palm
facing up. She didn’t come out and ask him for the plastic noisemaker, but he
knew what she wanted. Tears now ran down the child’s face, she felt his frustration
as he placed the toy in her hand, his big green eyes still fixated on hers.
Instead of putting it away, she raised the whistle to her own lips and blew
hard. She turned around, facing the door, looking in the direction he had
looked after each blow and looked as disappointed as he had when no one new
entered the room.
“Tristan, can you tell me how old you are?” Hope asked,
trying once again to engage him in a conversation. He responded by staring at
her, a blank look in his eyes. She tried another method. “I bet you are eight
years old. Yup, I think you are eight!” Nothing.
“Tristan, can you tell me what your last name is?” Nothing.
Someone spoke up. “Maybe he doesn’t speak English.”
Hope tried to engage him in conversation again. “Tristan,
are you hungry?” At first he didn’t move and then he slowly opened his mouth
and gave a soft grunt. Unless he was reading her lips, there was no question
now that he could did not have a hearing problem, and there was no language
discrepancy. Hope turned to one of the nurses and asked her to get the boy
something to eat. She turned back to him. “How about a cheeseburger? Would you
like that, Tristan?” Again, he answered with a grunt and a nod of his head.
Hope turned back to the nurse. “Vanessa, can you get Tristan
a cheeseburger and some french fries?” Hope looked back to the boy, hoping to
see if the mention of the fries got a response. The little boy’s head bobbed up
and down twice.
Satisfied, and somewhat elated, she instructed the young
nurse to run the errand. “Yes, a cheeseburger and fries.” Just before the nurse
left the room, Hope added to the order, “and a large glass of milk please.”
The small group that had huddled in the room was blocking
the doorway, but one by one they spread out so Vanessa was able to maneuver her
way out the door to get the child some food. The group, consisting of medical
and law enforcement, stood there captivated by the child, not quite knowing
what to make of him. It was just a few hours ago he was screaming gibberish and
running through the hospital trying to escape, and now he was passive and
remarkably submissive.
Unlike Michaelah, who was found filthy, her blond hair so matted
and dirty everyone thought it was brown; Tristan seemed to be well groomed. His
hair looked and smelled as if it recently had been shampooed, and his
fingernails, although a little dirty, looked short and well-manicured. There
was no apparent bruising on him, except for a few fresh scratches from what
Hope thought to be his encounter in the woods and running through it partially
undressed. His teeth appeared clean and well maintained, with his right top
front tooth slightly overlapping the one next to it. She got the distinct
impression that someone had taken great care in his dental hygiene, as she
recalled noticing a white filling on one of his molars in the back of his open mouth
just before he blew into the whistle.
The appearance and condition of the two children were
dramatically different and she wondered why the discrepancy. Was it possible
that Tristan was kidnapped just hours earlier? Michaelah had been missing for
several months; which would account for her lack of good hygiene. Hope took the
polo shirt and the boy now known to them as Tristan allowed her to pull it over
his head. He lifted his butt as she pulled up the jeans and zipped them. As she
did, she consciously made a list of questions that she wanted to bring to Marty
and Jean’s attention, but she did not want to discuss them in front of the boy.
So she filed them away in the back of her mind and continued to try and build a
rapport with him.
As captivating as the scene was with Hope and the
boy, Jean knew she had a homicide to investigate and this boy was most likely
their best and
facing up. She didn’t come out and ask him for the plastic noisemaker, but he
knew what she wanted. Tears now ran down the child’s face, she felt his frustration
as he placed the toy in her hand, his big green eyes still fixated on hers.
Instead of putting it away, she raised the whistle to her own lips and blew
hard. She turned around, facing the door, looking in the direction he had
looked after each blow and looked as disappointed as he had when no one new
entered the room.
“Tristan, can you tell me how old you are?” Hope asked,
trying once again to engage him in a conversation. He responded by staring at
her, a blank look in his eyes. She tried another method. “I bet you are eight
years old. Yup, I think you are eight!” Nothing.
“Tristan, can you tell me what your last name is?” Nothing.
Someone spoke up. “Maybe he doesn’t speak English.”
Hope tried to engage him in conversation again. “Tristan,
are you hungry?” At first he didn’t move and then he slowly opened his mouth
and gave a soft grunt. Unless he was reading her lips, there was no question
now that he could did not have a hearing problem, and there was no language
discrepancy. Hope turned to one of the nurses and asked her to get the boy
something to eat. She turned back to him. “How about a cheeseburger? Would you
like that, Tristan?” Again, he answered with a grunt and a nod of his head.
Hope turned back to the nurse. “Vanessa, can you get Tristan
a cheeseburger and some french fries?” Hope looked back to the boy, hoping to
see if the mention of the fries got a response. The little boy’s head bobbed up
and down twice.
Satisfied, and somewhat elated, she instructed the young
nurse to run the errand. “Yes, a cheeseburger and fries.” Just before the nurse
left the room, Hope added to the order, “and a large glass of milk please.”
The small group that had huddled in the room was blocking
the doorway, but one by one they spread out so Vanessa was able to maneuver her
way out the door to get the child some food. The group, consisting of medical
and law enforcement, stood there captivated by the child, not quite knowing
what to make of him. It was just a few hours ago he was screaming gibberish and
running through the hospital trying to escape, and now he was passive and
remarkably submissive.
Unlike Michaelah, who was found filthy, her blond hair so matted
and dirty everyone thought it was brown; Tristan seemed to be well groomed. His
hair looked and smelled as if it recently had been shampooed, and his
fingernails, although a little dirty, looked short and well-manicured. There
was no apparent bruising on him, except for a few fresh scratches from what
Hope thought to be his encounter in the woods and running through it partially
undressed. His teeth appeared clean and well maintained, with his right top
front tooth slightly overlapping the one next to it. She got the distinct
impression that someone had taken great care in his dental hygiene, as she
recalled noticing a white filling on one of his molars in the back of his open mouth
just before he blew into the whistle.
The appearance and condition of the two children were
dramatically different and she wondered why the discrepancy. Was it possible
that Tristan was kidnapped just hours earlier? Michaelah had been missing for
several months; which would account for her lack of good hygiene. Hope took the
polo shirt and the boy now known to them as Tristan allowed her to pull it over
his head. He lifted his butt as she pulled up the jeans and zipped them. As she
did, she consciously made a list of questions that she wanted to bring to Marty
and Jean’s attention, but she did not want to discuss them in front of the boy.
So she filed them away in the back of her mind and continued to try and build a
rapport with him.
As captivating as the scene was with Hope and the
boy, Jean knew she had a homicide to investigate and this boy was most likely
their best and
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