The Betrayed, page 4
“Absolutely,” Ms. Collins said. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
Rae spoke up. “If I can begin, I’d like to know, do you work for the Burke Foundation?” Rae’s gaze shifted to the desk, and I noticed the glossy white folder with the words ‘Burke Foundation’ on it.
“Oh no,” Ms. Collins said, putting a hand to her chest. “I work for the city, though we do get supplemental funding from the Foundation. All the shelters on the East Side are funded, at least partially, by the Foundation. The system would probably collapse without them.”
“When was the last time you saw Fanny?”
“Last Sunday at dinner. I don’t normally drop in, but I was overloaded with paperwork that weekend and spent most of my time here. Fanny was at supper, as usual, and seemed happy.”
“Did you speak to her?”
Ms. Collins’ face took on a hurt expression. “No… I didn’t. I wish I had taken the time.”
“Ms. Collins, did Fanny have any enemies?” I asked.
Collins shifted uncomfortably. “No ‘enemies,’ per se, but it was well known that Fanny and Valerie Grimes didn’t get along.”
I thought about that for a moment. Jerome had also had some unflattering things to say about Grimes. Might be worth looking into, I thought.
Rae jumped in. “Were they violent toward each other?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Collins said, looking appalled at the suggestion. “Valerie is too professional to let a personal bias influence her work… though, I must admit, they generally kept away from each other.”
“Anyone else she didn’t get along with?” Rae asked.
“Not that I know of,” she said. “Fanny kept to herself, mostly. She was—is—a very quiet person.”
“You don’t think anything bad has happened to her?” Rae asked.
“Well… I don’t know. I mean, she’s only been missing for a week, we haven’t even cleaned out her room yet. It’s hard to believe that she’s gone gone, you know? And no one knows what happened to the other missing folks, so I guess I prefer to believe they are all okay, wherever they are.”
She paused, then smiled brightly and added, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy as a clam to see you all looking for her.”
I nodded. Rae broke in again in the ensuing pause.
“Did she have any close friends, anyone here on staff she was close to?”
“No, not really, though everyone here is fond of her. She’s been here a long time, and has come a long way. We were fast tracking her for a job at the center and an apartment in the new low-income housing development. She was so close,” Collins finished, real frustration in her eyes.
“No chance she would have just up and left, then,” Rae stated more than asked.
“Well,” Collins said, doubt in her voice, “there’s always some chance, as heartbreaking as it is. Fanny, like a lot of our residents, was battling a lot of emotional issues and has a history of substance abuse. She’s been clean for a long time, but with an addict, there’s always the chance of relapse.”
“That said, Fanny was so excited about getting her own place and trying to live a normal life again. At her age, she thought she would be homeless for the rest of her life. I’ve seen people throw it all away before, but I never thought Fanny would.”
I broke in. “How old was she?”
“Forty-six,” Ms. Collins answered, “and I have to tell you, that’s an age of no hope for a homeless woman. She has no hope of getting married, no hope of starting a new career, no hope of ever having children, and most, like Fanny, don’t have any hope of finding even a menial job. That’s why most of our employees here are middle-aged women who used to be in the same situation. Helping other homeless people is a great job for them, and it gives them a sense of purpose—makes them feel good inside knowing they are helping people just like they used to be.”
Gently, I asked, “Have you or any of your staff gone looking for her at her old haunts?”
“If you mean did we go looking in crack houses and such, no. It’s far too dangerous, and there are hundreds of them in this city. It’s a wild goose chase most of the time. But I did mention it to the police.”
I considered this for a moment. Rae spoke up before I got my thoughts in order.
“Ms. Collins, can you tell us what Fanny’s drug of choice was? I know it’s personal, but it may help.”
Collins looked Rae over, thinking for a long moment before speaking.
“Legally, I can’t give you any real details, but I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tell you she was an alcoholic.”
I nodded and wrote this down.
“Would it be possible for us to look through her things? It might help us figure out what happened to her.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. We have a very strict privacy policy on residents’ personal items,” she said.
I thought for a moment. “What happens to their personal items if they don’t return?”
Collins was taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly. “Well… after a week, we usually clear their space. Sometimes we keep the items in storage if we truly believe they are going to return, but usually, we throw them away.”
I stared at Collins for a moment, then softly said, “Do you think Fanny is coming back?”
Collins stared back, pain in her eyes. After a moment, she shook her head.
Very gently, I asked, “How long did you say she’s been gone for?”
A light went on behind Collins’s eyes as recognition hit. She cast a glance at the doorway, then looked back at us conspiratorially. She leaned forward, and in a low voice, barely above a whisper, added, “I’ll have her stuff thrown in the dumpster out back. It will be in a bright yellow plastic bag. You can’t miss it.”
Collins locked eyes with me, saying, “If you find anything, please let us know.”
I smiled. “Of course.”
Half an hour and one dumpster dive later, I had the bag and was back out in my cruiser with Rae. Digging through Fanny’s meager possessions, we found toiletries and other personal items, as well as another three lollipops, which I dutifully bagged. I pulled out a small plastic bag full of single-use syringes and handed it over to Rae.
“What do you make of this?”
She looked at it for a moment, then handed it back. “Think she was a junkie?”
“Wouldn’t be particularly surprising,” I said.
“No, but it also doesn’t mesh with Collins’ description of her.”
I shrugged and dug around some more, coming up with one additional curiosity: A medic alert card with Fanny Gareau’s name on it.
“Says here she was diabetic,” I said, handing the card over.
Rae examined the card. “That might explain the syringes, depending on how severe her diabetes was.”
“Something to ask about next time we speak to Ms. Collins.”
Rae jerked her head up as if something had just occurred to her.
“Let’s drop back by the Poydras Street shelter.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Just a hunch,” she said, “trust me.”
I studied her a moment, then put the car in gear.
At the Poydras shelter, there was much more activity as the homeless filed in to get their bunks for the night. I parked out on the street and followed Rae up to the building.
Instead of entering, Rae began canvassing the sidewalk, looking for something.
“What are we searching for?” I asked her.
“Remember that symbol at Washington Square?”
I nodded, catching on. “I’ll take the left side of the door, you take the right?”
She gave me a thumbs up, and we both began scouring the sidewalk.
After fifteen minutes, I had covered my side of the sidewalk all the way to Saint Charles Avenue, finding nothing that stood out. I made my way back over to Rae, who was nearing Camp Street.
“Anything?” I asked.
She didn’t turn around, but shook her head once. Reaching the edge of the sidewalk, she let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping. Finally, she turned to face me.
“Sorry, Rev. I felt so sure we’d find one here.”
“Any reason in particular?”
She shook her head once again. “Just a hunch. Nothing I can put my finger on. Just feels right, you know?”
I sighed. “Maybe it’s time to grab some grub and call it a day,” I said. “Get a game plan for tomorrow.”
She looked at me, disappointment clear in her eyes, and nodded.
As I opened the door to the cruiser, a shadow on the curb caught my eye, so I stopped, squinting. After a moment, I shut the car door and walked back over to the curb.
Rae’s voice rang out behind me. “Rev? What is it?”
I reached the curb and squatted down. And there it was. The symbol, painted on the vertical side of the curb, straight across from the door to the shelter.
Since it was nearby, I drove us to Dookie Chase’s for dinner. The place was packed as usual, but we managed to get a table after a brief wait. The hostess seated us in a corner, surrounded on two sides by framed prints and photographs paying tribute to prominent black leaders.
Rae looked from the photos to me. “Did all these famous people eat here?” she asked.
I nodded. “Dookie’s was a big part of the civil rights movement back in the day. They say MLK and Al Davis both used to hold strategy sessions here.”
“Amazing,” she said. “Food must be good, then.”
“You are in for a treat,” I said, unable to keep the grin from my face.
The waitress, a wafer-thin black woman with an abundance of energy, appeared at the table.
“I get you folks some drinks?” she asked in a southern drawl, smiling pleasantly.
“Tea for me, miss,” I replied.
“Just water for me,” Rae added.
The waitress bustled away, so Rae went back to perusing the menu. I left mine on the table—I’d known what I wanted before I’d walked through the door. Sitting back, I watched Rae try to pick from all the Creole favorites.
She looked up at me and arched an eyebrow. “You’ve clearly been here before,” she said. “What do you recommend?”
“Well, I always get the fried chicken,” I said. “But truth be told, you can’t go wrong with anything here.”
She looked back down at her menu for a few more moments, then closed it and returned her attention to me.
“So, what do you think so far?” she asked.
“About the case?”
“Yep.”
I scratched my chin. “We’ve got six missing people, all of widely varying ages and sexes, from five different locations. As far as clues, we have a few pieces of candy, a torn photo, a medic alert card, and a weird fucking symbol.”
“If I were still in the force, I’d probably say this was the work of at least five separate perps, just because it doesn’t seem to match any pattern. As you know, most kidnappings and murders are performed by people who are acquainted with the victims, but when you’ve got so many people with different backgrounds, that seems unlikely.”
Rae agreed. “The only thing they seem to have in common is that they were all homeless.”
“That, and the church. Father Kelly knows them all, somehow.”
Rae cocked her head. “You think Father Kelly is in on it?”
I shook my head. “That makes no sense. Father Kelly is the one who arranged funding and hired me. Why would he do that if he were a part of the kidnappings?”
“Maybe he’s one of those psychos who secretly wants to be caught,” she said.
I thought for a moment. “Could be,” I said, “but it doesn’t feel right.”
Rae shrugged. “Intuition isn’t always right, Rev.”
Don’t I know it, I thought, remembering Coventry and that damn jar. I conceded the point. “What about this Grimes lady?”
Rae thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Seems as likely as anyone else. She didn’t like Fanny, and Jerome said she was mean, though when your source is a ten-year-old boy, that could just mean she slapped his wrist for swearing.”
I agreed, letting out a breath and stewing on it for a moment.
Rae interrupted my deliberations. “Rev? What if there is no perp?”
“You mean, what if these people just ran off on their own?”
“Exactly.”
I considered the question. “I think that would make sense for every victim except Marcus.”
It was Rae’s turn to ponder for a moment. “What if he went back home?”
I shook my head. “Remember what Jerome said? He hated his folks.”
“What if Jerome misread the situation? He is only ten.”
I thought about it. A one-sided friendship wasn’t out of the question, but Jerome clearly felt some responsibility for his friend. It didn’t seem likely that Jerome hadn’t looked for Marcus, and like the old man said, everybody knew Jerome.
“Where would Marcus have gone that Jerome couldn’t find him?” I asked.
Rae thought for a long moment before sighing and shaking her head in defeat.
I deliberated a little more, finally coming to a decision. “Either way, I think interviewing Kelly and Grimes is probably how we should start tomorrow.”
Chapter 5
Burke Foundation
New Orleans, Louisiana: 7:45 AM, Tuesday, October 16th, 1984
Iwoke to synthesizers and some dude singing about looking for a purple banana till they put him in a truck. I snapped the cheap clock/radio off and sat up in bed.
I had booked another room at the Court, room 104 this time, which was bedecked in a ‘60s theme, down to the tattered furniture, psychedelic carpet loud enough to require earplugs, and ancient black-and-white TV with aluminum-foil-covered bunny ears.
I slid my feet onto the carpet and went to work on my bum knee, massaging until I felt the muscles loosen and the knee unlock. Then I got up and got ready for the day.
Half an hour later, I jumped into the cruiser and began the drive to Saint Christina’s. Rae had said she would meet me there at eight-thirty, and I was just barely going to make it.
I pulled up to the curb to find Rae leaning up against the stone wall of the church, smoking a cigarette and holding a cup of something steaming, probably coffee. I exited the cruiser and crossed the street, more than a little upset at myself for not at least stopping to grab coffee. A sausage biscuit or seven would have been nice too, my rumbling stomach added.
“Mornin’,” Rae called between puffs.
I nodded and stopped in front of her. She took a last drag, then crushed the butt under one heel. “Shall we?” she asked, making a motion toward the door.
Inside, Father Kelly was halfway down the aisle, speaking softly to two older parishioners as altar boys moved about performing obscure tasks. A few other worshipers graced the benches, in prayer or quiet contemplation.
As we approached, Father Kelly’s eyes flitted to us briefly, and he nodded before returning to his parishioners. I took a moment to admire the sprawling fresco on the ceiling of the nave. It appeared to depict a rebirth of sorts. A woman—presumably Saint Christina herself based on the halo around her head—was levitating above an empty, open coffin. Priests and onlookers gathered around, gazing up at her in astonishment.
Kelly’s voice brought me back to the present. “A lover of art, Mr. Parata?”
I pulled my gaze away, focusing on Kelly, who was now alone and standing before me.
I shrugged. “More just trying to figure out the story.”
Kelly’s face brightened. “Saint Christina the Astonishing is a very interesting saint. This mural depicts her as a young woman, being resurrected. She floated to the ceiling of church and told those attending that she couldn’t stand the stench of sin upon them!” Kelly barked a laugh. “She spent the rest of her life destitute and suffering, accepting any and all tortures to relieve those tortured souls in the afterlife.”
“Seems fitting that her church is trying to help the homeless,” Rae said.
Kelly nodded. “Indeed. Speaking of the homeless, have you any news?”
“Not yet,” I answered. “We would like to ask you a few more questions, though, if you have time.”
“Of course. Right this way.”
With that, Father Kelly turned and led us back past the pulpit to a warren of corridors. Eventually, we arrived at a small, tidy office, where nearly everything appeared to be antique. The space was lit by a single lamp on Kelly’s desk, and was shrouded in gloom.
“Please, have yourselves a seat,” he offered as he took a seat behind a beautiful mahogany desk.
I glanced down at the antique chairs skeptically as Rae slid into one.
Clearly noticing my hesitance, Father Kelly spoke up. “Mr. Parata, that chair has survived over a hundred years of overweight clergy bums. I suspect it will handle yours just fine.”
I arched an eyebrow. “And if it doesn’t?”
“Then ‘twas the Lord’s will, and I’ll pull another out of storage,” he answered with a wry grin.
I snorted and sat. The chair groaned, but remained in one piece.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the baggies containing a sucker. I laid it on the edge of the desk. “Do you recognize this?”
“Of course, those are the lollipops we hand out. They’re pretty popular with the tykes, and some of the homeless are rather fond as well. Would you like one?” he asked, reaching into his pocket.
“Sure,” Rae responded, and I nodded.
Father Kelly slid two suckers across the table. I carefully grabbed mine by the tip of the stick and slid it into an empty pocket in my jacket. Rae tore the wrapper off of hers and popped it right into her mouth.
I arched an eyebrow at her, and she winked in reply.
“Is there something wrong with the candies?” Father Kelly asked, eyes moving from me to Rae and back again.
I shook my head. “They’re just one of the things we found at several of the campsites. We are just running it down.”
“Well, I suspect you would find them on at least half of the homeless in the sixth ward, and probably the fifth as well. I hand them to all comers, and some of the Foundation staff probably do as well. I’m fond of them myself—they are quite tasty.”
