Chapter 13
Mitch’s Wednesday morning began with a visit to Child Protective Services to talk to a caseworker about one of his ongoing investigations.
Three young children, living with their mother and her boyfriend, had gone to neighbors asking for help after being beaten black and blue and bloody.
One of them was still in the hospital recovering from a head injury.
Now at his desk in the CAP unit, Mitch finished writing his report on the status of the case for the assistant DA who would be prosecuting the two offenders. His own report left him depressed and feeling pessimistic about the redemption of humankind.
The only tonic for this particular type of despair was to talk to Andrew, whose laughter was like a reboot, a refresher. He called Mary, and she put Andrew on.
Mitch chatted with his son for about ten minutes before Mary came back on the line. He remarked on Andrew’s crankiness. “Don’t take it personally,” she said. “He’s had a busy morning and needs a nap.”
“He told me something about a bunny rabbit, but the details escaped me.”
“They had one at the preschool roundup. Andrew was fixated on it. We had trouble moving him along to other—”
“Hey, back up a minute. What preschool?”
“We can talk about it when you’re not busy.”
“I’m not busy now.”
He could visualize her straightening her shoulders and taking a breath in preparation to tell him something she had procrastinated about.
“We’ve enrolled him in the fall semester of the parish’s preschool.
Today was the first of three roundups. They’re like orientations for first-timers to become familiar with the school environment and get to know their teacher before the start of the semester, which is the week after Labor Day. ”
Mitch had listened in stunned silence while, with every word, his fury had increased exponentially. By the time she’d finished what had sounded like a scripted explanation, he was seeing red. He also doubted that Hank had played any part in this. There was no we. She had enrolled Andrew.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You—”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Mitch.”
“You enrolled my son in preschool before consulting me?”
“I had to grab a spot. They were filling up quickly.”
“Too quickly for you to make a phone call?”
She didn’t respond to that. “It’ll be good for him, Mitch. He’ll learn social skills, how to interact with other children. It’s only two mornings a week. I know the teacher of his age group. She’s a very nice lady and great with the kids. You have no reason to get angry over this.”
“Too late. I’m already angry, Mary, and I have every reason to be.”
“The school has a wonderful program.”
“I’m sure it does. I’m not against the school, or the idea of it. I’m angry at you for taking it upon yourself to do this without one single mention of it to me. I’m his father, goddamn it!”
“An absent father.” The harshness with which she’d fired back seemed to surprise even her. It was a moment before she continued. “Andrew is now at an age where your absence could affect his development. Socially, emotionally, the way he perceives and forms relationships, every way.”
This was the first time she’d ever said anything like that to him, and it made him irate. It also made his blood run cold.
“Mitch?”
He swiveled his head around. John was beckoning him from the door of his office. Mitch pointed to his phone and held up his index finger, asking to be given a minute.
“Mary, I have to go, but we’re not done talking about this. Not by a long shot.”
“Mitch,” she sighed. “I know you love Andrew.”
He wasn’t about to gush confirmations of that. To do so would sound either defensive or penitent. “I want to visit the school and talk to the teacher myself.”
“Of course. I’ll set it up.”
“Mitch?”
John again. Mitch cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “Be right there. I’m signing off.” Back to Mary, he asked if there was tuition to be paid.
“I had to put up half in order to enroll him.”
“Text me what I owe you.”
“You don’t have to worry about—”
Enunciating each word, he said, “Text me how much I owe the school for Andrew’s tuition.”
“All right. Take care.”
“Hold on. I’m not finished.” He took a stabilizing breath. “Unless it’s a medical emergency, don’t you ever make another major decision regarding my son without consulting me.”
“Mitch!”
“Coming,” he shouted to John over his shoulder. Then into the phone, “Did you get that, Mary? Not ever.”
He disconnected without a goodbye, pushed away from his desk, and stalked over to where John was waiting for him, a deep cleft of concern between his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
“No.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
He shouldered past John and went into the office, where he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a moment to compose himself.
Mary’s comments about his being an absent father hadn’t been off-the-cuff.
She’d given this a lot of thought, and her underlying message had left him both annoyed and spooked. Like walking into a spider web.
But he felt John scrutinizing him, so, for now, he shelved that issue and focused on his job. He asked, “What’s up?”
John motioned him into a chair. “You look upset.”
“Mary.”
John went around his desk and sat down. “Andrew all right?”
Mitch gave a half smile. “He’s great. He met a bunny rabbit today. Make that wabbit.”
John smiled. “He’s overdue a visit with Uncle John and Aunt Beth.”
“How’s Beth doing?”
“Fine. Getting close.”
“Another month?”
“Doctor says maybe sooner.”
“Those last few weeks are tough on them.”
John nodded. “Beth says she looks like a whale.”
“With Angela it was a blimp. I thought she looked beautiful.”
“She did.”
An awkward silence followed the mention of her name. Mitch turned his head to look out the window. John shifted in his desk chair, making the springs squeak, but eventually he eased into the reason for summoning Mitch into his office.
“Sorry for rushing your call,” he said, “but Lear and Nix are on their way in from Bayou Coeur. I needed to talk to you before they get here.”
Mitch’s spirits lifted. “Darcy asked for our assistance with the investigation?”
“This morning. It didn’t take him long to draw a parallel between this double homicide and your former colleague’s, Randy Nelson. Almost identical MO. The DEA has nosed in.”
“Which comes as no surprise,” Mitch said.
John nodded. “But they don’t want it advertised that they’re involved. Darcy emphasized that, and so did Jim Tucker.”
“You talked to Tucker?”
“About you. He called shortly after I’d spoken to Darcy. Tucker thought I should know that you’re still sporting a hard-on for Roland Malone.”
“Metaphorically speaking, of course,” he quipped.
“This is no joking matter, Mitch. Tucker said to tell you that he’s got people on ‘that element,’ and that you are not to interfere. He wants to keep Malone clueless of their interest.”
“Message delivered and received.” Mitch placed his hands on the arms of the chair and was about to stand up to go.
John stopped him. “Stay. As I’m speaking, Nix and Lear are coming this way to break the news to us about the Nelson murder connection to Bayou Coeur. Act surprised, and not a word about Malone. Tucker was adamant about that.”
Mitch turned his head just as Nix thrust open the office door and strode in, Lear trailing her with less vigor. Mitch turned back to John. “Darcy asked for our help, and you assigned them?”
“That’s right.”
“John—”
“If you have a problem with that, we’ll discuss it later.”
“You bet your ass we will.”
After a moment of palpable tension, John offered Nix the extra chair, but she remained standing. Lear propped his butt on the window sill, causing the blinds to rattle, which momentarily reminded Mitch of Dylan’s office window.
Nix had either anointed herself spokesperson, or she and Lear had agreed ahead of time that she would take the lead. In any case, she did.
“Darcy finally got an ID on the girl.” She referred to an iPad she’d brought in with her. “Mandy Adams. Seventeen years old, came from a small town in central Mississippi. Several months ago, she ran away. She’d been expelled from school for drug usage on campus, and not for the first time.
“Two notable ironies. Her mother is on the faculty of the high school that expelled her, and her dad is the town pharmacist. Both of them are well-respected pillars of the community. This girl was a disaster waiting to happen.”
Mitch, who’d been focused on a nick in the wood on the edge of John’s desk, didn’t raise his head, but lifted his gaze to Nix and said, “That would be a catchy epitaph for her.” The statement was laden with anger and sarcasm.
“Mitch,” John said in a chastening tone.
Mitch looked at John, then at Nix, and said, “Mandy Adams might have been trouble, but I don’t think she was waiting for a disaster like almost being decapitated. Some mean fuck did that to her.”
A strained silence lasted until Lear bravely cleared his throat and contributed to the discussion for the first time.
“I was with Darcy when he questioned her parents. They hadn’t heard from her since she ran away.
They didn’t know where she was or how she was surviving.
No idea who Paul Adler was, or how she’d come to be with him.
They’re devastated. Her body will be released to them tomorrow. ”
Nix gave the devastated parents five seconds of respectful silence before resuming. “One big development today. The DEA is now in on the investigation. One of their agents was killed in a similar manner a few years ago. Darcy told us you knew him,” she said to Mitch.
“Yeah. He and I worked closely together for a while. He was killed six, seven months after I left the agency. When he was reported missing, John and I were tipped by a junkie we had in jail here in Auclair. He was trying to swing a plea deal and wanted to barter information.