Molly Brown (3 page)

He punched out Marty’s number and sat back with his phone at his ear.
“Hiya buddy, I need a favor. Is Charlene around?”

“Tommy, you always need a favor.”

Connell grinned. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

The guys in the mirror had got out of the car. They were dressed in suits, cheap shiny wrinkled suits and were currently engaged
in some rather obvious charade which would ultimately bring them across the street and within earshot, or gunshot, of Connell. As he couldn’t decide which, and was in no position to take any kind of shot in return, he kept them in his sights and hoped a delivery truck would appear and remove the need to make a decision of any kind.

“Mm, but these favors seem to be stacking up in one direction, Tommy.”

Connell broadened his grin. “What can I say, I’m high maintenance. One of these days you’ll be glad that I owe you so many. Collect enough and you can trade them in for something cool like a ride on a lawnmower.”

“I can hardly contain my excitement.”

“Is she home, Marty?” Connell wound down the window, and reached out, twisting his wing mirror to the optimum angle, so that if the guys made it across the street without being hit by a truck, he would see them coming and hopefully have time to duck.

“She’s at the shelter. A
nything I can do?”

“I need a safe place for a sixteen year old teenage rebel.” He pictured Lydia. “She needs a firm hand and a woman’s touch.”

Marty snorted. “That’s what we used to say about you, Tommy.”

“You’re a funny guy, Marty. About the shelter, has she got room? It’s important.”

He squinted at the mirror and tried to get a make on the guys who he imagined he knew, but just couldn’t place. There was something wrong in the picture he was seeing, something that didn’t add up, and he knew he was being thrown by it but couldn’t work out what it was. They had their backs to him and were still too far away for any kind of identification. Short of getting out of his car and introducing himself, squinting in the mirror was the best he could do.

“I don’t know, Tommy. I can check and get back to you.”

“Appreciate it, buddy.”

“Are you in town, Tommy?”

“Yeah, just hanging out, sniffing around for Gerry.”

“What does Lizzie think about that?”

“Lizzie is cool about everything I do.” He winced as he said it, waited to be struck down. Lizzie wouldn’t quit worrying until he pulled up in the yard. Who could blame her? He attracted trouble like a magnet and had the scars to prove it.

“Are you playing me, Tommy?”

“Hey, Lizzie is the best thing that ever happened to me, do you think I’m going to do anything to hurt her.”

“You’re fooling around with Gerry. Somebody’s bound to get hurt.”

“Lizzie loves Gerry …”

“I’m guessing she loves you more.”

Connell cocked his head. “What can I say, I’m a lovable guy.”

“Yeah
, sure,” replied Marty. “I had a dog just like you when I was a kid. Wagged its tail, licked your hand, nicest dog you ever met. Still didn’t stop it from getting flattened by the UPS truck.”

“Gee, thanks, Marty, I’ll keep my eyes on the road
from now on.” He did just that and discovered the guys had disappeared from his line of sight.

“So
what’s keeping you away from home?” asked Marty.

Connell swiveled in his seat and craned his neck trying to check out his blind spot. With some relief he spotted the guys lurking three cars back, checking out the scenery. Lurking was
fine, he decided, as long as there were three cars between him and them. “A missing child,” he replied “a freaky little kid who nobody gives a shit about. I’m just going to do some checking around, see what I turn up.”

“You need some help?”

“You could run a license plate for me.” He read out the details from the envelope.

“Anything else?”

“Sure, buddy, I need Charlene to take the big sister, so’s I don’t have to worry about her as well.”

“You worry too much, Tommy.”

“Tell me about it. I’m turning into you.”

“Would that be so bad?” laughed Marty.

“Sure it would, I’d have Charlene on my case twenty-four-seven.”

Co
nnell called the hospitals next while he waited for Charlene to come get Lydia, but no little girls had been admitted. Then he checked the morgue and was immensely relieved to find out that they were short on little girls too. So Molly was out there somewhere, he just needed to know where to start looking.

When Charlene still hadn’t arrived and the guys in the suits had run out of hide and seek games, he began to get a little edgy.  He didn’t really want to sit and let his imagination come up with all sorts of possible outcomes and didn’t have the time
for it either. He called Marty back, left Lydia’s address and got out of the car. He was pretty damn good at games too.

Chapter Three

The bar where Lydia had met Terry was a block and a half from the apartment and the weather was warming up. It was going to be a hot one, so Connell left his car parked where it was and walked the short distance, casually glancing behind each dumpster as he strolled, just in case Molly, or something belonging to Molly, had been abandoned closer to home, and using each of those checks to keep an eye on his following fan club.

He was aware
, as he walked, they were closing the gap, but they kept just out of his line of sight and he chose to ignore them for now. If somebody thought it was worth their time to follow him around town, then he must be onto something. He just wasn’t sure what that might be. Either Gibbons and Scott were getting jumpy and hoping to delay a call from Gerry, or even better, their mysterious employer was aware of Connell’s interest and had decided to show a little in return. It would save him a whole lot of time and work if they just introduced themselves, but he thought that was unlikely. In the dark world of double dealing, people were rarely that sociable.

It was lunchtime, the place was jumping and Connell took a seat at the bar and considered the clientele from behind his beer. Working guys mostly, blue collar and a little rough around the edges. They were hard men by the look of them, with
women who looked even harder, but there were no obvious kidnappers or stand-up weirdoes. He zeroed in on some younger guys playing pool, figuring if Terry wasn’t one of them they would know where he could be found.

He finished his beer and made their acquaintance.

“Lookin’ for a child molester called Terry,” he announced bluntly, and three of the guys turned to look at the fourth. Two years away and he hadn’t lost his subtle touch.

“I’m no fuckin’ child molester,” declared the kid, who looked about twenty, had the IQ of a retarded cockroach
, and bizarrely, a mismatched pair of eyes, one blue and one brown.
Freaky
. Connell dragged his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Y
ou’ve been messing with a kid. What would you call it?”

The bar hushed as men with kids of their
own paused and put down their beers to listen. Terry stepped forward, hackles raised, muscles bunched. His buddies at the pool table stepped back, not entirely sure what was going down. Putting on a show for his audience, he had a swagger in his step and whole lot of attitude, but Connell couldn’t get past the image of him caught in the act with his pants around his ankles.

“You better take that back or -”

“Or what, you’ll slit my throat?” Connell cocked his head, stepped forward and raised his own hackles, which he reckoned - in the hackle stakes - were way out in front. He pushed the kid hard in the chest, forcing him to stagger back. He followed it up with another push and a chair clattered to the floor as the boy took another clumsy step away.

“Who the f
uck are you? I aren’t done nuthin’ wrong.” He was scared but the cockiness and belligerence of youth rose to the surface and he squared up again, unwilling to back down in front of his friends.

“Sure you have. You know a kid called Lydia?” Connell saw recognition in the boy’s eyes and a slow dawning fear. The guys in the bar settled down, returned to their drin
ks and conversation, panic over; they obviously all knew Lydia.

“Yeah, she’s a little whore,” the boy sneered.

“Is that a fact?”

Ignoring the kid, Connell swept his gaze around the bar, zeroing in on an older man who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. “You got kids?” Connell asked and the man looked around, realized he was the one
being singled out and shrugged.

“Sure.”

Connell nodded, caught the eye of a few others and got the same response. “Well you don’t deserve them!” he growled. “These kids like Lydia, that you think are tramps, they’re what you all make them. You make me sick.”

He turned back to Terry.

“She’s also underage and you’re coming with me.” Grabbing him firmly by the collar, Connell man-handled him out of the bar and onto the street. His friends gathered at the doorway, unwilling to get involved, but interested nevertheless. If there was going to be a show, they wanted front row seats.

“Lydia’s kid sister’s gone missing. What do you know about it?” He pushed him up against the wall, his hand tight at the kid’s throat.

“That little loser? I don’t know shit.” The kid was sweating and Connell tried not to inhale his adolescent reek.

“You threatened her, Terry. What else did you do?” He squeezed a little harder, the kid’s face turned red and his multicolored eyes began bulging.

“Nothing ... I didn’t do nuthin’,” he gasped.

“You
told her you’d burn her books. How’d you know about her books? Did you go into her room?” He tightened his grip until the kid’s odor threatened to overpower him. He wondered whether maybe this kid had some weird stink gland in his neck that he had inadvertently triggered.

“No, I’ve not
been in her sad-ass room. Everyone around here knows about her books. Everyone knows about her. I told you, she’s a little freak and her sister’s a whore. It isn’t nobody’s fault, that’s just the way it is. Hey, even their parent’s shipped out. If it wasn’t for guys like me, she wouldn’t have even made the rent.”

Connell dropped him in the gutter and sucked in a lung full of fresh air. He caught him with his shoe as he stepped over him
and would have done more to educate Terry in the rights and wrongs of adult relationships, but he wasn’t a thug and didn’t have the time.

There was nothing more to be learned here about Molly’s disappearance and the clock was ticking. He could feel himself win
ding up inside. Hadn’t felt like that for a while and didn’t like it. He needed to focus. Life was shit for a lot of people and getting worked up about it wouldn’t help him find Molly Brown.

Connell got to Molly’s school around kicking out time, having lost his tail somewhere along the way, or maybe they’d just got a little better at hide and go seek. Either way there was no sign of them when he entered the school grounds and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing. While he could see them, even from a distance, he at least knew where they were.

He checked his watch. He still had other stuff to do, the stuff that Gerry
was actually paying him to do, and that really had to be done before nightfall because no way did he want to be sniffing around in dangerous places after dark.

He made a mental note to call Lizzie and le
t her know he was still alive - ideally before he did his rounds of the local clandestine meeting spots where there was a distinct possibility of his mortality status changing - then he made his way through a tide of noisy, tired children as they swarmed ant-like from the building.

It was a big school, lots of kids and very little outside space. He r
ecalled what Lydia had told him: Molly didn’t like noise or crowds. So there wasn’t much chance he was going to find her here but he might find out something about her, other than the fact she was weird.

“What can you tell me ab
out Molly Brown?” he asked the Principal when he was seated in his office with a coffee in hand, courtesy of an obliging secretary. He inhaled the heady aroma, his first of the day, and was grateful for its ability to mask the similarly heady aroma of beer which, in hindsight, would not have made the best impression.

Principal Hogre looked over the top of his glasses and Connell found himself squirming under his scrutiny. He’d spent a good proportion of his school days in the Principal’s office and this guy seemed to sense it. It left him at a slight disadvantage
, which wasn’t ideal when trying to obtain information that would ordinarily require a badge to secure.

He felt the need to straighten his tie and smooth down his hair, sniffed discreetly and hoped he hadn’t picked up a trace of Eau-de-Terry.

“What is your interest in Molly Brown, Mr. ..?”

“Connell, Tommy Connell.
Molly is missing. I’m looking into her disappearance.”

“But you’re not a policeman?”

“No, Sir, I’m a private consultant, assisting the police.” It wasn’t a total fiction, in fact it had quite a ring to it. Private consultant, yeah, he could live with that. “I take it the police haven’t been around yet?”

Hogre studied him over the rim of his coffee cup before replacing it carefully on the saucer and re-positioning both on a pristine leather blotter. He gave a pronounced sigh. “No, I haven’t had that pleasure. Rather lax
, wouldn’t you say. How long has she been missing?”

“Over twenty four hours.” Just what was going on with these cops? He felt the need to make excuses on their behalf. “The police department is stretched at the moment, Sir. I’m sure you’re aware of the man hunt. I’m just one of many who’
ve been drafted in to help out, to do the leg work, so to speak.”

“I see,” replied Hogre and Connell felt the guy’s eyes boring into him, seeking
out untruths. Kids told stories - it’s what they did, he should know. Joe told whoppers and this guy had spent a lifetime sniffing them out. He did it for a living, rooting out all of those dog-ate-my-homework or ‘I had to go to my Grandmother’s funeral’ for the twentieth time stories. Connell was no match for him.

Hogre steepled his fingers and tapped them gently against his chin. “What you’re as
king is strictly confidential. Why do you imagine that I would disclose confidential information to a man who walks in off the street?”

“Because I’m trying to find a little girl who nobody seems to care about, and I’m interested to know why that is, because call me old fashioned
, Principal Ogre …”

“The name is Hogre.”

“... but I tend to think missing children should be found as quickly as possible.”

The P
rincipal nodded. He may well be an ogre, but that didn’t stop him from making a decision. “There’s not a lot that I can tell you, Mr. Connell. Molly is a brighter than average child with some socialization issues.”

“What does that mean?”

Hogre sighed, removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “In layman’s terms ...”

“Sure.” Layman’s terms
, was fine by Connell.

“She reads well, is academically ahead of her peers
, but lacks the communication skills to put her thoughts and ideas into words.  Simply put, she’s a loner, doesn’t mix, doesn’t share and doesn’t have any friends.”

“She’s a kid
, for God’s sake. What makes a kid turn out like that?”

“There could be many reasons. Some children just don’t develop the skills they need for life.”

Why did that sound like bullshit? She was a kid, a little kid with no friends and no one had thought to do anything about it. “When did you last see her?” asked Connell.

Hogre picked up the phone, asked his secretary to bring him the register
, and did well to hide his discomfort when it revealed that Molly Brown hadn’t been to school for almost four weeks.

“You don’t check up on these kids who fail to attend?” asked Connell. He was sure if they didn’t, they should. He’d only had to skip an afternoon and the school would have been on the phone to his mom.

Hogre shuffled through some paperwork and bought himself some time while he composed himself. “Letters were sent to the home. They remained unanswered.”

“That’s because Molly’s parents up and disappeared two months ago. Did no one notice that this kid came into school for four whole weeks hungry and unwashed?” Connell was losing patience and tried hard not to let it show.

“This is a disadvantaged neighborhood, Mr. Connell. Many of our children fall into that category. We feed them while they’re here and teach them to wash their hands when they’ve been to the bathroom. Beyond that there’s little we can do. We pass on information regarding our vulnerable youngsters but we are at the mercy of Social Services who are sadly overburdened.”

Connell shook his head with exasperation. “Have you any idea where she might have gone?”

“Gone? You don’t think she’s been taken?”

“I don’t know what to think, but taken is t
he least preferred option. ‘Gone’ implies some measure of choice in the matter.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connell. I don’t k
now where she might have gone, nor do I have any thoughts on who might have taken her, should you arrive by default at option two.”

Connell got to his feet, disillusioned by his lack of progress. “You hear anything, you know
... kids talking in the yard ... anything, will you let me know?” He wrote his cell phone number on the side of the register and turned his back on the Ogre.

He pulled out his cell
phone to call Lizzie as he was leaving the building but was distracted from dialing by the sound of clacking heels on the polished wood floor. The elderly secretary, small, gray-haired and with a pronounced stoop, paused uncertainly and he leaned over to hear what she had to say.

“Mr. Connell, Miss
Rogers would like a private word before you leave.”