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“Chuck Dempsey.”
“Did Isaiah talk about his former family at all?” Freddie asked.
They followed him into the house, which smelled like fried onions, sweat and peanut butter.
“The ones that adopted him and then gave him back?”
“Yeah, them.”
“Not much other than to say he still missed them. He was happy there, but he couldn’t curb his impulses when it came to their other children. He said he tried to make it work, to stop thinking of them as his enemies, but he couldn’t do it. It was a very sad situation all around.”
“Did you know he went to their home recently and asked them to give him another chance?”
The man stopped walking and turned to them. “No, he didn’t mention that. What did they say?”
“That they wished they could, but they couldn’t risk the safety of their other children.”
He sighed deeply. “I feel for both sides. It was a no-win situation.”
“Did you hear that the Blanchets and their four children were murdered in their home earlier this week?”
“What? No… I’ve been so busy with the kids that I’ve barely glanced at the news.” All at once, the implications of Sam and Freddie being there registered with him. “Do you… You think he did it?”
“We don’t know,” Freddie said. “We only just learned of his existence in relation to the family today.”
“He loved them,” Chuck said.
“And they rejected him,” Sam said. “Twice. Because of violent tendencies.”
“He wouldn’t have harmed them. They were the only family he ever knew.”
The room Isaiah had lived in lacked any sort of personal touches. There was a bed, a dresser, a closet and a desk. Sam recalled Nick telling her that Scotty hadn’t been allowed to put posters on the wall in the Richmond-area home where he’d resided before he came to live with them. They’d encouraged him to put posters on the ceiling if he wanted to in his room in their home.
“May I?” she asked, pointing to the dresser.
Chuck gestured for her to go ahead.
In the drawers, she found three pairs of boxer briefs, four T-shirts, a pair of sweats and a Washington Capitals sweatshirt.
“He loves that team,” Chuck said. “He watches all their games.”
The closet had three polo shirts on hangers and a pair of jeans on the shelf.
“Are these all of his possessions?”
“Yes,” Chuck said.
A pervasive sadness swept over her when she thought of the things Scotty treasured and enjoyed and realized that Isaiah had nothing to call his own except for some basic clothing.
“Does he carry a backpack?”
“He does,” Chuck said. “That’s the only thing I can tell that’s missing.”
“I know you gave the names of his friends to the other MPD officers,” Freddie said. “But if you could give them to us, too, we’d appreciate it.”
“Sure.”
They left a short time later with info about Isaiah’s friends, his school and his job, and spent the rest of the day trying to track him down to no avail.
