Taylor woke up to the bass line and the smooth alto voice of Evelyn Champagne King crooning 'Kisses don't lie'. This meant one thing: She was happy, so happy he didn't want to burst her bubble with letters he'd been keeping from her. She was a sight: swaying and two-stepping like she was in a time warp from the late 80s. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her dance; he forgot she even knew how.
"Morning Ma," he slid onto a stool at the counter island and watched her cook and sway from side to side while she made breakfast. John was out of sight but his effect was written all over her face.
"Morning Tay." She spoke melodically and hummed along with the song.
"It smells good. Really good." His mouth watered at the welcome alternative to Paul's scrambled leftovers and Monique's Chia seed smoothies. "Can I help?"
She replied, flipping a pancake. "You can help with Isabella's problem. Tell me stuff I won't find on record."
"Her dad won some money about two months ago. It wasn't the big prize, but big enough."
"How much?"
"100,000 dollars."
"Lottery?"
"Scratch card."
"And the text messages started six weeks ago." That's no coincidence, she thought. "How about her uncle? Have you met him?"
"No, he's not around much. He's been looking for a job since he got out."
"What's the deal with her ex-boyfriend?"
"Mom." Taylor said with a tone bordering on irritation and jealousy. In times like this Joss understood why his grandma said he was 'acting mannish'.
"If she was anyone else I'd be looking at everyone close to her, you included."
"But I brought her to you."
"Yes, and you're her boyfriend. It doesn't get much closer than that at seventeen. Does it?"
He sighed, knowing he had asked her to be a cop, not his mother. "He cheated on her. A lot. That's why they broke up. It still gets to her."
She poured three glasses of orange juice. From that Taylor knew for sure they weren't alone. "You did the right thing bringing her to me, I'm proud of you Taylor. " She pushed the plate of pancakes, bratwurst, eggs, spinach and mushrooms towards him. "Bon appetit."
He stared down at the plate and repeated their inside joke. "Grace."
She chuckled. "Grace."
John emerged like a vampire with little sound, his facial scar was starting to crust over. Taylor admired his battle scars and wondered how hard he had to hit someone for his knuckles to go purple and green like that. "Did I interrupt?"
"No, we were just catching up. You look better."
"I should." Taylor enjoyed sitting in on their conversations, it made him feel like he wasn't in the dark.
"You're still the World's Worst Patient."
"If you desire healing, let yourself fall ill. Rumi." Taylor noticed they were doing the dance with no music again; the ebb and flow of their rhythmic speech, pulling each other in,drawing each other out.
She dished up a plate. "The least you could do is eat."
And eat he did. "This...mmm...great." Taylor and Joss suppressed laughter watching John eating like a wolf, moaning with appreciation and barely stopping for air. It dawned on her that he hadn't eaten properly for days and was used to periodic deprivation. With the last bite he unceremoniously downed the glass of orange juice in one go. "I have some business to tend to."
"On Sunday morning?" Taylor asked defensively, irritated at John for bailing on his mom after his latest unexplained absence. Not that they ever explained to him where John was, or what he did. When John wasn't around, Taylor read his mother and how well she was taking it and use that as a measure for how annoyed he should be.
"Taylor." Joss took note of the tension in his tone: he was squaring up to John and it wasn't the first time.
"I'm looking into the trouble your girlfriend's been having."
Taylor backed down. "Oh, thanks."
"No thanks necessary. I'm here to help."
"What should I tell her?"
"Tell her Joss is taking care of it."
Joss followed him out to the fire escape. She wasn't satisfied with his present condition but at least he was upright and cognisant, albeit sleep-deprived.
"While you were sleeping I looked up that college ex of hers in D.C. His brother's a mall cop moonlighting as a private bodyguard."
"He may be looking for a new client? Her parents just came into some money."
"You can't put a price on your safety. Or your kids'."
"I hear that."
"I'll pay him a visit, see what I can find." John's attempt at a smooth exit was shot down.
"One day you're gonna tell me where you were and what happened to you. And why you're self-medicating."
He couldn't feel the sheet of codeine pills anywhere on his person and the surprise on his face quickly turned to resignation. "It's for the pain."
She put her hand on his chest, taking his heartbeat in. "You'll tell me about that too."
"I've got to go." Joss realised another number had come in.
"John, promise you'll call if you need me."
He kissed her forehead. "You know where to find me."
Monday, 4:50am. Apartment 26b, Metro North Plaza, East Harlem.
"They found the body at 3.30am this morning, an anonymous call was made; neighbours heard fighting then screaming."
"Good morning to you too Fusco," Joss said as she put on her latex gloves and scanned the dead body of the white male, Roy Bates, in his late twenties with her eyes. "Multiple stabbings to the torso. One stabbing in the forearm."
"The victim tried to defend himself."
"And the blood? That's a lot of spatter, like the perp didn't know what they were doing."
"That's because the perp is a 12-year-old girl. The daughter. The CSI bagged the murder weapon – a kitchen knife with her prints all over it."
"Any other finds?"
"Blood and hair. There are three different bloods on the scene: the victim's, the ex-wife's and the daughter's. The CSI found a clump of mousy brown hair."
Joss observed the family pictures on the shelf. She noticed that Roy only appeared in two pictures: a faded family portrait dating back at least five years and a wedding picture with Roy's two fingers behind Leanne's bleach-blonde head. "How old is the mom? 30?"
"26 with a 12-year-old daughter Taryn and 9- and 10-year-old sons, Brayden and Kenzie."
"3 kids at 17. To think I had my hands full with Taylor. Where are the kids?"
"The boys are at the precinct with their mom giving their statements. The DCFS will place them in temporary foster care for the investigation. The daughter ran."
"Then we have to find that little girl, and find out why she stabbed her father to death."
"Yeah. About that..."
"What? How many officers were assigned to this case?"
"Two."
"Okay, so we'll send one to the DCFS – we need those case files."
"We are the two officers."
"Come on Fusco."
"It's East Harlem, she's a waitress and the family's had four caseworkers since Taryn was born..."
"So we've got no resources because someone decided they're white trash? But if Pollyanna Prep School was missing..."
"We've got you Carter. And that fire."
"Alright, I'll canvas the neighbours and find out who called 5-0."
"That's the spirit."
8th precinct, 12:25pm.
"Hey Fusco,what'd you find?"
"Taryn was diagnosed with Oppositional Defiant Disorder at age 7. It's characterised by stubbornness, argumentativeness, aggression, defiance of authority and out of control tantrums past young childhood. Also known as ODD. Or Bart Simpson Syndrome." He handed her a tall black coffee.
"You sound like you swallowed the DSM. What else did the therapist tell you?"
"That Cognitive Behavioural Therapy is a more effective and longer lasting form of behaviour modification than medication."
"Nice."
"School records show a reduction in behavioural incidents since Taryn was assigned to her."
"Is there a link between ODD and murder?"
"There isn't enough research. Taryn trusts her. She told her she resented her father for deserting the family, blamed him for being poor and generally hated his guts. Her therapist also mentioned an inappropriate relationship with an older boy. She doesn't have many friends."
"This gets worse by the hour."
"Couldn't get the family case file from the DCFS, huh?"
"It's not even computerised, Caseworker #4 promised to get it to me today. I'm not holding my breath."
"Any news from the neighbours?"
"I found our caller. Beryl Andrews, 82, lives next door. Known for calling the police for someone to talk to."
"You're kidding."
"The dispatchers know her by name. She lives alone and her kids don't visit so she sees Leanne as
"her own daughter. Beryl told me Taryn usually runs away after fights with her mother, violent fights. The DCFS found she was reasonably restraining her daughter. Leanne took court-appointed parenting classes and has held down a job for eight years so the children have never been removed from her care. Until today."
"So Beryl's Team Leanne?"
"She sheds a different light on it, that's all."
"For the record: we didn't have ODD when I was a kid. We had do as I say not as I do."
"We had The Look... and whuppings."
"Ma was a Samurai with the wooden spoon."
Joss laughed. "In all seriousness, we need to find her. So assuming she didn't plan to kill her father, what could have taken her over the edge?"
Dio Buono Pizzeria, Flatlands, Brooklyn. 5:15pm
"Shaun De Mercurio." Shaun looked over his shoulder, and dropped the trash bags he was holding. Joss flashed her badge. "I'm Detective Carter, this is Detective Fusco."
"Detective? I don't get it."
"How about you toss the trash then come for a walk with us?"
"Wait. What have I done?"
Fusco showed him a picture of Taryn on his phone. "Your girlfriend. Where is she?"
"Is Holly in trouble?"
"Holly?" Joss asked.
"Yeah Holly – she was born on Christmas day. You know like deck the halls with..."
Joss laughed with incredulity. "When did you last see Holly?"
"On Saturday, we hung out before my shift. A-a-a-am I in trouble?"
"That depends on whether you committed a misdemeanor sexual offence with Taryn. That's her name, not Holly."
"A misde...What's that?"
Fusco informed him while prodding him towards the car. "It's a sexual offence committed by a person under the age of 18, with a minor under age 13."
"What the..."
"She's 12 Shaun." Joss filled in the gaps for him. "12 years and 5 months old. And you're 17. So if you had sex with her it may not be a felony but it's still a crime. We can discuss that further at the Precinct." Joss opened the back door of their squad car.
"Wait. I didn't know she was 12. I swear. I mean does she look 12 to you?" Joss and Fusco looked at each other in amazement. "I met her at the Brick three months ago, she seemed nice, really nice and..."
"What's the Brick?" Fusco asked.
"A movie theatre on Foster Ave." Shaun replied, eager to be helpful.
"That doesn't ID kids and sells pirates for 50 cents in the basement." They both looked at her, puzzled. "My son tried to watch The Hangover 2 there. Shaun, get in the car."
"Please. I'll do anything, I don't want to go to jail."
"Call her." Fusco ordered. "Tell her your manager let you off early and you want to meet her tonight."
"Where?"
"At the Brick."
Shaun's hand shook as he scrolled for her number in his phone. "H-h—h" Shaun cleared his throat. "Holly...Jamie cut my shift short again...I know, he's a douchebag...Can you meet me at the Brick? In like twenty minutes...Okay."
8th Precinct, 7.50pm
Joss had read through the long-awaited case file from the Social Worker twice.
"It reads like a bad cable movie huh?" Fusco asked from across the desk. He was texting his son.
"If it was at least there'd be a happy ending."
"She's a murder suspect, Carter."
"I need to see the mother. Something about this just doesn't feel right."
"If you have to. My report is done, I'm going to Toys R Us – Lee's coming over for the weekend."
"I see he suckered another video game out of you, huh?"
"Night Carter. Don't stay too late."
"Night Partner."
Joss sat across from Leanne in the Interrogation room. Her hair was matted and she looked beaten from the day' events.
"They already took my statement. And my kids. I'm just waiting here for new about Taryn."
"She's was transferred to the nearest Juvenile Detention Centre."
"75 miles away, what am I supposed to do? Call a cab?" Joss placed a sports drink on the table. Leanne looked at her with disgust. "Have you got kids?"
"Yes."
"How would you feel if your child was in a cage?"
"Terrible." Satisfied with that response, Leanne took a sip.
"I've read through your statement Leanne. There's something that doesn't sit right with me. 'When she first saw her father she was mad because he came back, looking good and well dressed when her clothes are always out of style. She started screaming about having to eating macaroni every night while he looked like he just put away a fat steak. Taryn lost it, it was like the old days. She was out of control'. But that's not the whole truth is it Leanne?"
"Taryn has problems."
"Yes she does. And so do you. You last filled your prescription for beta blockers a month ago. But you only took three days worth, why?"
"I'm due a new prescription. I had a bad reaction to that brand."
"But not in the eighteen months prior?" Leanne didn't respond. "I think you stopped taking them for the same reason Taryn lost it last night: you're pregnant. Your blood was on the scene, from your struggle with Taryn – when you tried to pull her off her father. What happened? Roy came back and said you'd all be a family again?"
8.45pm – Joss' Apartment
Joss turned in, exhausted and drained from the day's events. She could barely get the key in. The light was still on in the living room and the TV was on mute but Taylor wasn't on the couch.
"John." She sank into the couch beside him, and rested her chin on his shoulder so she could look up at him. He inhaled her jasmine scent for comfort. "How's my patient doing?" She half-joked.
"I missed the best part of my recovery."
"What's that?"
"You didn't kiss it better."
"You should be so lucky." He knelt before her and took off her boots. She rubbed the back of his neck and stared into his eyes. He swore she could see right through him. "Any luck with the treasure hunt?"
"I came up empty. Her ex is an attention seeker, not a stalker. And it turns out the brother, Marquise, is just a hard-working guy with two jobs. Tough economy."
"Which leaves us back at square one."
"Not exactly."
"What is it?"
"The number. 231-62-0483."
"Whose is it?" She asked, looking over his shoulder. Distracted by the three envelopes and letters addressed to Taylor N. Carter on the coffee table, she didn't hear his response. She skimmed through the important parts: Name, date, logo, decision.
January 21st 2015
University of Pennsylvania
"We are unable to offer you admission..."
February 9th 2015
Georgetown University
"I am sorry to report that...your application has been denied."
March 3rd 2015
New York University
"I regret to inform you..."