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Authors: R.J. Ellory

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He
made good time into Manhattan, was there just before
noon
and aware only then that he had not yet
eaten. He stopped
at a
deli
and had half of a pastrami sandwich. He couldn't face
any
more, but sat on in the corner booth a
while, one eye on
the
street,
another on the TV on the wall. A pretty girl in little
more
than her underwear urged him to drink
Miller Lite. Right
now.
Right
this minute.

Parrish
tried not to think about Father Briley. He tried
even
harder not to think of his own father.
It used to be that there were two parts to his existence: his work, and his own
life. A single door separated the two but, after a while, even with the
greatest effort, you became aware of the voices from the other side. They grew
louder and louder, until finally, inevitably, whatever side you were on was
populated with voices from the other. At home he would think of the dead. While
he communed with the dead he would think of home. His marriage had suffered
greatly, but perhaps this was the pattern for all marriages: a wide road, seemingly
endless, that yet narrowed unnoticeably, until at last both husband and wife
were trapped in a lightless cul-de-sac of bitterness . . .

 

Seated
in a small windowless office on the second floor of the County Records
building, something came to light that raised the hairs on the back of Frank
Parrish's neck. Had he not somewhere been convinced that there would be a
connection, he believed he would not have found it. Had he not been certain
that there was something more to the deaths of these girls than locale, he
would have overlooked the tiny thread that showed itself.

It
concerned a girl called Alice Forrester, the stepsister of Nicole Benedict.
Nicole's parents - Steven and Angela Benedict - had divorced. Steven had then
married a woman called Elaine Forrester, and with her came her daughter,
Alice. Parrish found Alice's file without difficulty, and there learned that
Alice had been an only child, her father having died before she was born.
Angela Benedict had been an alcoholic, and thus - unusually - the father,
Steven Benedict had been granted custody of Nicole. The details of this soap
opera were in Alice Forrester's file, and this was where Parrish found Nicole.
Steven Benedict, now married to Elaine Forrester, had legally adopted Alice,
and thus the link was incontrovertible. Anyone looking at the Alice Forrester
adoption files would have come across Nicole. Her picture was there, her
personal details, a brief report on her attitude towards having a 'new' sister.
Alice was the responsibility of the CAA, but she had not wound up a victim. The
stepsister had become a victim, and solely because her picture and her details
had been there in Alice's file and someone had seen them.

Parrish
leaned back in the chair and slowly exhaled. Same district, same jurisdiction,
same offices that had dealt with Rebecca, Karen, and now Nicole. But no
Jennifer. He spent a good while searching out Jennifer but found nothing. That
didn't necessarily mean there was no connection, but simply that the link could
have been even more tenuous.

And
then he remembered the runaways, the three girls that had gone missing.

Searching
his pockets, Parrish found the notebook in which he'd scribbled their names.
Shannon McLaughlin, reported missing on Thursday, February 1st, 2007; Melissa
Schaeffer, missing since Wednesday, October 11th, 2006 and, most recently,
Sarah Burch, who left home to meet with friends at a local mall in the early
evening of Monday, May 21st, 2007 and not seen since. Melissa was seventeen,
the other two sixteen.

There
was no sign of Shannon or Sarah in the records, but it wasn't long before
Parrish found the next one with a CAA connection. Melissa Mockler. Adopted at
the age of four by a young couple named Steven and Kathy Schaeffer. Parrish
remembered the file back at the office. He recalled her face. Rhodes and
Pagliaro had taken the case, had worked the usual lines, canvassed the street,
spoken to the neighbors, the boyfriend, the girls who shared her classes. As
was always the case with such disappearances, the first forty-eight hours were
crucial. Beyond that the likelihood of success faded rapidly. A week, and you
could pretty much kiss goodbye to ever seeing the runaway alive.

Parrish
left the office and took the files down to the lobby.
He
asked if there was someone who could assist him and
was asked
to
wait.

Ten
or fifteen minutes passed, then a young man approached him from the elevator.

'Detective
Parrish?' he asked.

Parrish
rose to his feet.

'Hi,
I'm Jamie Lewis. Someone said you needed help
with
something.'

'Yes,
I do. I don't know if you can help me, but I had a couple
of
questions. Is there somewhere we could
go that's a bit
more
private?'

Jamie
Lewis led them to a narrow room back of the lobby
and
Parrish outlined the four cases he was
dealing with. He
stressed
that there was no official
inquiry into the Child Services or CAA connection, that this was merely
something that he was pursuing as a possibility.

'You
realize that you're crossing jurisdictions now,' Lewis said. 'Of course, six
months ago it wouldn't have been that way—'

'Six
months ago? What do you mean?'

'The
whole thing got turned inside out at the start of the year. They'd been talking
about it for ever, certainly as long as I've been here, and finally they did
it.'

'Talking
about what, Mr Lewis?'

'The
management system. The way the cases are dealt with. Up until the start of the
year everything was dealt with through two main departments that acted as
co-ordination points between Child Services and the Adoption Agency. They
called them Family Welfare North and Family Welfare South. North District
handled Manhattan, the Bronx, and everything west of the river, whereas the
South District handled Brooklyn, Maspeth, Williamsburg - everything to the
east. Then they divided each one into eight separate departments, each with its
own jurisdiction.'

'So
the cases that I have here—'

'Would
have all been in the original South Zone.'

'And
the CAA and Child Services maintain separate records for each case?'

'Yes,
they do, and it's the job of the Family Welfare Departments to co-ordinate and
liaise between the two.'

'So
regardless if you were in South or North you would have access to both sets of
records and would know where these kids were at all times.'

'Yes,
you can access information at every level of the childcare and adoption
process.'

'And
how many people were employed in each of the original offices?'

'Oh
Christ, I don't know. Maybe seven or eight hundred in each office.'

'Seven
or eight hundred?'

'Yeah,
easily. Could have been more. They covered a hell of a lot of cases across a
huge zone, Detective.'

'Right.
Sure. And if I wanted to get a list of every employee of the original South
office how would I do that?'

Jamie
shook his head. 'I should think that we'd have it somewhere here. Probably
Personnel.'

'And
they'd also have records of which people from South Welfare went to whichever
of the new departments?'

'I
should think so, yes. They go by zip code now. Personnel could give you a list
of all those offices and their addresses as well.'

'Okay.
That's been a great help, Jamie. I really appreciate your time.'

'You
think it's someone working for Family Welfare who's done this to these girls?'

Parrish
shook his head. 'I have no idea. There might be no connection at all. It could
simply be a coincidence—'

'I'm
not a great believer in coincidences,' Jamie interjected. 'Never have been.'

'I'm
the same, but until there's something more substantial to connect them it
is
nothing more than coincidence.' Parrish
got up. 'I'll go see Personnel,' he said. Pausing at the door he added, 'You
appreciate that what we have discussed here is strictly confidential. No water
cooler chatter with your colleagues. I really cannot stress that enough,
Jamie.'

Jamie
smiled. 'I'm not one for rumors and hearsay, Detective, don't worry, though if
it does turn out to be someone in-house it'll turn things upside down, don't
you think?'

'For
sure it will,' Parrish replied, 'but let's hope that's not the case, eh?'

THIRTY-ONE

 

Parrish
left the County Records and Archives building clutching a sheaf of papers that
detailed over nine hundred names, all of them original employees of Family
Welfare South. He also had a print-out listing all the new North and South
District offices. The nearest one to the 126th - District Five South - was
literally a handful of minutes' walk across Fulton. The feeling he had was one
of quiet resolution, yet beneath that a sense of overwhelm. The first thing he
would have to do was separate out the men from the women. This business - aside
from rarities like Carol Mary Bundy and Aileen Wuornos - was a predominantly
male province. Whether Family Welfare South was the link between Rebecca,
Karen, Melissa and Nicole he did not know, but it could not be ignored. And if
there
was
a connection, and if these girls had been selected not at random, but from
files and records held within the administrative co-ordination units of the
county's Child Services network, then the ramifications would be staggering.
And if this was the case then Parrish believed there would be more. Teenage
girls with unstable family backgrounds, perhaps chosen from photographs, even
interviews, with a Child Services or Adoption Agency counsellor . . . chosen in
the belief that they would never be missed, that no-one would care, that they
were expendable?

Had
this been the selection process for a sex killer? Or was he chasing a fragile
thread of coincidence that would merely serve to alienate his colleagues and
superiors further, and finally remove any possibility of real repatriation
within Homicide and the Police Department?

Was
it worth it?

Parrish
didn't think that such a question even justified consideration.

He
took the subway back across the river from Canal Street to DeKalb. As he walked
towards the station house he felt an unexpected and immediate hunger. He had
forgotten how it was to have an appetite. He stopped at a diner on Livingston
and ordered a tuna mayo sub, some fries, a cup of coffee, and when he was done
he had more coffee and a pecan Danish. He left nothing on his plate, and when
he left the diner and walked up the street towards the office, he believed that
he might get through the rest of the day without a drink. Something had
changed. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable, but he recognized it for what it
was: This was how a case had felt when he first made detective. Like there was
a point.

Radick
was at his desk. He asked how Parrish had got on over in Manhattan.

'It
was okay,' Parrish replied. He held up the sheaf of papers. 'I might have
something here. I'm looking at the possibility of a link between Rebecca and
some older cases.'

'You
serious?'

Parrish
raised his hand. 'Hold on there,' he said, and smiled knowingly. 'Don't go all
puppy-dog on this thing, Jimmy. It may be nothing. I got a bunch more questions
that need to be answered before I come to any conclusions.'

He
sat down, asked, 'So how did you get on with these others?'

'Think
we have something on the campus stabbing. I have an APB out on someone.'

'And
the subway?'

'Frank,
seriously, nothing's gonna happen on that. No witnesses, no-one has come
forward, nothing from his friends or family. The likelihood of that ever
closing is a million to one.'

BOOK: Saints Of New York
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