said.
“Can’t or won’t?” I asked.
“I can’t, Lieutenant. I don’t know where he is. Now if he’s done something to hurt somebody, you can be sure that we’ll cooperate and do whatever we can to help you. I stuck my neck out for that boy once, and he done made a fool of me, and you can be sure it won’t happen twice. You have any kids, Lieutenant?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, sometimes you’ll do anything for your kids, even if it’s not right. But after everything Troy’s been through these past eight years—Troy’s my grandson—well, I guess I just didn’t understand what my son had been doing to him. Troy tried to kill himself, two years ago. Slashed his wrists. I think he meant it, too, because his mother had gone out for the evening but had forgotten her purse, and so she went back home to get it and found him in the bathtub. ’Course, if she hadn’t gone back, he would have bled to death. It wasn’t like he was timing it so she could find him and rescue him. You’re a police officer, you probably know about that.”
I did.
“Anyway,” he said, “if I knew where Earl was, I would tell you. I’d like to think that you believe me when I say that. We’s good people, and I just don’t know what went wrong with Earl, but he’s done embarrassed this family half to death.”
I could only imagine how he must feel, how embarrassing it must be to have a son who was arrested for sexually abusing a child, and who was now wanted in connection with a murder investigation.
“Let me give you my number,” I said, trying to sound more conciliatory, “and if you or your wife think of anything, or if you come across any old letters, anything at all that might help me track down your son, please call me. I don’t care what time of the day or night, just call me straightaway.”
I gave him my cell phone number and rang off.
V
I LOOKED at my watch. It was 9:45 a.m., and Lt. Harris was no doubt preparing himself to bask in glory.
I picked up the phone and called Harlock.
“I think we should run Earl Whitehead’s picture,” I said. “Harris could hand it out during his press conference. We could say he’s a suspect. Right now, he’s the only one we’ve got. If we get lucky, someone may recognize him. Parents haven’t got a clue as to his whereabouts.”
He considered this in silence. Finally, he said, “Do it,” and hung up.
I took Whitehead’s picture from the file and hurried off, Daniel on my heels. Harris was in his office, standing in front of a mirror, checking his teeth.
“You can’t just barge in here,” he said, giving me an embarrassed look after I had done just that.
“Why don’t we run Whitehead’s picture?” I suggested. “Position him as a suspect, because that’s what he is.”
He frowned. “I have to think about this.” He went back to prepping himself.
“I could just leak it,” I said, annoyed.
“I could have your ass.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Fine. Leave it on my desk.”
“By the way, this is my new partner.”
“So I gathered.”
“Daniel Qo, meet the ever-charming Mac Harris.”
VI
“S T . F RANCIS OF A SSISI —what does it mean?” I asked Daniel. “Is the killer trying to tell us something?”
Daniel squinted up at me, leaned back in his chair, and gave this some thought. I already had my own ideas, but I was curious to see if he had any.
“Something about saints, holy rollers?” he suggested.
I shrugged. That was not quite right.
“Maybe the victim’s name has a ‘St.’ in it, like Susan St. James, or something?”
“That’s closer,” I said. “But what else?”
He continued to ponder but was stumped.
“First thing we’re going to do,” I said, “is fire up the missing persons database.”
I nodded at his computer. I did not have to tell him how this was accomplished; he already knew. He was apparently somewhat of a computer whiz. That would make my life
“Can’t or won’t?” I asked.
“I can’t, Lieutenant. I don’t know where he is. Now if he’s done something to hurt somebody, you can be sure that we’ll cooperate and do whatever we can to help you. I stuck my neck out for that boy once, and he done made a fool of me, and you can be sure it won’t happen twice. You have any kids, Lieutenant?”
“No,” I said.
“Well, sometimes you’ll do anything for your kids, even if it’s not right. But after everything Troy’s been through these past eight years—Troy’s my grandson—well, I guess I just didn’t understand what my son had been doing to him. Troy tried to kill himself, two years ago. Slashed his wrists. I think he meant it, too, because his mother had gone out for the evening but had forgotten her purse, and so she went back home to get it and found him in the bathtub. ’Course, if she hadn’t gone back, he would have bled to death. It wasn’t like he was timing it so she could find him and rescue him. You’re a police officer, you probably know about that.”
I did.
“Anyway,” he said, “if I knew where Earl was, I would tell you. I’d like to think that you believe me when I say that. We’s good people, and I just don’t know what went wrong with Earl, but he’s done embarrassed this family half to death.”
I could only imagine how he must feel, how embarrassing it must be to have a son who was arrested for sexually abusing a child, and who was now wanted in connection with a murder investigation.
“Let me give you my number,” I said, trying to sound more conciliatory, “and if you or your wife think of anything, or if you come across any old letters, anything at all that might help me track down your son, please call me. I don’t care what time of the day or night, just call me straightaway.”
I gave him my cell phone number and rang off.
V
I LOOKED at my watch. It was 9:45 a.m., and Lt. Harris was no doubt preparing himself to bask in glory.
I picked up the phone and called Harlock.
“I think we should run Earl Whitehead’s picture,” I said. “Harris could hand it out during his press conference. We could say he’s a suspect. Right now, he’s the only one we’ve got. If we get lucky, someone may recognize him. Parents haven’t got a clue as to his whereabouts.”
He considered this in silence. Finally, he said, “Do it,” and hung up.
I took Whitehead’s picture from the file and hurried off, Daniel on my heels. Harris was in his office, standing in front of a mirror, checking his teeth.
“You can’t just barge in here,” he said, giving me an embarrassed look after I had done just that.
“Why don’t we run Whitehead’s picture?” I suggested. “Position him as a suspect, because that’s what he is.”
He frowned. “I have to think about this.” He went back to prepping himself.
“I could just leak it,” I said, annoyed.
“I could have your ass.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Fine. Leave it on my desk.”
“By the way, this is my new partner.”
“So I gathered.”
“Daniel Qo, meet the ever-charming Mac Harris.”
VI
“S T . F RANCIS OF A SSISI —what does it mean?” I asked Daniel. “Is the killer trying to tell us something?”
Daniel squinted up at me, leaned back in his chair, and gave this some thought. I already had my own ideas, but I was curious to see if he had any.
“Something about saints, holy rollers?” he suggested.
I shrugged. That was not quite right.
“Maybe the victim’s name has a ‘St.’ in it, like Susan St. James, or something?”
“That’s closer,” I said. “But what else?”
He continued to ponder but was stumped.
“First thing we’re going to do,” I said, “is fire up the missing persons database.”
I nodded at his computer. I did not have to tell him how this was accomplished; he already knew. He was apparently somewhat of a computer whiz. That would make my life
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