All Good Deeds (3 page)

Chris dug his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it across the table. “There. Look through it. Take my driver’s license information. Look me up.”

Now I was certain he needed the psychiatric evaluation. “Are you crazy? Besides, this could be fake.”

“Except it’s not. And you can easily confirm that.”

I stood up and slipped on my coat. My insides burned with panic, and my brain felt sluggish. I needed to get away from Chris, into the fresh air. Figure out what to do next.

Chris scribbled something down on his napkin and then slid it over to me. A phone number. I put it in my purse. I’d throw it out later.

He stood and stretched. His shirt hiked up enough for me to see the muscles of his abdomen. I looked away only to see the women at the next table trying to check him out without being noticeable. “It was nice meeting you, Lucy.”

“You know my name.”

“I’m observant. I’ll be looking forward to your phone call.” He flashed me one last annoyingly captivating smile and then disappeared into the crowd.

My phone call?
I wasn’t about to get into any sort of partnership with some guy who crawled out of Chetter’s woodwork, even if he turned out to be exactly what he said he was.
Especially if he turned out that way
. With him out of sight, some of the tension in my muscles evaporated. I leaned against the wall trying not to throw up. Life has tossed me curveballs for as long as I could remember, and I was good at lobbing them out of the way with ease. Cops I could deal with. Angry family members, parents who feel they’ve failed their child because they didn’t realize the kid was being molested–those situations I could handle. I knew when to fight and when to walk away and save the battle for next time. When I finally accepted our justice system wasn’t black and white and decided to strike out on my own, I prepared myself for the inevitable day I was caught for my decisions.

But Chris Hale was an entirely different monster, and I had no idea what to do with him.

S
leep eluded me
most of the night. Instead of dreams of falling into the black void of death, every time I closed my eyes, Chris Hale’s face danced in my memory. He was unpredictable, and that sort of person is always the most dangerous. How long had he been following me? And why? More importantly, how did I miss him?
So much for being self-aware.

Dawn cracked through my blinds, and I imagined the city beginning to wake up. Windows glowed with life, hopefully with happy families starting their day, and furnaces vented out tufts of white smoke that looked like swelled clouds. The thought made me feel peaceful. A rare emotion.

Since my first eradication of a sex offender eighteen months ago, I’d accepted that one day I’d likely be caught. With every scumbag I silenced–five in all, as of now–a dozen new scenarios of my own judgment day raced through my head, dramatic and filled with chaos. None of them included being approached by a man like Chris Hale.

A warm, chubby body pressed against my shoulders, flicking its tail in my face. Mousecop, the fat tiger cat I’d rescued a few months ago, needed sustenance. Meaning he could see a spot on the bottom of his food bowl, which somehow translated to starving in cat-speak.

I rolled out of bed, and Mousecop immediately rubbed against my side, purring loudly. I scratched between his ears, and his green eyes glowed with appreciation.

“Somebody knows our secret, Mousey,” I said. “What am I going to do?”

He blinked and then rubbed his head against my hand, demanding more skritches.

“I wish my problems were solved with food and scratches.”

I spent the morning catching up on paperwork and cleaning my small apartment. I’d only been working as a private investigator for a year, but because of my background in social work, I’d built up a solid network and already had a nice client base. I wasn’t making big bucks, but I paid the bills.

By late afternoon, my eyes were glazed over from dealing with emails and billing. I rubbed my temples, contemplating taking a nap. My phone buzzed, and Kelly, the hacker who made my business run, popped up on the screen. Hopefully she had some information about Chris Hale.

If he’d been telling the truth about his motive, he was going to be a lot tougher to deal with than an old-fashioned blackmail. Not to mention lying about being a sociopath. I didn’t believe that for a minute, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because I couldn’t believe someone so attractive could be terrible. I’d been around enough to know looks mean exactly squat. My instinct about Chris went beyond common misconception and into the realm of something I couldn’t explain yet.

I swiped the screen expecting to see Kelly’s information on Chris, but instead her words sent a cold rush of paralyzing fear through me. My body turned liquid, sagging down the chair as if it were ready to turn into a pool of shuddering mush. I’d been expecting this for months, resolved to it the same way a person accepts the diagnosis of a loved one’s terminal cancer, but this was worse than I’d envisioned. Every parent’s nightmare.

“8 yr old girl missing in Beckett’s area. Stop by asap. -K”

Kelly lived on
Eighteenth Street, near Rittenhouse Square, in a tiny studio that was never warm enough. Parking down here sucked, and I ended up five blocks away and jetting through the open air park. Rittenhouse is one of my favorite places in Philadelphia. While high rises are scattered throughout the area, the side streets boast historical brownstones, and during the summer, there’s no better place for outside seating than at one of the many cafés. Usually when I come to visit Kelly, I make a stop at Di Bruno Brothers, home of the best gourmet cheese in the city. Tonight I didn’t have the stomach for it.

Even at night on a brisk October evening, minglers were scattered in the park. A couple walking a purebred dog that probably cost more than my high-tech mattress glared at me as I rushed by. A group of teenagers had taken up residence on the corner and were holding some sort of impromptu break dancing contest, their music beating out the sound of traffic. I rushed past their party and into Kelly’s building, using the code she’d entrusted me with. She answered after my first knock.

“You must have run half a dozen red lights to get here this fast.” Kelly locked the door behind me.

I admired her new haircut, very short, which showed off the angular planes of her face and accentuated her doe-like eyes. “When did you get your hair done?”

“Friday.” She smiled, both of us acknowledging the small victory. Seven years ago, she sat shaking and terrified in my office, resistant to any kind of unfamiliar contact. It took me three weeks to break through her walls, and I started the process with very small cracks.

“I almost didn’t go through with it,” Kelly said. “The last time I tried going that far from my apartment, I had a panic attack and almost passed out. But I made it.”

“I’m proud of you.” She’d come so damned far over the past couple of years.

“Are the new anxiety meds working?”

“I think so. I slept for three hours straight last night. That’s an improvement.”

“I’m glad.” I couldn’t delay the dirty business of our meeting any longer. “When did the little girl go missing?”

“About six hours ago,” Kelly said. “I heard it on the scanner.” Most consultants were required to work in a secured area of the station, but Kelly was given an exception due to her skills and PTSD. Her visits to the precincts were sporadic, but her connections were my inside ticket.

“School released early today for a teacher workday. She was supposed to walk home with a group of kids, but she never showed up,” Kelly said. “They didn’t realize it until they were halfway home. One kid told her mom, and she called the police. Luce, she lives in the apartments across the street from Justin Beckett’s duplex.”

Justin Beckett.
My legs weakened, and I grabbed Kelly’s arm before remembering the girl was still sensitive about touching. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Come sit down.”

I followed Kelly to her office. Two large monitors were hooked up to a powerful desktop, and a partially built computer occupied most of the extra desk. Her gait was light, her lithe hips swaying as though she were dancing to her own soundtrack.

Kelly’s emotional growth had been so stunted sometimes she still seemed like a confused adolescent. I longed for the day when she felt secure enough to engage in a normal activity, like dating or even going to the movie theater with me. I supposed that was too much exposure, considering the way her stepfather had treated her.

“So, Justin Beckett,” Kelly said. “What don’t I know about him?”

I really didn’t want to go back to these painful memories, but Kelly needed to know the whole story in order to do her job. I took a deep breath. “Not much. Ten years ago, Justin Beckett was one of my first cases as a newly minted social worker. Back then, I still believed I could change the world and that no amount of horrors would be too much for me to bear. Then I met the Becketts.” I hesitated, afraid this might hurt Kelly, but she nodded for me to continue.

“A neighbor called CPS after hearing fighting from the house on numerous occasions. I was sent to investigate and found eleven-year-old Justin and his seventeen-year-old brother, Todd, who was in charge while the parents worked.” I still remembered the stale smell of the house, the way Justin’s small form shrank away whenever my attention turned to him. I stood up and walked to the small window. Below, the breakdancers were still going strong.

“The brothers had been fighting, and what at first seemed like normal sibling issues, especially with latchkey kids, quickly turned suspicious. Justin was withdrawn and secretive, but he was prone to outbursts. He also had bruises he wouldn’t account for.” I should have pushed the issue. I was young and naïve, and my instincts weren’t enough to get him removed from his home. Irrationally focused on being new and shiny and full of determination to change lives, I’d ignored my base instincts–instincts honed from years of watching my sister’s strange behavior and never knowing what it all meant. Until it was much too late.

I pushed on. “I suggested follow-up visits and interviewing the parents more thoroughly, but my superior nixed it. Not enough evidence and a backload of cases. Two weeks later, Justin Beckett molested and beat a ten-year-old girl to death.”

“I remember reading because he was far too young to be tried as an adult,” Kelly said, “Justin was remanded to a youth psychiatric facility to serve his sentence.”

I nodded. “He was given extensive treatment. I visited him several times in those first couple of years, and even though psychologists were hesitant to fit him into the accepted pedophile mold, I still saw the same darkness smoldering in his eyes.” I gnawed at a hangnail and looked away from Kelly’s sad eyes. “And then the state released him last year, without making him register as a sex offender. The family and I petitioned the court to keep him in the psychiatric facility, but no one listened. You know the decisions I made after that happened.” I rubbed my temples. “What’s the chatter?”

“There’s a neighborhood-wide search in progress.” Kelly chewed her fingernails, which were already down to the nub. “Police are questioning all the parents and teachers, plus bus drivers and anyone else with access to the kids. And it gets better. You mentioned his half-brother Todd? He went on to become a cop.”

I last saw Todd when our petition went before the judge. He wore his dress uniform and refused to look at me. He’d been seventeen when Justin committed his crime, an angry teenager who couldn’t stand his stepmother and hated me on sight. “So?”

“He’s the detective in charge. Kailey Richardson’s disappearance is in his jurisdiction.”

“You’re kidding me. Why hasn’t he recused himself for conflict of interest?”

Kelly raised her eyebrow. “No idea yet. I’m trying to find out how he’s handling his brother because he’s got to consider him a suspect. From everything I’ve been able to find out about Detective Todd Beckett, he’s by the book. We’ll see how it goes when little brother is back on the seat.”

“Nothing on the scanner?”

“No. But I’ve got a call in to a friend at the Philly PD about it. Hopefully I’ll hear something soon.”

I tried to think my way around this. “What do we know about Justin’s current life?”

“He works at Jiffy Lube within walking distance of his place. I’ve been doing the pedo-crawl on the various creep chat rooms, and so far I can’t find any illicit online activity. He does have a driver’s license.” Kelly tucked her legs beneath her and sat cross legged in a position that made my back ache from just looking.

“So I need to get into his car and his apartment.”

“Not yet,” Kelly said. “Police are all over the area, so you’d be busted. And unless Todd’s completely blind to what his brother is capable of, he’ll do that. Or see to it that someone else does.”

She was right. “What about other registered offenders in the area? You know, since Justin gets to go without that label.”

“Two in an eight-block radius,” Kelly said. “One for statutory of his consenting girlfriend, and the other exposed himself to a group of teens.”

“And Justin.” My chin dropped to my chest, my shoulders sagging until the muscles ached. I hated being right about this. There were no special cases when it came to pedophiles. The state of Pennsylvania had failed Kailey Richardson. Guess I had, too.

“I need to find out if Justin’s been skulking around Kailey,” I said. “You said the older kids realized she wasn’t with them about halfway home? So it’s likely the police are focusing their search around the school right now. Hopefully that’s where Todd is. I’ll head over to Kailey’s apartment, see what I can find out. See what Justin’s up to.”

“Your best bet is to talk to the mother,” Kelly said. “You’re a private investigator. See if you can get her to accept your help.”

The breakdancers were still going strong when I left Kelly’s, the rhythm of their heavily synthesized music bleating into my skull and providing me with inappropriate exit music. I didn’t understand the song they were playing, but its spirit was positive and upbeat–a far cry from the dark pit my mind was in.