“No. At least not completely. Obviously, I’ve not lived here since I graduated, so I don’t have as good of a pulse on the town as you do, but I know her stepbrother, and he’s a fucking bully. If she is the mother, I understand why she’d want him nowhere near the child.”
“That’s my take on the situation as well.” Chief Carter leans back into his seat, causing it to squeak.
The scent of coffee wafts through the room even though the door is closed. That’s one thing that isn’t different from a city police station–we’re all fueled by coffee or some other caffeine substitute.
“We’re a safe haven state, but with the mother not dropping off the baby, and no proof of who wrote the note, we’re obligated to investigate the abandonment to ensure the baby isn’t stolen.”
My insides shudder at the possibility. “If the mother is out there missing her baby….” I trail off. The enormity of the situation remains a giant shitshow hanging around the office like an albatross.
“Of course, from the angle we’re able to see, we can’t guarantee it was this boy who left the baby either because all that’s visible is a portion of his face.”
Okay, the likelihood that either or both those things are true is slim but in the court of law, all he needs is slim to keep us from putting the necessary pressure on him to get some answers.
“We also only have two numbers from the license plate.”
“He denied he was even in Brookhaven that day when I contacted him. Claimed to know nothing about the situation.” Chief Carter’s jaw clenches as he inhales. “The baby is detoxing from drugs, but she’s doing fine.”
“Meth?” I was afraid of that.
“Yes, meth and pills. Thankfully, no opiates.”
My hands ball into fists. “That’s one reason the mother doesn’t want to come forward. She’s not going to want charged with endangering.”
“Yes. I hate that we’re touched by those types of things, but even small towns aren’t exempt from the mess that drugs bring.” Chief Carter lifts a discarded pen from his desk and absently taps the end on the wooden structure.
“I can contact him again.” I drop my foot down to the floor. “Maybe he’s ready to tell the truth.”
“Go on.” He waves his hand toward the door. “Give him a call. Actually, he might break easier in person. Why don’t you drive into the city and talk to him face to face. You won’t have any authority to arrest him so if he says something incriminating, call for local backup.”
“On it.” My heart pangs at the thought of the baby lying in the hospital with no family to claim it. No mother worrying about how her drug use left her baby in withdrawal. I’ll never understand it.
*****
Thirty Minutes Later
I shove the gearshift of my police cruiser into park and survey the dilapidated two-story home. The steps to the front porch are partially rotted with boards hanging down, exposing a gaping hole to the space under the porch. A large brown and white dog sticks its head out from the dark recesses and howls.
So much for the element of surprise.
In the driveway, there’s a junked out two-door car and a four-door sedan with the two matching numbers to the plate seen in the surveillance feed.
As I navigate the sidewalk, the dog jumps out from under the steps. Shit. My heart races in my chest as I raise my hands, palms facing outward and stop in mid-step. “Hey boy, I’m not here to hurt you.” I keep my voice low and soft to signal my lack of threat.
The dog sits on its haunches and throws its head back, howling a continuous tune that has the closest neighbor shovinga curtain back and staring out the window. When they see my uniform and patrol car, the curtain slams back shut.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand. This is not the welcoming part of town.
When the front door yanks opens, a white-haired man wearing a dingy undershirt and a frown that covers his face. He walks onto the porch with a decided limp on the left side. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Sir, my name is Jake Thompson from the Brookhaven Police Department.”
“You don’t have any jurisdiction here in Kansas City. What’re you doing here?”
The dog lurches forward and yelps when it reaches the end of its chain. The loud yowl is followed by the animal creeping back a step without breaking its attention from me as if it hopes I don’t notice the limit to his territory.
When he snarls and his white canines flash in the afternoon sunshine, I’m under no illusion that if the dog was able to get away it wouldn’t be on top of me growling and biting.
“Dex, shut the fuck up!” the man screams at the dog who lowers to a sitting position and wrinkles its lip. Two houses down, another dog barks in answer to Dex’s. Dex? He looks like a Dexter. A nice canine serial killer.
