CHAPTER 19

I found the cruiser right where it was supposed to be. Jennifer was sitting in the backseat. I sat up front. There was a layer of Plexiglas between us.

“Hi, Jennifer. My name is Michael.”

The girl was folded up in a blanket. I could see the silver and red of her school uniform underneath. She looked out the window, chin on knees, at the underbelly of the El. After a moment she shifted position, then answered.

“Hey.”

That was it. Just hey.

“I’m not a cop,” I said. “So you don’t have to answer a whole bunch of questions.”

She had light red hair, wide-spaced green eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles in between. She had bruises on her neck, her upper arms, and underneath her jaw. They were yellowed and looked like they might have come from a man’s grip. A man’s fist.

“If you’re not a cop, why are you here?”

“I used to be a cop. Now I’m a private investigator. Sometimes I help out.”

“Oh. Some guy attacked me.”

“I know, Jennifer.”

“That’s good.”

She laid her head down against the fold of her knees and sighed.

“They’re finding my parents right now. They’re going to be pissed.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Jennifer.”

“You don’t know. They’ll be pissed.”

“You’re twelve years old?”

She nodded.

“I was headed home from school.”

“But you took a detour?”

“I was going to take the El downtown. Walk over to the Apple store.”

“Cool store.”

“It’s open ’til nine. But that’s why they’ll be mad.”

“They won’t be mad.”

“You don’t know my dad.”

I thought about Rodriguez’s instructions. About not talking to the girl. Then I took another look at the girl. Then I forgot about Rodriguez’s instructions.

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“I don’t think so.”

Silence. Then she continued.

“He got me with the basketball.”

“The basketball?”

“I was walking across the alley, blocked off from the street by those.”

She pointed toward two large green dumpsters. Between us and the illusion of safety on Belmont.

“He came up out of nowhere. Dribbled the ball off his foot or his leg. Something like that. Right into the alley.”

I looked outside. A red, white, and blue ABA ball had rolled up against one of the iron girders that held up the El.

“You followed the ball,” I said.

“I took a step.”

“Anyone would. It’s instinct. He knew that.”

“You think so?” she said.

“Yeah, Jennifer. I think so.”

“He was behind, pushing me. With the knife. Put a hand over my mouth and started dragging me.”

I noticed a short set of stone steps cut into the side of the Belmont Arms. At the bottom of the steps was a wooden door. Looked like it had been kicked open a long time ago. My guess was that was where Jennifer Cole was supposed to wind up. Inside the cellar of the Belmont Arms, where assault would have ripened into rape and perhaps worse.

“How did you get away?”

“Scratched him. Bit him. He let go and I screamed. Then he ran.”

Jennifer’s voice was brittle to the point of dust. She showed me her teeth as if to prove she could bite. Then she started to cry. Quietly. Reluctantly. As if she needed permission. I waited. No idea what was next, what should be next.

“You get a look at him?”

She shook her head.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

“It’s not your fault, Jennifer.”

I didn’t know how else to comfort the girl behind the Plexi. She was evidence, waiting to be processed. Another case waiting to be worked. A burst from the squad’s police radio kicked the conversation forward.

“I think your parents are here,” I said. “I’m going to go up and find out. But first I need to ask you one more question. The bruises on your neck and arms. You didn’t get them today, did you?”

Jennifer looked down at her arms and shook her head.

“Who did that to you, Jennifer?”

She shrugged her shoulders and wiped her nose.

“My dad gets mad sometimes.”

“How mad, Jennifer?”

“Pretty mad, mister. Pretty fucking mad.”

I laid a business card flat against the Plexi.

“Jennifer.”

She looked up.

“You see this number?”

She nodded.

“Remember it. Call it anytime you have a problem. You understand what I mean?”

She nodded.

“You got the number memorized?”

She nodded again.

“Say it back to me.”

She did.

“Good. Remember the number and get through today. Tomorrow gets better.”

I left the girl the way I found her and walked to the front of the building. Nicole had just arrived.

“Your vic’s in the cruiser,” I said.

“Thanks. They told me you were here. That’s two assaults in two days. How did that happen?”

“Luck, I guess. You think they’re related?”

Nicole shrugged.

“Probably not. Both attackers used a knife to subdue. But this one was bold. Broad daylight on a busy street. Besides, this one killed.”

“Assault victim’s a kid, Nicole.”

“I know. We’ll get her some help. Where’s Vince?”

“Upstairs with the body. Victim says she scratched the guy and bit him on the hand. Might want to look for blood.”

Nicole shook her head.

“No blood yet. But we did find this.”

An evidence tech handed her a Baggie. Inside was a used condom.

“Where?”

“Back of the alley.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” I said. “The kid says she fought him off.”

“You mean she wasn’t penetrated.”

“That’s what I mean.”

Nicole handed the evidence back to her assistant.

“Happens a lot. These guys put on the condom before they attack. Then they get excited during the struggle. Lose control.”

“You think that’s what happened?”

Nicole shrugged.

“Could be. Good news is we get a profile to run through our database. See what comes back. Sounds like our victim’s a tough kid.”

“Don’t think she has much choice,” I said. “Check out the bruises on her face and neck.”

“From the assault?”

“From her old man. Sounds like he’s using the kid as a punching bag. Anyway, she’s scared of him.”

“We’ll look into it.”

“What does that mean?”

Nicole lifted her chin and folded her arms across her chest.

“It means Family Services will talk to her parents and do what they can. That’s all we can ask for, Michael.”

I didn’t see the point in pursuing it so I didn’t.

“Okay, I gotta run.”

Nicole wanted to say something more, but I was already out of the alley and across the street. They had strung out some crime-scene tape, and a small crowd was beginning to form behind it. Just inside the tape, a female cop was talking to a man in a cashmere overcoat.

“Yes, sir,” the cop said. “Your daughter is fine. She’s being examined right now and then you can see her.”

He was early forties, receding hairline, well on his way to a comb-over. A big guy but soft. Middle-class soft. Too many nachos, too much time on the couch. The coat, however, looked nice.

“You listen here,” he said. “My kid is back there. They tell me she was attacked. I want to see her, and I want to see her now.”

As he spoke, the man jabbed a fistful of fingers into the cop’s protective vest. The officer caught his hand and turned it in on itself. The man’s knees gave a bit. The cop spoke quietly and quickly.

“I understand you’re upset, sir. I understand that’s your daughter. But you’re going to play by the rules here. Rule number one. You touch me or any other officer again and we put the cuffs on you. Put you in the back of a cruiser. Are we clear?”

The cop didn’t wait for a response, didn’t need to. I moved up as she walked away. Jennifer’s father was still shaking his hand and mumbling to himself.

“Fucking bitch.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

I flashed what might have been a badge but wasn’t.

“What do you want?”

“You’re the victim’s father?”

“You going to let me see her?”

The arrogance was gone. In its place, the instinctive wariness of a coward.

“Take a walk over here, sir.”

I moved him away from the crowd, back under the elevated tracks. In just a few feet we were alone, at least alone enough.

“What do you want?”

Up close, his face was as soft as the rest of him. A part of me felt sorry for the man, for what he was about to endure with his child. That part of me, however, wasn’t part of this conversation.

“Your daughter, sir. She seems more scared of you than she does the man who just attacked her. By my way of thinking, that makes you one of two things. A pedophile or just another asshole who likes to punch up his kid. I’m voting for the latter, but what really matters is…what do you think?”

The guy could go one of two ways. Fear followed by denial. Or rage followed by denial. I wasn’t entirely surprised when he swore and made a lunge for the collar of my coat. He missed and fell to the pavement. I followed him down, slipping my left hand up under his neck, pulling him to his feet, and pinning him to the side of the building. With my right hand I flipped open the snap on my holster and took out my gun. I held it close between us. His eyes widened when he felt steel pressed against his body. I could smell urine and took a step back.

“Glad we got your attention,” I said. “I’ll make this real simple. They are going to put you in a room with some people from Family Services, DCFS, all that bullshit. Tell you how you need to control your temper around Jennifer, especially after all this trauma. You listen, don’t listen. I don’t give a damn.”

I tightened my grip a bit. His breath shortened to a wheeze, his eyes fastened on the black end of a nine millimeter. From the corner of my eye, I could see a part of the crowd, outside the tape, peeking at us through the girders. I moved my body between him and any potential audience.

“You hearing me?” I said. “Don’t speak, just nod.”

He popped his head once.

“I’m going to check up on Jennifer from time to time. See how she’s doing with school. You got any problems with that?”

A shake of the head.

“Good. I hear anything from her. Tomorrow, next week, next month, five years from now. Anything from Jennifer and I come find you. We talk again. Except this time, you eat a bullet. Tragic suicide. Chicago-style. You think it doesn’t happen in this city? Think again. Now get the fuck out of here and go make your daughter feel better.”

I dropped the guy where we stood. He fell to the ground and tried to cover up the suit he had already soiled. Then I walked back through the girders, down the alley, and under the crime scene tape.

Most people would say it was just a couple of bruises. I was out of line, overreacted, did more harm than good with the rough stuff. Most people, however, have never walked in a cop’s shoes. Never seen a ten-year-old sold by her pimp on a street corner, then stripped naked and beaten with a hot hanger. Or an eleven-year-old boy, chained to a radiator by his mom and fed dog food for kicks. Or a girl, all of thirteen, handcuffed to a mattress and forced to service men until she is so torn up inside, she dies on the way to the hospital. Most people don’t see any of that. Even a little bit of what adults can do to kids. So most people don’t overreact.

I found my way inside the El station, slipped through a turnstile and onto the platform. A couple of girls stood nearby, teenagers, listening to their iPods and talking at the same time. It was empty talk: school, boys, clothes, boys, movies, boys. I sat and listened. Never had anything so stupid sounded so good.