For those of you who automatically pressed the link to the third chapter, I would strongly advise going back and rereading the first two chapters as I have made some extreme changes.
The title of this chapter is from a Pink Floyd song Keep Talking.
Chapter Three: Why Won't You Talk to Me?
McDowell-Sipowicz Residence
Sunday, November 2, 2003
4:43 pm
"Connie McDowell," Connie greeted the caller. "Who's calling please?" She covered the mouthpiece and motioned for Andy to pick up the phone.
"Ha!" Theo said triumphantly. "You have to go down the chute."
Andy retrieved the phone from his girlfriend. "This is Detective Sipowicz."
Jasmyn groaned. "You got this game rigged or something."
"Dick Charleston," the person on the other end introduced himself. "Jasmyn's teacher."
"Yeah, I know," Andy replied, motioning the kids to be quiet. "Is she in some kind of trouble or is this just supposed to be a friendly chat?" My teachers never called students' houses. They just sent notes home.
"Actually, I was wondering if you'd received any weekly progress reports from Jasmyn."
" 'Weekly progress reports'?" the detective echoed. "What weekly progress reports?" Jasmyn took his words as her cue to hightail it out of the room. "Don't move!" he hissed. The nine-year-old shot a terrified glance in Theo's direction. The boy returned one of his Aww poor thing looks in hers.
"Thursday afternoons, the students receive a weekly progress report to be signed by the parent or guardian," Mr. Charleston explained.
Last time I checked, the week ended on Fridays. The teacher seemed to read Sipowicz's confusion. "I used to give them out of Fridays, but I learned that most students misplace the sheet over the weekend."
"No, I never got anything," Andy told him. "How many progress reports haven't been turned in to you?"
"She's been living with you for about two or three weeks now, right?" Charleston asked.
"Give or take," Sipowicz responded.
"I understand she's going through a rough transition in her life right now," Charleston said. "Losing her mother … the foster home … living with a relative she barely knows …"
"That's no excuse for not showing me them reports," Andy told the teacher. I was an abused child … my father was never around … people took advantage of me … I should get off easy for killing my neighbor. He wasn't about to let Jasmyn be allowed to use her mother's death as an excuse for her behavior. "Hold on a second." He covered the mouthpiece. "Where are them 'progress reports'?" he asked the quaking girl. She shrugged. "Jasmyn …"
"I threw them out," she mumbled.
"She got rid of them," he told the teacher.
"If you'd like, I'll send an extra copy home with her on Monday. I won't penalize …"
"Better to fax them to my office," Andy suggested. "And you can penalize her. Someone does something wrong they deserve to suffer the consequences." He gave the man the office fax number. "Sorry for all the trouble," he said before hanging up the phone. As soon as the conversation had ended, he turned to his granddaughter. "You mind telling me why you been hiding progress reports from me?"
"I dunno," she mumbled.
" 'I dunno' isn't a good enough excuse," he said.
"Maybe I don't feel like showin' you."
"Well, you'd better 'feel like showin'' me," Andy replied. "Or you'll be looking at some major punishments."
She shrugged and looked down. "I don't care."
"Oh? What's on them reports that you don't want me to see?"
"You're gonna see them now anyways," Jasmyn said. She turned to retreat into her and Theo's room.
"I want to hear it from you. You be honest and forthcoming with me, and I'll be more willing to cooperate with you. That's how it works."
"She ain't some perp," Theo broke in. Jasmyn tried not to grin.
"Don't you start defending her," Andy scolded.
"Maybe she had a good reason for not showing you," Theo continued.
"Then let her tell me that," his father responded. Just great …I got a lawyer here. "Jasmyn, if you been getting bad marks, tell me now. You get in more trouble for lying then you do for bad behavior."
"You ain't my momma," she spat out before slamming the bedroom door.
"Maybe you should let me talk to her," Connie suggested.
Andy nodded. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I can't seem to get through that thick skull of hers."
"The two of you are too much alike," she said.
"Bullheaded and stubborn. But I was never as bad as her …" Connie snorted her disapproval. "I was going to say 'when I was a kid'," he finished.
"She's testing you," she explained. "My mom died when I was eight. When my dad remarried, I was the biggest bitch to my stepmother. I still don't know how she put up with me. Part of me wanted to make sure that Donna wasn't replacing my mom, and another part of me didn't want to attach myself to someone who could be taken away from me. I didn't want to have to lose someone I cared about again."
"I see where you're coming from." Andy J … Bobby … Sylvia … Danny …He was glad Connie was there to be an objective observer. "So you think you might have a better chance at getting her to talk?"
"Like Theo said, she's not some perp," Connie said. "I'll try talking to her."
As he watched his girlfriend enter his son and granddaughter's room, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy. Jasmyn had taken an immediate liking to Theo, Connie, and the baby, but with Andy, she was as stubborn and standoffish as they come. Yeah, she's a Sipowicz all right.
* * *
NYU Medical Center
Monday, November 3, 2003
12:23 pm
John Clark, Jr. skimmed through the latest issue of Newsweek while he waited for Dr. Garrett to return with his blood test results. He had taken a blood test last week – at Rita's insistence – and was told to stop by Dr. Garrett's office for the results. "If it's bad news, just tell me straight out," he'd said. The doctor assured him that he preferred to give all results in person.
"Good afternoon, detective," Dr. Garrett said, walking into the exam room. He was clutching John's med chart in his hand. "How are you today?"
"I'm doing okay," John answered. But I've been better.
"Any more dizzy spells since the last time you were here?"
He nodded. "I almost fell down the stairs in the Precinct." Thank god Sipowicz wasn't there to see that. John Irvin was, though; he literally had to threaten the PAA to keep his mouth shut.
"I'm a little concerned with your test results," Dr. Garrett told him. The detective swallowed and waited for the doctor to continue. "The CBC showed a high amount of immature white blood cells and a low amount of red blood cells. That could be indicative of anemia …"
"You think I might be anemic?"
"That's one possibility," the doctor said. "Leukemia is another."
"You saying I have leukemia?"
"I didn't say you have leukemia," the doctor corrected. "I said there's a possibility. I'd have to do some more tests to rule it out. Do you have any time today?"
"No, I gotta get back to work."
"When does your shift end?"
"I'm on from eight to four."
"My office is open until five-thirty," the doctor said. "Would four-fifteen this Wednesday be good for you?"
"Yeah, I'll just leave a few minutes early."
He paid the deductible and dragged his feet to his car. He sank into the driver's seat and gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands. Dr. Garrett's words kept running around his mind like a runaway freight train. Leukemia … more tests …leukemia … more tests … He rubbed his temple. Don't jump to conclusions, he reminded himself. It could just be an iron deficiency or something. The flashing green numbers on the clock radio reminded him that he was late. He was meeting with Andy and Siena at the Lab at quarter to one; it was now five to, and he was at least ten more minutes away. He knew Andy would demand to know why he was late. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him about the fatigue, the dizziness, the blood tests, and the doctor's words ringing in his ears. But he couldn't. No sense having people worry about me – I can do that on my own.
* * *
15th Precinct Forensics Lab
Monday, November 3, 2003
1:14 pm
"See these abrasions? That signifies sexual assault," Dr. Hill explained to Detective Sipowicz. "And the ripped fingernails – she fought with her attacker."
"I noticed the ripped nails," Sipowicz told her. You crime shrinks always gotta state the obvious, don't you? "But she was struck in the back of the head, not the front."
"He got pissed off. Raping her wasn't enough, so he bashed her head in a few times for good measure." She pointed to track marks cris-crossing the arms and legs. "Heavy user," she commented. "Most likely heroin – she weighs less than ninety pounds."
They looked up when the door squeaked open. "Nice to see you again," Andy called out sarcastically to his younger partner. "You were supposed to meet us here at quarter to."
"I had something to take care of," Clark told him.
"What do you mean 'something to take care of'? We've been waiting over half an hour for you."
"I mean it's none of your business," he shot back. "Hey, Siena," he greeted the forensic psychologist.
"You got a watch?" she asked. "12:45 means 12:45."
"Lay off," he hissed.
Andy's cell phone rang, granting John temporary reprieve. "Sipowicz," he greeted the caller.
"Ortiz and McDowell just picked up a missing person case," Rodriguez informed him. "The victim matches your DOA's description."
"These people are just now stepping forward? This girl's been dead at least three months now."
"Their daughter ran away from Poughkeepsie six months ago," Rodriguez explained. "The detective on the case recognized your DOA's description and thought it might pertain to his case."
"What's the runaway's name?"
"Meredith Crandall, age seventeen."
"We'll do a check." He hung up the phone and repeated the new development to the others.