easier.
“What’s the password to get in?” he asked, looking up to me.
“Use your own,” I said. Each detective was given his own system log on name and password, enabling them to access any of the databases we had available.
He typed in his name and password, and the introductory search screen came up.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Do a search,” I said. “Let’s look for someone named Francis. That’s the most obvious thing.”
He typed “Francis” into the list of keywords to search for and did not need me to tell him to restrict his search to males ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen in the state of Missouri. He then clicked on the “search” button and we waited for the system to start displaying results, of which there were exactly two, neither of which bore any resemblance to our victim.
“Now what?” he asked, looking up to me again.
“Why are we doing this anyway?” I countered.
“You think the kid might have been a runaway.”
“Yes, but why?”
He considered this but didn’t know.
“Did you read the reports?” I asked.
He nodded.
“And?” I prompted.
“Shit, man, I don’t know. You tell me.”
“First off, the kid is skinny, almost malnourished. That suggests he might have been living on the street and not doing a very good job of it. His teeth were also a bit of a mess, as though he hadn’t been getting proper dental care. That’s another sign of someone on the street. That’s why we look at missing persons first.”
“Oh.”
“So, try the same search, but with all the states included, not just Missouri.”
He did that, turning up a slew of hits, but not the one we were looking for.
“Why don’t I look for kids in Missouri and Kansas who have gone missing in the past four, five days?” he suggested.
I nodded.
He performed the search, and again we waited, then flipped through page after page of information, doing the same search for all the local states, but with no success.
“We may have to do this the hard way,” I said. “Maybe do a search for all missing white males ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen, and then look through them one by one, including all of them in the database going back however many years. If a report was filed five years ago, for example, we’d have to have the art department do an age progression, see if we can get a match.”
“That could take a long time,” he said, frowning.
“It very often does,” I replied. “There is one other shortcut.”
“What?”
“Francis is often shortened to Frank. Why don’t you see if you can pull up any Franks in the database who are the right age and race?”
He pecked away at his keyboard, then sat back, waiting for the results to start coming in.
“If no one has filed a missing persons report on this kid, then we’re wasting our time,” he pointed out.
“I know that,” I said. “But most white kids who go missing are reported, though most of them are runaways who don’t want to be found.”
“Why just white kids?”
“Because a lot of minorities don’t report a missing kid to the police, maybe because they’re afraid of the police, or afraid their immigration status will be affected, or something. Some of them don’t even know they should report a missing child, that the police will do everything they can to find that child. Sometimes it’s just a language barrier thing—the parents don’t speak English, are too intimidated to go to the police station. But most white kids, and black kids, too, for that matter, get reported.”
The results started appearing, and Daniel flipped through the screens. A few minutes later, fifteen-year-old “Frankie Peters” was staring back at us, and something about him looked very familiar.
“When was this filed?” I asked.
Daniel flipped through more screens. “Kid was reported missing two years ago, last May. From Liberty, Missouri.”
“Can you scroll to the bottom of the file, see who was the last person to
“What’s the password to get in?” he asked, looking up to me.
“Use your own,” I said. Each detective was given his own system log on name and password, enabling them to access any of the databases we had available.
He typed in his name and password, and the introductory search screen came up.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Do a search,” I said. “Let’s look for someone named Francis. That’s the most obvious thing.”
He typed “Francis” into the list of keywords to search for and did not need me to tell him to restrict his search to males ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen in the state of Missouri. He then clicked on the “search” button and we waited for the system to start displaying results, of which there were exactly two, neither of which bore any resemblance to our victim.
“Now what?” he asked, looking up to me again.
“Why are we doing this anyway?” I countered.
“You think the kid might have been a runaway.”
“Yes, but why?”
He considered this but didn’t know.
“Did you read the reports?” I asked.
He nodded.
“And?” I prompted.
“Shit, man, I don’t know. You tell me.”
“First off, the kid is skinny, almost malnourished. That suggests he might have been living on the street and not doing a very good job of it. His teeth were also a bit of a mess, as though he hadn’t been getting proper dental care. That’s another sign of someone on the street. That’s why we look at missing persons first.”
“Oh.”
“So, try the same search, but with all the states included, not just Missouri.”
He did that, turning up a slew of hits, but not the one we were looking for.
“Why don’t I look for kids in Missouri and Kansas who have gone missing in the past four, five days?” he suggested.
I nodded.
He performed the search, and again we waited, then flipped through page after page of information, doing the same search for all the local states, but with no success.
“We may have to do this the hard way,” I said. “Maybe do a search for all missing white males ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen, and then look through them one by one, including all of them in the database going back however many years. If a report was filed five years ago, for example, we’d have to have the art department do an age progression, see if we can get a match.”
“That could take a long time,” he said, frowning.
“It very often does,” I replied. “There is one other shortcut.”
“What?”
“Francis is often shortened to Frank. Why don’t you see if you can pull up any Franks in the database who are the right age and race?”
He pecked away at his keyboard, then sat back, waiting for the results to start coming in.
“If no one has filed a missing persons report on this kid, then we’re wasting our time,” he pointed out.
“I know that,” I said. “But most white kids who go missing are reported, though most of them are runaways who don’t want to be found.”
“Why just white kids?”
“Because a lot of minorities don’t report a missing kid to the police, maybe because they’re afraid of the police, or afraid their immigration status will be affected, or something. Some of them don’t even know they should report a missing child, that the police will do everything they can to find that child. Sometimes it’s just a language barrier thing—the parents don’t speak English, are too intimidated to go to the police station. But most white kids, and black kids, too, for that matter, get reported.”
The results started appearing, and Daniel flipped through the screens. A few minutes later, fifteen-year-old “Frankie Peters” was staring back at us, and something about him looked very familiar.
“When was this filed?” I asked.
Daniel flipped through more screens. “Kid was reported missing two years ago, last May. From Liberty, Missouri.”
“Can you scroll to the bottom of the file, see who was the last person to
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