee can the mother uses as an ash tray next to the door. There are two brands of cigarettes in the can, Camel and Pall Mall. Both lights or menthol based on the color of the filter. I take one of each and smell menthol on the Camel's. Who else lives here, or is here frequent enough to warrant this many cigarette butts?

When I go back inside the mother is on the table with a cup of coffee. She looks up at me again and turns away.

"What brand of cigarette do you smoke?" I ask.

"Really? My daughter is missing, and you..."

"Answer the question ma'am."

"You know what, fuck you. You've been treating me like a suspect this entire time. I'd like to talk to your supervisor," She says, and I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan.

"Ma'am, this isn't Wal-Mart. I can call Lieutenant Chavez, but he'll get here, and ask you to answer my questions. Save us some time."

The woman releases a frustrated breath and opens her purse, fishes out her cigarettes, and then places them on the table.

"Pall Mall lights, the orange ones," she says and slides them back into her purse.

"Who smokes the Camel's?" I ask.

"What?"

"Camels. Menthols if my nose is right," I clarify.

"I know the baby sitter smokes, I don't know what though," she says. That might be true.

"Can I have her information?" I ask, pulling out my notebook to take down her phone number and name. I thank her and do another sweep.

I can't get my mind off the linens. I open the hallway closet which is full of coats and shoes. Stepping into the bathroom, I open a closet and see a few pillows, but no other sheets. When I check the laundry room, there aren't any more in there either. Does she only have one set of sheets per bed? Entering the mother's bedroom, I place my hand on the bed and feel its cold. The sheets weren't done together.

My gut tells me I'm looking for a body. I don't express that in the house as I leave, Theo walking abreast with me to our car.

"Who's lieutenant Chavez?" Theo asks.

"Hell if I know," I answer before we depart back to the station.

-

"Is this a kidnapping or what?" Lieutenant Detective Alvina Gutierrez asks me from her desk. I'm sitting in the chair across from her in her office. The door and blinds are open.

Alvina is my age but started her career ten years before me. Half black and half Hispanic, with dreadlocks pulled into a high bun. Caramel skin tone and muscular build, making her structurally intimidating. Hooped earrings and rings on both hands, all gold. Alvina smells like citrus from a tangerine body spray she keeps in the top drawer of her desk next to a bottle of tequila and two glasses. You'd think she's slept her way up, if not for the fact all of the people who have stories fucking her, were lower ranking from other divisions. And female.

"Not looking like it," I say, and she leans into her seat, gesturing for details. "Window that was broken to gain entry, was broken from inside. The sheets on the girl's bed were freshly laundered, still warm. Maybe she was kidnapped, but someone is trying to hide some details."

"Any indication she's buried in the backyard?" Alvina asks.

"Hard to tell. Lawn is already shit, and it rained this morning so soft dirt will be hard to determine. Plus they're renovating it, any change could be justified by that."

"Get a warrant to dig regardless," Alvina says and dismisses me. I arrive back at my desk where a file was dropped off while I was talking to her.

The mother's bank statements just came back. Samantha Young-Hollister, age twenty eight, single mother of four year old Scarlett Young-Hollister.

Nothing is out of the ordinary going back a few weeks, but the last few days caught my eye. The night before the morning she went missing, Samantha withdrew two hundred dollars from her bank at an ATM just after ten last night. Payment to someone maybe?

I mark the ATM on a map and look around it. What did she need cash for? To avoid paying with a card and make it traceable? What did you buy that you needed to hide? The fact she was out that late withdrawing cash is bad enough.

Thinking for a moment I call her baby sitter, Cindy Pollak.

"This is Detective Derek Whitaker with the police, do you have a moment?" I ask.

"Is this about Scarlett? I feel so sick to my stomach about it."

"Did you watch her last night?" I ask.

"I did, up until about eight at night. Sam came home, and I left."

"This may be a weird question, but do you smoke Camel Menthols?" I ask, and she confirms she does. Nice to know Samantha said at least one thing that was actually true.

"Thank you for your time," I say, and she's saying something about hoping I find her as I hang up.

What were you buying? The fact she was buying it at ten would narrow it down. I think I know what you bought, I just need proof.

-

An hour later I walk into the garden section of Wal-Mart, the only place that would have been open. The manager is understandably antagonistic toward me about seeing camera footage.

"You can open me up to all kinds of lawsuits," he says as we're standing in the garden section after I asked for him.

"I understand that, but my suspect was possibly here last night..."

"If they were not committing shoplifting, I don't care. I understand your position detective, I really do. That decision isn't even mine, I have to put that request up through the regional management," he says and I sigh. I won't ask him to put his job at risk to maybe prove something. For all I know, she withdrew cash to go to a strip club, and is just a shitty parent.

"Who is you're night shift manager? Or whoever would be at the register at night for gardening?" I ask and he looks around, and sees who he wanted.

"Kyle," the manager says, a younger man walking over. "If you could, help the detective, I'll be in electronics."

"Were you in gardening last night. Ten to closing?" I ask.

"I was working a double and closed up, so yes," Kyle says and I pull out a picture of Samantha I brought with me and showed him. "She came in last night, late. Bought three bags of gravel, a metal rake, and some bricks."

"Would you be willing to put that into an official statement?" I ask, and he shrugs.

"I don't see why not."

-

I arrive at Samantha Young-Hollister's residence with a shovel over my shoulder and see the techs still waiting for a kidnapping phone call. Theo walks in behind me with his own shovel and we move straight through the living room and out the back door and start looking for a space to start digging.

Samantha must have dug the hole, filled it, and poured the gravel path over it to hide it. I direct Theo to start digging at the very end of the trail, the last bit she managed to put in before reporting anything. Theo's shovel is on it's second scoop when she comes out.

"What are you doing?" Samantha asks, reaching for Theo's shovel but I push myself between them. "Do you have a warrant?"

"Don't need one."

"Excuse me? Where is your search warrant? You are on my property and..."

"There are very few exceptions to a warrant, but we have one. Have you ever heard of imminent destruction of evidence?" I ask, Samantha taking a step back. "I know you bought the gravel and stones last night, and you laundered the sheets to hide evidence. We can either tear this backyard apart, or you can save us time, and afford your daughter some dignity."

Samantha starts to cry, looking away from us, before slowly pointing out the center of the trail. Theo starts digging as Samantha starts crying harder while falling to her knees.

"I didn't mean to, it was an accident. You have to understand..." she says.

"No I don't have to understand," I say and she cries so hard she gasps. "I don't want to understand the kind of parent that would kill their own child."

"Derek," Theo says, showing me he had found a body.

"Let the techs get her out, we've done enough," I say and turn to Samantha who is now hysterical.

"She just wouldn't shut up. I told her to shut up!" Samantha screams to the ground, and I feel my hand reach for my gun. I don't see her as a person anymore. She's a rabid animal that needs to be put down. I feel my thumb unclip, but before I draw, Theo touches my elbow.

"Go to the car," Theo says, and I snap back to reality. "Go, now, not asking."

"Read her rights, have a uniform take her in," I say and walk back through the house.

I sit in the passenger seat of the car, silently for several minutes before Theo takes the wheel without addressing what happened. He knows he doesn't need to.