A Child is Torn: Innocence Lost (5 page)

Chapter Three

Jean

The office was already buzzing with activity when she arrived at work the following morning. The coffee machine was steaming, working on its third or fourth carafe. Half-eaten donuts and honey buns decorated the old-fashioned metal desks that served as workstations. She heard Moran’s familiar swearing as he tried to pry open one of the overflowing drawers.

“Goddamn piece of shit.”

She leaned over, pushed his arm away, and gently opened the drawer.

“How do you do that?” he asked as he sat down, nearly missing the chair.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” She smiled as she walked away to pour a cup of coffee. “Tell me you didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“No. Did you?”

“I did; I guess I was drained from thinking. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Did you set up any interviews for today?” She thought about grabbing a Danish but remembered she’d a bit of trouble zipping her jeans last night.

“Kid flipped out, simple as that. You heard him yourself. It happens, Jean.”

“I know, but he doesn’t look physically cap—”

Moran cut her off midsentence.

“Do you remember that lady a couple of years ago—what was her name? Canton. Yeah, Canton. She was barely a hundred pounds, and her three-year-old daughter was being attacked by a Rottweiler. Remember? She grabbed that hundred and twenty-five pound dog and tossed it into traffic? There was no way she was physically capable of that, yet she did it. It happens. When a person gets mad enough, the adrenaline kicks in and turns them into Superman.”

He continued before she could interrupt. “I set up an interview with his teacher and the mother’s family, and left a message with the dad’s family, but they haven’t gotten back to me yet. They live in Massachusetts; maybe they’re on their way here to make the arrangements. His pediatrician, a Dr. Corwin,” he continued as he glanced as his notes, “wants a court order to release the kid’s medical records. That’s being taken care of as we speak.”

She remembered the Canton incident; it had been on the news and front pages for weeks. Ironically, the dog’s owner was suing the mother for the death of his pet. Never mind that the kid had to be hospitalized and undergo a number of surgeries to repair what the dog had done to her face, or the psychological scars the little girl had sustained. The bastard was furious his dog had been killed.

She shook the image out of her mind, but it had occurred to her that something similar had happened in Brad’s case. Her job was to find out what, when, and why.

Moran said, “Let me finish up here and we’ll head over to the school. The teacher said she could give us twenty minutes around eleven o’clock.”

Jean nodded. “Okay, let me finish a few things, and then we’ll go.”

Swallowing the last bit of coffee, it occurred to her to get a refill; but she fought the urge. Glenn had been on a caffeine-free health kick and was trying to get her to limit her consumption. She’d already given up smoking and fried foods. Cutting back on coffee was going to be a bigger challenge.

Screw it
, she thought, as she poured the last of the coffee into her thermal mug.
I won’t have any Coke today.
She went back to her desk, did some paperwork, and was ready to go when Moran announced it was time to leave for the interview.

He didn’t say another word as they were getting into the vehicle. Then just as Jean was strapping herself in, she heard him mumble. “That time of the month, huh?”

“What do you mean? Do you think I am grumpy?” she asked, glaring.

He turned his head slightly and his eyes went to her knees. “You’re wearing a skirt, which means, you couldn’t fit into your jeans, which—”

She finished it for him. “Are you saying I look bloated?” She glanced down at her stomach.

“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Crying cops make me nervous.” He smirked, turning the key in the ignition.

Jean punched his shoulder. “Shut up and drive, Moran.”

The car lurched forward and Jean focused on keeping the coffee from spilling onto her lap.
Now that
, she thought,
would make me cry
.

The air was crisp, and the smell of dew on the leaves that were beginning to fall helped her relax. Although they were experiencing an Indian summer the humidity of the summer was finally beginning to fade; she was looking forward to being able to open the windows in the house and turn off the air conditioner. Thinking she might as well take advantage of the cool air now, she rolled down the window and took a deep breath.

“I love this weather.”

“Take it all in now,” he told her, “because you’re going to be shoveling snow before you know it.”

“That my dear, is what teenage children and husbands are for.”

“Well, can’t get me a husband, Jean; my wife would object. But can I borrow your kids?”

 “Sure, take Cliff,” Jean replied. “You feed him, you can have him.” It wouldn’t be too bad if it were just Cliff who ate like a horse, but he normally had four or five huge friends with insatiable appetites tagging along.

“Any word from Annie? Will she be able to come home for the holidays?” Moran’s only child was a staff sergeant in the Marines and had been deployed to the Middle East. When she did manage to come home on furlough, the last thing he wanted was for her do anything but enjoy herself.

“She says she’s fine, but I doubt she’ll make it home before the spring. Connie is broken hearted.”

She knew it just wasn’t Connie, his wife of twenty-five years, who was broken hearted. Nobody could turn Moran into a blubbering idiot more than his daughter. Connie had often told the story about how he had broken down crying on Annie’s first day of kindergarten.

“I had to pry Annie’s hands from his grip. We practically had to restrain him,” Connie would laugh.

Moran pulled the car into the parking lot of the large, red-brick elementary school. They could hear the chatter of children playing out in the yard and the faint sound of a whistle blowing. A teacher was asking the children to line up and was obviously having trouble getting the kids to follow her instructions. She blew the whistle again with much more enthusiasm. It suddenly got quiet. Everything seemed to be under control by the time Moran and Jean walked into the building, their footsteps echoing off the walls in the empty hallway. They stopped in front of a desk in the middle of the foyer that was manned by a large woman with gray hair.

“May I help you?” she asked. She smiled broadly, red lipstick staining her teeth.

“Detectives Moran and Whitley. Where can we find… a Ms. Sanders?” Moran said, glancing down at his notes

“Room 124, down the hall, second door on your left. Is this about that poor little Brad? Such a sweet boy, I just can’t imagine. What a terrible, terrible shame.”

“Thank you,” was all Moran answered, as they headed down the hallway.

“Why do women do that Jean? Why do they paint their teeth?”

She smirked at him, and then briskly walked ahead of him. The door was open, and an attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties sat behind a large wooden desk, eating yogurt.

“Ms. Sanders? I’m Detective Moran, this is Detective Whitley. Thank you for seeing us.”

Acting as if she was embarrassed to be caught eating, she swallowed what was in her mouth, and wiped her hands on a napkin before shaking their hands.

“Yes, please sit down. Sorry, I was trying to get finished before you arrived, but I had a nose bleed that held me up. If it isn’t a broken shoelace, or a lost lunch box, it’s something. It’s terrible what happened. We had a counselor here this morning in the auditorium. Some kids are really taking this hard. How is Brad?”

Both detectives pulled out a chair, taking care as they settled onto the child-sized seats. It was Moran that answered.

“Hard to say just yet. He was pretty shaken up yesterday. Have you ever had any problems with Brad?”

Ms. Sanders hesitated for a moment. It was obvious to Jean the teacher was carefully forming her words.

“I can tell you he is a very sweet little boy. He was in my class last year as well. He’s very quiet, but gets along with the other kids, most of the time. But you know kids; one minute they’re best friends and the next they’re fighting in the yard.”

“Were there any signs of abuse or neglect at home?” Jean asked.

This time she answered without any hesitation. “Absolutely not. In fact, Mrs. Madison was a very involved parent. Always volunteering for class parties, trips. She was… well, I wish all my parents were like her. I just don’t understand what would cause… She stopped, letting out a sigh and fighting back tears.

“What did you mean, most of the time?” Jean inquired.

“Excuse me?” The teacher looked inquisitively at Jean.

“Well, Ms. Sanders, you said Brad got along with the other kids most of the time—what did you mean by that?”

“Detective, you put twenty-eight kids in a room for six hours a day, five days a week, and they are apt to have a quarrel or two.”

“Any particular occasion you can recall relating to Brad specifically?” Moran asked.

“Once—and we really don’t know if it was intentional or an accident—the kids were outside playing and Brad threw a ball that hit a kid square in the face. Kid broke his nose and… well, there was a question about whether Brad intended to hurt him or not.”

“What makes you think it wasn’t an accident?” Moran asked.

“Josh had been teasing him the day before; Josh has a tendency to pick on kids who are smaller than he is, and Brad is smaller than most. Besides I remember seeing Brad right after it happened. He just stood there, no emotion, like it didn’t even happen. But later when his mom showed up, he broke down in tears. I vividly remember how he clung to her when he thought no one was looking. He was saying over and over again, “I am sorry, mommy. I hurt him, I hurt him.” She was extremely warm and loving to him. You could see he felt safe with her.”

“What about his father? Did you know him, ever meet him?” Jean asked.

“Yes, he seemed like a nice guy. He came for all the parent teacher conferences. Seemed to really be a caring dad. Smiled a lot, asked a few questions. Unusual for the dads to ask the questions, but I would say he was genuinely interested. Good-looking man. Both of them, very attractive couple. Is Brad going to be okay? What’s going to happen to him?”

“To be honest Ms. Sanders, we don’t know,” Moran answered as he closed his notebook and got up from his chair. “If there is anything you can think of, please give us a call.” He handed her his card. “It was nice to meet you, thanks.”

Ms. Sanders smiled and shook both their hands again.

As they were walking away, Jean turned back to the teacher and asked one more question. “Ms. Sanders, did Brad ever talk about an Uncle Eddie?”

She pondered for a moment before answering. “No, I don’t’ think so.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Moran waited until they were out of the building before he asked, “What was that about? You think Uncle Eddie was involved? Guy has a valid alibi.”

“Just grasping at straws Joe, just grasping at straws,” she muttered. “Let’s go to the house, I want to see it again.”

“You know Jean, I know you don’t want to think this kid did it, but everything is pointing that way.”

 He opened his door and waited until she got in the passenger seat before he sat down.

“I know, but there has got to be something there, some kind of abuse. Somebody had to do something to that kid. Let’s just go back to the house and take a look around.”

“CSI confiscated the family computer; tech nerds are looking it over now. What do you expect to find at the house? Child porn? You think the kid was sexually abused? The doctor said there’s no evidence of that, Jean. So far everyone we spoke to said the parents were very loving and caring. You know sometimes you just get a bad apple, a kid snaps.”

“You know Moran, you are so frickin’ cynical. No kid just snaps. Don’t believe that for a second. Something had to light that torch. Besides, the thermostat being turned down so low… that bothers me.”