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“You let a thirteen-year-old girl walk.”
“They were only mine as long as they chose to stay. I’d hoped she’d gone to Florida, and sat on the beach. She deserved to. I remember Shelby as she was brash, rebellious—an interesting girl. A leader, but not always where others should be led. And Mikki because she would have followed Shelby into hell and back again. But the other you mentioned?”
“Merry Wolcovich.”
“I don’t recall right off. Fifteen years is a long time, and I’ve taken in a l
ot of girls over the years.”
It put her back up, this taking in girls as if he were some selfless hero instead of an exploitive criminal. She leaned forward.
“Let’s just lay this out. You train disenfranchised kids to steal, to break the law, to treat it like a game on one level, an avocation on another. So they run the streets, bilking people, taking money and possessions those people worked for, money they earned to pay the rent, to pay bills, or to blow at craps at a casino—because it’s theirs. And you make a profit on your school of thieves and grifters. Mavis might see you as some sort of savior, but to me, you’re just another criminal circumventing the law for his own gain.”
Nodding, Sebastian sipped his water. “I understand your point of view. You’ve built your life around the law, have sworn to uphold it. And while you’re neither naive nor rigid, your duty is your core. I’m a hard bite for you to chew and swallow, but you’ll do it. On a personal level for Mavis, and on both a personal and professional level for twelve dead girls.”
“Girls you might’ve killed. You helped Shelby get out of the new HPCCY, just as they were moving in.”
“I don’t remember doing anything of the kind. How did I help her leave there?”
“Forged documents. It’s something you do.”
“I may or may not forge documents. I’ll tread softly there. But I never did so for Shelby. Not of any kind. She wouldn’t have asked me.”
“Why?”
“First, because she knew better than to offer her usual bartering system to me. I don’t touch the girls sexually, despise any man who would, and she knew my line there. Second, it would have implied she needed me, and she was always out to prove she needed no one.”
“Did you teach her how to forge official documents?”
“Not directly, as again, she’d have never asked me to teach her any skill. It’s certainly possible she picked a few things up. She knew how to pay attention.”
“Shelby planned to get her own place and had one in mind. A born leader, in your own words, she might’ve taken a big chunk of girls with her, threatening your operation, cutting into your profits.”
He drank some water, watched her steadily. “I imagine you’ll have to explore that possibility. I’m outside your lines for one, and connected to at least some of those poor girls. But you know, as I do, Mavis is a very sharp judge of people. She knows I’ve never hurt a child in my life, never could or would.”
Now he leaned forward. “I don’t have the inclination and you haven’t the time to hear my long, sad story, Lieutenant. I’ll just say that while we have different methods, even opposing methods, our goal is the same. To help those who’ve been hurt or discarded. Because of that, I’ll do anything I’m capable of doing to help you find out who killed those girls.”
He paused a moment, leaned back again, drank again. “Some of them were mine,” he said quietly.
It pissed her off that she believed him. Saying nothing, she reached in her file bag, took out a photo, and set it on the table between them.
He nudged it closer and, brows drawing together, studied the face.
“Yes. Yes, I know this face. She came in—was brought in—by one of the others. With . . . give me a moment.”
He frowned at the photo, then closed his eyes. “With DeLonna, of the siren’s voice.”
“DeLonna Jackson?”
“I don’t know if I had DeLonna’s full name as she wasn’t really with us. Came and went, one of Shelby’s friends. But it was DeLonna, I’m certain, who brought her to me, after she’d found the girl being hassled by some older boys. Some will always prey on the smaller and weaker—and though DeLonna was small, she was fierce.” He laughed a little, at some memory. “In any case this girl . . . yes, Merry, but not the traditional spelling. She was very specific, M-e-r-r-y. Again, I don’t know the last name. She only stayed a handful of days.”
“Why?”
“I don’t remember, right offhand, the particulars. I do remember her now. I remember her face. Do you have more? More photographs?”
“Not yet. What about girls who left during this time period. You said some came and went. Who went.”
“Actually, there is one. After I spoke with Mavis, I thought of her. Iris Kirkwood. She’d been with us about a year. All too typical story. Father gone, abuse and neglect from the mother. In and out of foster homes, some of which were no better than the parental home, then back with the mother who simply walked out one day. Iris opted not to go back in the system, but went on the street. She was a terrible thief, clumsy fingers. I used her primarily as a pickup, or on the Lost and Found grift, something simple. She was . . . a little slow, if you understand me. A sweet smile when she used it, but far too eager to please. She liked to sit in church.”
