The Advocate (The Advocate Series) (22 page)

On her way to Jordan Receiving Home, she received a call from Marla. “There doesn’t seem to be a missing child report filed anywhere on Honey Stone,” she told Sabre. “Our department hasn’t found any death certificates yet, either, but that process takes a little longer.”

“Have you questioned either Peggy or Gaylord yet?”

“No, but it’s my next step. I had planned to do it earlier, but a new case came in with pretty severe injuries to a three-year-old. A little boy got in the cookie jar without permission, so his stepmother punished him by holding his hands over a gas burner on the stove. His hands had first- and second-degree burns,” Marla spit out the words with contempt. “No matter how long I do this job, I’m still sickened by the horrible things these parents do.”

“Geez, what’s the matter with people? She should be hanged.”

“Careful, Sabre, she may turn out to be your client.”

“Good point,” Sabre said. “Well, I’m on my way to see Alexis. I’ll let you know if I find out anything I can share with you.”

“Thanks. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Sabre arrived at Jordan just as Alexis finished up an art project. Alexis told the attendant she needed to clean up first before she saw her attorney, but the attendant convinced her it was okay not changing her clothes. Alexis had red, brown, and yellow paint on her pink shirt and on her frayed pant leg. Although she had washed her hands and face, she had a little spot of paint on her upper arm and on her neck. For the first time, Sabre saw her looking like a regular kid.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sabre. I didn’t have a chance to clean up properly. Our art project went later than I thought, and they made me come out without cleaning up. I did wash up, but I wanted to change my clothes, too. I didn’t want to keep you waiting, either. I know your time is important. You see my dilemma?”

Sabre turned her face to hide her expression, amazed and amused at Alexis’ vocabulary and mannerisms. She sounded like a little southern belle someone had set at the wrong speed. Alexis didn’t have a strong southern accent, and she spoke so much faster than anyone else Sabre had ever met from the south, but her attention to etiquette was southern to the core. “Yes, I do see your dilemma. And thanks for being so considerate of my time. By the way, you look just fine. You really don’t need to dress up on my account. If I didn’t have to, I certainly wouldn’t wear these monkey suits and high heels. I’d much prefer wearing jeans and a t-shirt.”

As they spoke, Kathy, the attendant, brought Jamie out. Alexis took his hand and led him back to the interview room. The sliding glass door to the patio was closed because clouds filled the sky, making it chillier than usual. Jamie seemed to be more at ease, not as needy. Instead of clinging to Alexis, he went straight to the toys. Alexis seemed comfortable with his newfound independence.

Sabre let Alexis tell her all the latest Jordan gossip before she brought up the subject of Honey. First, she reminded Alexis of the confidentiality rule. She tried to think of a delicate way to bring it up, but decided there wasn’t one. “Alexis, tell me about Honey,” Sabre said. “Honey Stone.”

Alexis’ face turned pale and her eyes grew wide in astonishment. Then, just as quickly, she composed herself and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alexis said again, this time her voice quivering, tears welling in her eyes, speaking almost in a whisper.

A little voice came from the corner of the room. Jamie sat holding a doll and speaking to it. “Honey gone,” he said. “Honey gone.”

Alexis’ eyes grew even wider at Jamie’s remarks. She took a deep breath and her little body convulsed. Sabre couldn’t stand the pain in her fragile little face. She moved next to Alexis on the sofa, pulled her close to her, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry for whatever you have seen or suffered through. I don’t mean to add to your pain.” She sat there rocking her while Alexis snuggled up into her arms and let herself be the little girl hidden deep inside. She didn’t say a word as Sabre comforted her. “It’s okay,” Sabre said. “When you’re ready.”

22

Sabre walked into Marla’s office to see the frazzled social worker on the phone, another line ringing, and a co-worker standing in her doorway vying for her attention, her desk in its usual state of disarray.

Marla put the first caller on hold, clicked over to the other line, and said, “Please hold on; I need to talk to you. I’ll just be a minute.” She went back to the first line, motioned with her head toward a chair, and mouthed to Sabre, “Have a seat.” She finished up the conversation on the first line. Before she picked up the second line, she turned to the worker in the doorway, “What can I do for you?” she asked in her frenzied state.

“The Bartlett file? Do you have it?”

Marla dug through some things on her desk, pulled out a file, handed it to the social worker, and picked up the second line and said, “What did you find out?” She waited for a response. “What about surrounding states?” Another pause. “Okay, please fax me what you have. And thanks, I appreciate it.” She hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and turned to Sabre.

“Looks like your day is going well,” Sabre said.

“It’s been like this since I arrived this morning,” Marla said, taking another deep breath. “That call was about Honey Stone. No missing person reports have been filed on her, either in Georgia or anywhere near there.”

“So, she is missing?”

“Not according to Peggy and Gaylord, but sometimes a relative will file something when the parents don’t, so I checked.” The phone rang. She picked it up and said, “Marla Morton.” She paused while the person on the other end of the phone spoke. “Set it for Monday afternoon. I can’t do it today.” She paused. “Fine. Bye.” She turned to Sabre, “Sorry, it’s just one of those days.”

“I understand. So what are Peggy and Gaylord saying about all this?”

“Peggy said Honey is with a cousin who lives near Atlanta.”

“Have you talked to the cousin?”

“No. According to Peggy, they went camping and they can’t be reached by phone right now. She gave me a phone number for their home, but it’s disconnected.”

“So does Peggy ever check on Honey? And why is she with the cousin?”

“Same questions I asked. Peggy said she spoke with Honey yesterday and she was fine. She says the cousin calls her occasionally to check in with her.”

“She said she spoke with Honey?”

“Yes, that’s what she said.”

“But Honey is deaf. She couldn’t have had much of a conversation with her on the phone.”

“I asked about that. She then said the cousin talked for her.”

“That’s odd,” Sabre said.

“The whole conversation with Peggy was odd. She fidgeted the whole time and I caught her in some obvious lies. She gave me the cousin’s name – Adelle Thompson – when I pressed her, but she continued to refer to her as ‘my cousin’ instead of Adelle. She said she left Honey there because it made it easier on her. She said Honey has stayed there on and off since her birth. Apparently, whenever Peggy fell on hard times, this cousin would help out and take Honey in.”

“When did Peggy last see Honey?”

“Just before they left for California. They dropped her off and left that night or the next day.”

“Did you talk to Gaylord?”

“Yes, he has the same story, pretty much. But according to him, Honey lived mostly with the cousin and she only came to their house once in a while. He said Adelle brought her over to stay a few days with her mother before they left for California. The day before they left, Peggy returned her to Adelle. He said they spoke with the cousin every few days, or at least once a week. Of course, he didn’t know what’s been going on since he and Peggy split up.”

“Did he sound nervous like Peggy?”

“No, he was very cool and unconcerned. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”

“Did you ask why they’ve never mentioned Honey before?”

“Yes, I did. Gaylord kind of shrugged his shoulders, said he hardly knew the girl, and it wasn’t any secret. He didn’t know why Peggy hasn’t mentioned her, except she’s not real close to Honey. He said Honey is more like a niece or a cousin to her than a daughter. And, from what he’s seen and heard, Adelle pretty much raised her.”

“What about Peggy? Did you ask her why she has never mentioned Honey before?”

“I sure did. She just said, ‘I dunno. It just never came up.’ I couldn’t get anything else out of her.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“You’ve been working with a detective in Atlanta on this case, right?”

“Yeah. Joe Carriage.”

“Do you think you could ask him to see what he can find out about Adelle Thompson? I have a request into Human Services, but it could take awhile. I can’t really ‘red flag’ it because there’s no indication she’s missing or anything. She’s probably with the cousin, but I’d sure like to know before the hearing on Monday.”

“Sure. I’ll call Joe and see what he can do. I’m sure he’ll help if he can,” Sabre said. “Now, I better get out of here so you can get something done.” Sabre rose to leave. The phone rang again. She waited a minute to see if it had anything to do with her case. Marla answered the phone, spoke for a second, and then shook her head at Sabre. As Sabre walked out the door, she heard Marla dealing with yet another crisis.

She got into her car and plugged her ear phone into her cell so she could talk and drive at the same time. She’d shut the ringer off while in Marla’s office. She had two missed calls and three messages waiting, two of them from Joe. She dialed his number.

“Joe Carriage.”

“Hi, Joe. How are you this afternoon?”

He didn’t answer her question. “Sabre, I’m glad you called. There are some things happening here you need to know about, but first let me give you the information I have on Honey Stone.”

“Okay—”

“We’ve found no trace of any reports filed indicating this child is missing. There’s no death certificate filed on her. It seems Honey lived, at least part of the time, with some relative of Peggy’s. We don’t have a name yet, but . . .”

“We have a name: Adelle Thompson. Peggy says she’s a cousin, but she couldn’t articulate the actual lineage. She supposedly lives outside of Atlanta. Peggy said she’s camping right now, but she had a story so riddled with holes we really have no idea. We were hoping you could follow up for us. We just want someone to see this little girl so we know she’s safe.”

“I’ll do it right now. Let me call my partner; we’ll get an address, and I’ll call you back shortly.”

“Sure thing. I’m headed back to my office. You can call me there or on the cell.”

“Is someone else at your office with you? You shouldn’t be alone there.”

“Yes. Jack’s there working, but thanks for your concern.”

23

With just a sliver of daylight, Joe and Brett looked for the number on the mailboxes. The houses, not well marked in the area, made it difficult to find Adelle Thompson’s house. They turned into what appeared to be the correct dirt driveway, with a trailer set back about two hundred feet from the highway. They drove past a pickup and an old Chevy coupe with more rust on it than paint. The Chevy had two missing tires and a broken windshield. The pickup didn’t appear to be operable, either. Junk littered the yard. A large German shepherd, tied to a sagging clothesline post, barked angrily at the approaching strangers. The only thing inviting was a swing hanging from a huge, old oak tree just to the left of the trailer.

Joe and Brett stepped out of the car and walked to the door, kicking beer cans and bottles out of their way. Joe knocked. A wiry, skinny woman, who stretched to less than five feet tall, with a black eye and missing teeth, answered the door. “Are you Adelle Thompson?”

A man yelled out from somewhere in the trailer, “Who the hell’s at the door, Adelle?”

She yelled back, “I don’t know yet. I’m a askin’.” She turned back and said in a slurred voice, “I’m Adelle. Who are you?”

In spite of the big wad of gum in her mouth and a screen door between them, Joe could smell alcohol on her breath. He held his badge up so she could see it, “Detective Carriage, Atlanta PD, and my partner, Brett Wood. We need to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

“Sure, why not?” Adelle said as she opened the screen door, still chomping on her gum. “Who else is here, ma’am?” Brett inquired.

“Just my ol’ man. He’s layin’ down, not feelin’ too good, if you know what I mean,” she said.

They stepped from the front door into the kitchen-living room area. Leftovers from several meals and dirty dishes covered the counter and the kitchen table. Empty Styrofoam containers and paper bags from fast food restaurants, half-empty coffee cups and ashtrays full of cigarette butts decorated the room. Dirty dishes soaked in a dark gray tub of scummy, stinky dishwater in the sink. Joe couldn’t decide which smelled worse – the dishwater and rotting food, or the cigarette smoke and alcohol permeating the air.

The small living room contained a sofa and coffee table, a recliner, and a fifty-inch television, leaving little space to walk. Boxes and junk were crammed in the corners and piled waist high. A pizza box with one dried-up piece of pizza still inside sat on the coffee table with six empty beer cans and two full ashtrays. A half-eaten piece of bread with peanut butter and jelly lay face down on the coffee table next to a box of Marlboro Lights and a cigarette lighter with a naked woman on the casing.