A tenderness in the boy’s eyes unnerves Saki. He seems to be looking right at her. She runs the face through the system and suddenly, just like that, he has a name: Janjak “JJ” St. Fleur.
The information filling the screen tells his story, up to a point: undocumented except for school records, over a year ago his parents are deported and he turns up in the foster system—a first placement that doesn’t take followed by a second listed as his current address.
Saki notices that, though his foster parents, Dov and Shoshi Nachman, live in Midwood, JJ continues to attend school close to the St. Fleur family’s last address in Red Hook. This in itself isn’t that unusual in a city where local schools are mostly a thing of the past—except that his school MetroCard history shows him commuting out of Red Hook, near Fairway, as recently as yesterday morning. And yesterday afternoon he rode the same bus back in the opposite direction. Interesting, she thinks: interesting and strange. Why didn’t someone, anyone, notice the discrepancy between the boy’s address and his daily route? Maybe not interesting or strange but just unfortunate—another example of a kid falling through the proverbial cracks of a broken system.
She dials the number listed for the Nachmans. A woman answers with a harried-sounding “What?” A background cacophony of children’s voices, crying, whining, shouting, makes it difficult to hear.
Saki introduces herself as “working for the city,” a basic truth, and says, “I’m calling to check in on JJ St. Fleur.” She waits for the answer, which seems to take too long.
“JJ’s doing good,” the woman says.
“Health okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Getting all his schoolwork done on time?”
“Oh yeah, he’s good with all that.”
“Any issues?”
“None.”
“Stay out too late? Give you any lip?”
“This child’s a bookworm. He never goes anywhere. And he’s very…quiet.”
“Gets to school on time every day? He’s got a long commute.”
“Every day. He takes the bus down the street. JJ’s like clockwork.”
“Your foster payments coming through on schedule?”
“Yeah, no problem. Listen, sorry, my kids need me and I gotta go.”
“Thanks for your time.”
Saki is amazed at how flagrantly the woman lied—a mother, surrounded by children who depend on her. She makes a mental note to contact Social Services.
She writes down JJ’s regular bus stop, sticks the Post-it in her pocket, and stands up.
“Found my boy,” she tells Lex. “Who he is, I mean.”
“Oh?”
“Janjak St. Fleur. Goes by JJ. He’s in the foster system.”
“How old?”
“Twelve.” She straps her fanny pack around her waist. “I’m heading back to Red Hook.”
“Looking for him the old-fashioned way?”
“Sometimes feet on the ground work best.”
“Before you go,” Lex says, “check this out.”
She stops to look over his shoulder at a split screen showing, on one side, the facial reconstruction image for Crisp’s father, Mo, and, on the other side, a long list of links for someone called Wilson Ramsey. She says, “You found his alias.”
“The guy is kind of famous. He has this huge following, all these fans, there’s a lot written about him but he never personally puts anything online. He hides behind a PO box at the main post office. Can’t find a phone number anywhere.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have one,” Saki suggests.
“It’s possible.”
“Well, call me if anything happens or if you need me.”
“Ditto.”
“And get some rest,” she tells Lex.
“I’ll be fine.” He stifles a yawn, unable to resist even the suggestion of fatigue.
“Your brain will function better after even one sleep cycle, four hours. That’s a fact.”
“I don’t doubt it.” But still, he turns back to his screen.
Saki heads out, knowing there’s no point trying to convince someone as stubborn as Lex.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s in Red Hook, driving down Van Brunt Street. She turns onto Van Dyke and pulls to a stop near the end of the desolate block where JJ St. Fleur meets his daily bus. Other than a bike store, there’s just about nothing here. There are better bus stops nearby: one on Van Brunt, with all the stores and people, and one by IKEA, with all the employees and shoppers. But this lonely place is better if you’re trying to hide.
She drives over to Fairway and parks in the lot. On the sidewalk, she pulls up the facial reconstruction she downloaded to her phone.
She looks at his eyes, those dark wells, and is taken aback by the visceral need she feels, a hunger, almost, to find this boy. To find him for his own sake, with or without Glynnie. She won’t take her focus off the girl, of course, but now—now she wants them both.