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“Yes. Any detail you haven’t shared with us. Anything we can use.”
Detail. Like what?
My memory flashes at me a conversation with Dakota, something Megan recounted to me some days ago. About this boy Tyrell that Zane is so hung up about. She’d said we should look more into this, that it’s important.
Maybe she’s right.
“Okay, how about this: Kenneth Shaw fostered other kids at the time he fostered Zane Madden. One of them disappeared, and the other kids were convinced something bad happened to him. Zane believes he was abused by Kenneth Shaw, too.”
“This is interesting,” Wesley says cautiously. “What else can you tell me about it?”
“His name was Tyrell, or something like that.”
“Tyrell. Surname?”
Fuck. What had Megan said? “He had a… a weird surname.”
“Weird? How can I work with this?”
“It’s all I have. The kid vanished, for chrissakes.”
“Foster kids run away all the time, Mr. Vestri, for a variety of reasons. Or maybe this Tyrell was simply placed in a different home, or was returned to his biological family. Just because your friend remembers it this way doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“But his memories have proven right so far,” I remind him. “If you could just check it…”
There’s a beat of silence. “I’m not sure this has anything to do with your friend’s report,” he says, “even if his memory doesn’t deceive him. For all your friend knows, that boy did vanish—from their lives, that is. And like I said at the beginning of our conversation, I shouldn’t be discussing this case with you, although your name and contact information was put down as next of kin when the report was filed yesterday.”
“There you go,” I say, although I hadn’t realized at the time. “My friend is too distraught by this case to talk to you, which is why I’m calling. I didn’t mean to disrespect the law.”
There, see? I can be calm and polite when needed.
“I’ll talk to social services, see if I can see the names of the kids this Kenneth Shaw has fostered, see if I can find a boy with a weird surname whose first name may or may not be Tyrell.”
“Are you fucking with me?” I don’t like his sarcastic tone. And there goes my politeness and calm out the window. “This is important.”
“Like I said, Mr. Vestri, I will look into it, and I don’t appreciate your tone. This is my job, and not yours. Don’t call this number again.”
The line goes flat, and I slam the phone down on the desk. That went down well. It was my last card. Our last fucking card, and I probably ruined it by being a dick to that Wesley guy.
Way to go, Rafe. You’re a diamond in the rough. Should be made ambassador for all the calm and patience you bring to the table.
But he hasn’t seen Zane’s fall. Hasn’t heard him describe what was done to him. Maybe he doesn’t have children and his chest doesn’t get too tight to breathe when he thinks about this case.
Maybe he just doesn’t believe any of it. Who knows how many cases they get every day, and how many are dropped by the hour for lack of evidence?
Well, I won’t let them drop this one, and that’s a fucking promise.
***
“So have you set a date for the wedding?” I ask Dylan as we sit down at the coffee shop nearest to Damage Control later in the afternoon. Seems like a safe opening topic, with the anger that’s been riding me since the phone call this morning.
Dylan grins. He looks happy, happier than I’ve seen him these past few months. It’s as if a weight has lifted off his chest. “Tess has been talking about joining you guys. A triple wedding. What do you think?”
I shrug. “Whatever you guys want. I’m in for the food and booze.”
He laughs. “Yeah right.” He shakes his head. “Man, I can’t fucking believe she said yes.”
“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.” I snort.
