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“I like to save my venom for people who deserve it, like Ramsey.” To Vernon, she said, “Have you guys heard any more about him being charged for ramming us?”
“The FBI is handling the case, and I expect him to be charged federally with several felonies,” Vernon said.
“Excellent,” Sam said. “Whatever it takes to keep him off the job and away from us.”
They arrived at the Southeast address of the group home where Isaiah had lived until he went missing. She glanced out the window at the run-down house. “Why do they put kids in their custody in the most depressing-looking places in the entire city?”
“Because they’re the cheapest,” Freddie said.
“And what does that say about us as a society? That the most at-risk kids in our city get the shaft at every turn.”
“I don’t think it’s just here.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
They went through an iron gate that had once been black before most of the paint chipped off and up the stairs to a three-story brown rowhouse.
“Was brown the sale color at the paint store?” Sam asked as she pushed the button to summon a staff member.
“You’re on fire today.”
“After hearing what this kid has been through, I feel like he should be living at Buckingham Palace or something.”
“Or the White House?” Freddie asked, raising a brow.
Sam would’ve taken him in a minute except for the pesky possibility that he might be wanted for mass murder. “Nah, I just feel for him.”
“I know. Me, too.”
Sam pushed the button again and banged on the door for added emphasis.
The metal door swung open to reveal an older Black man.
Sam and Freddie showed their badges.
When he took a closer look, the man did a double take as he recognized Sam.
“We’re here about Isaiah Wiley,” she said, cutting off any first-lady comments.
“I told the other cops that we haven’t seen or heard from him in about three weeks. What’s he done?”
“Nothing that we know of,” Freddie said. “We’d just like to talk to him.”
“I gave the other cops the names of his friends and the info about where he works. Not sure what else I can do.”
“Can we see his room?”
“Do you need a warrant for that?”
“Only if you don’t want to give us access to help find a minor who went missing on your watch,” Sam said.
The man bristled at her. “Do you haveany ideahow difficult it is to take care of teenagers who think they don’t need to be taken care of? Most of them are just killing time until they’re eighteen. They think everything will be better then, but we know better, don’t we? Keeps me awake at night worrying about what becomes of them after they leave us.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said when she realized he was someone who cared deeply about the kids under his care. “I can’t begin to know how difficult it must be to do what you do.”
“Likewise,” he said. “Come in. I’ll show you his room.”
“What’s your name?” Freddie asked.
