Colton 911--The Secret Network Read online

  There was such a thing as too much tiptoeing around a subject, January thought. Blackwell needed to get to the point and call a spade a spade.

  “Mr. Blackwell, you and I both know that Susan doesn’t have any experience when it comes to special needs children.”

  Rather than argue with her or defend the social worker he had assigned to the case, Blackwell took the easy way out. He focused on the only part that seemed to matter to him.

  “Then you’ll swing by?” he asked the woman who he acknowledged was one of his best, hardest working employees.

  It never occurred to January to turn her boss down, even though, technically she’d already begun her vacation. The child in question had obviously been through something horrible and, at the very least, needed comfort and support. This was what she did very well. She couldn’t just get herself to turn away from a child in need.

  “Yes, I’ll swing by,” she told her boss. Taking out her pen and an envelope she had stashed in her purse, January was ready to take notes. “Tell me everything you already know about the case, Sid.”

  There wasn’t all that much.

  January listened carefully, jotting down the few facts she felt might be pertinent.

  Finished, she told Blackwell, “All right, let Susan know that I’m on my way.”

  “Thanks, January. I promise I just need a little of your expertise on this matter. You can still start your vacation tomorrow, right?” Blackwell asked her. There was actually a note of hope in his voice.

  “Right.” Provided the case doesn’t wind up getting more complicated. Truthfully, January already had her suspicions that it might. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I know something,” she said just before she terminated the call.

  The moment she turned back to face her sisters, she found herself being scrutinized by two sets of very blue eyes. Bracing herself, she sat down for a moment, collecting her thoughts before she said anything.

  “Well?” Simone prodded.

  January took in a deep breath. “There’s been an emergency,” she began.

  Simone laughed dryly. “That certainly didn’t take long.” She looked down at her watch.

  Tatum just continued looking at January, waiting for the rest of the story to come out. They all knew that there inevitably had to be more.

  Her sisters didn’t have long to wait.

  “The police found a little girl hiding behind some crates in a warehouse,” January told them. “It sounds like she might have been a witness to a triple homicide.”

  Tatum sucked in her breath in horror, immediately envisioning the whole scene in her mind. “Oh, that poor little thing!”

  “They can’t get her to talk—” January continued as she tried to explain to her sisters why she couldn’t turn her supervisor down.

  “Well, that’s no surprise. The kid’s probably really traumatized,” Simone told her sisters.

  January nodded her head. “That’s what I’m thinking,” she agreed. “Blackwell said he thinks that she’s a special needs child—”

  The expression on Tatum’s face indicated that she already knew what was coming next.

  “And that’s your field of expertise, special needs children. Yes, we know,” Tatum said. “Go.” The restaurateur waved January on her way. “Give us a call later and fill us in on what’s going on once you have some kind of a handle on it.”

  Again, January knew what her sisters were thinking. She could see it in their eyes. They thought that she was getting sucked into something.

  “I’m just going in to offer some quick advice to the social worker assigned to the case. This isn’t my case,” she insisted, looking from one sister to the other.

  They didn’t believe her. She couldn’t blame them. She wasn’t buying into it herself, at least not a hundred percent.

  “Uh-huh,” Tatum murmured.

  As January was telling them about the call, Tatum had placed a piece of chicken and several rolls into one of the linen napkins on the table, then wrapped it all up. She pushed the makeshift package toward January.

  “Here,” she said, offering the linen-wrapped bundle to January. “If this lasts as long as we all know it will, you’re going to get hungry.”

  January sighed, then, rather than demur, she automatically accepted the impromptu care package. “I am not staying,” she told her sisters emphatically.

  “No, of course not,” Tatum replied, her expression never changing.

  “You keep telling yourself that, kid,” Simone said, adding in her two cents. “Don’t forget to call at least one of us with an update.”

  “Right,” January agreed. “I’ll call you as soon as I leave the police station.”

  “Uh-huh,” her sisters said in unison.

  They didn’t believe that, either, January thought.

  But she meant it. Despite the fact that she had told them that she hadn’t packed her suitcase yet, January really was determined to go on this vacation with her sisters.

  She had meant what she had said. Other than an occasional lunch on the run, or a quick phone call, it felt as if too much time had elapsed since the three of them had gotten together and just talked for any length of time.

  Even now, their time together had been interrupted.

  All that did for her was reinforce the feeling that they desperately needed some time to catch up. Since the very beginning, they had always been in each other’s lives, and just because they were grown women now, that was no excuse for that practice to lapse.

  As a matter of fact, there was more reason than ever to reinforce those bonds. January couldn’t think of anyone else she wanted to share all the things that she had experienced and was involved in than her sisters. And she wanted to know what was important and going on in their lives, as well.

  She thought about her situation and what she might be getting into. No, come hell or high water, by tomorrow morning, she was going to be on board that plane with her sisters so that they could all begin that much anticipated, much needed vacation, January promised herself.

  * * *

  The police station that turned out to be her destination was an old five-story building that had seen more than its share of heartbreak and tragedy. Just the sight of it as she turned the corner and approached it in her car fostered a sadness within her.

  January tried to see the building through the eyes of a child, and she found it hard not to shiver—or cry for that matter.

  That poor little girl, January couldn’t help thinking. More than likely, the child hoped this was all just a bad dream.

  She caught herself wondering if the little girl was related to any of the dead men who had been found at the warehouse. That could very well explain why the child had shut herself off and wasn’t saying anything. That kind of shock had been known to cause amnesia in an adult. How much more powerful could that reaction turn out to be if it was a child witnessing that sort of crime instead?

  January really hoped that she would be able to help this child. Never mind getting her to remember and volunteer any sort of information about what happened to those men at the warehouse—if it turned out that the little girl had actually witnessed anything. January was far more concerned about being able to reach the child before she submerged herself in some sort of fantasy world that was totally outside the realm of reality.

  Gearing herself up mentally, January hurried up the stairs, her high heels clicking against the cement. She normally dressed a little more conservatively when she worked, but since she’d been meeting her sisters after work and this really was a special occasion, for once January had dressed a little fancier than she usually did.

  Pushing the glass and metal-framed door open, she stepped inside the police station. She was immediately met by a wall of ever-present noise as well as an uncomfortable warmth, despite the fact that this was winter in
Chicago.

  January was aware of several pairs of eyes looking in her direction. A couple displayed moderate interest before turning away and getting back to whatever had their attention at the moment.

  Not wanting to waste any unnecessary time, she quickly approached the front desk and the sergeant behind it.

  Hopefully, Blackwell had called ahead the way she had asked him to do. Smiling at the tall, bald, uniformed man at the desk, January took out her wallet. She flipped to her identification and held it up for the sergeant to see.

  “Hi. I’m not sure if my supervisor called ahead to let you know I was coming, but I’m January Colton with Child Protective Services. I was told that one of your detectives brought in a little girl earlier. She was found at the scene of a triple homicide,” she added, thinking that would jar the sergeant’s memory.

  The desk sergeant nodded his head. “Oh, you must mean Detective Stafford.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know his name. I was just told that he was the one who found and brought in a little girl—”

  “Yes, he did,” the sergeant recalled. His brown eyes met hers. “The one who hasn’t spoken. Detective Stafford called in a social worker to get the kid to talk, but so far, nobody’s had any luck.” Lowering his voice, he confided, “The social worker is stymied. She hasn’t been able to get the kid to say a word.”

  January nodded her head. “I know. My supervisor told me. That’s why he asked me to come by and see if I had any better luck at getting the girl to talk. Do you think you might be able to call this Detective Stafford out here so I could talk to him? Or better yet, tell me where I can find the little girl and I’ll take it from there.”

  But the desk sergeant shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am. There are regulations to follow.”

  This was not what she needed at the end of the day. Blackwell was supposed to have resolved this. “I realize that, Sergeant. But I have been here before,” January stressed.

  The sergeant squinted his eyes as he looked at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you—”

  “And I don’t recognize you.” She took out her identification again and held it up closer for his review. “But I’m willing to talk to you. Look—Sergeant Wilkerson,” she said, reading the tag on his shirt, “there’s a very frightened little girl somewhere in your station and I’d like to connect with her so that I can help her be less frightened. Do you think you can help me do that?”

  The sergeant sighed just as someone else approached him with a question. The policeman started talking, but Wilkerson held up his hand, signaling for the police officer to back off.

  “Wait your turn, Andrews,” he snapped. “Can’t you see that there’s someone ahead of you?”

  She could see this quickly escalating into a heated argument. “Look, I don’t want to cause any problems or interfere, Sergeant Wilkerson. You obviously have your hands full here. If you could just point me in the right direction, I promise I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Good one,” the policeman laughed, glancing toward his partner.

  The desk sergeant might have been bald, but his eyebrows were very full and bushy. They drew together now as he scowled at the police officer. “What did you say?” Wilkerson challenged him.

  She was used to refereeing squabbling children and this really wasn’t all that different. January raised her voice. “We’re getting off topic here, gentlemen,” she told the two police officers. When both men looked at her in surprise, January decided to approach the problem from a different angle.

  Locking eyes with the desk sergeant, she said, “Look, if you could either call this Detective Stafford to come down to the front desk, or point me in the direction where I can find him, I can get down to what’s really important here—getting that little girl to tell someone what she saw.”

  Wilkerson laughed. The sound had no humor in it. “Good luck with that,” he told her. “I saw him trying to get her to talk to him about anything when he brought her in. It’s like she was in her own little world.” He leaned over the desk, although his voice didn’t get any lower. “You ask me, it’s like she’s really spooked.”

  “She probably just saw three men get shot and killed, maybe even right in front of her. If that happened to you when you were a little kid, my guess is that you’d be spooked, too,” a tall, dark-haired and ruggedly handsome man said as he approached the front desk from the far right.

  Ah, January thought as she turned toward the man who had just walked in to get a closer look. Detective Stafford, I presume.

  Chapter 2

  “And you’d be right,” January told the man who was now standing almost next to her.

  The detective had a larger-than-life presence, even though in her estimation he was probably only about three inches taller than she was, and she was wearing three-inch heels.

  January put out her hand to the detective.

  “Sid Blackwell sent me,” she told Stafford by way of an introduction. “My name is January Colton and as you’ve probably already guessed, I’m with the Department of Social Services.”

  Sean blinked as he suddenly got a good look at her and became aware of the vivacious, classy blonde standing in front of the desk sergeant. In his estimation, she looked more like a model than a social worker—and young, quite young. She certainly didn’t look old enough to be a social worker.

  His eyes met and held hers. After a beat, the detective took the hand that she was offering.

  January caught herself thinking that the sexy detective’s grip felt strong, but not overpowering. There was something about him that seemed genuine. She decided that she liked him.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Colton,” Sean said. His smile was tight, but polite. “I’m assuming that Blackwell told you what the problem seems to be.”

  “He did, but sometimes things get lost or omitted if a third party is involved,” January told the detective. “Why don’t you tell me about the problem in your own words?”

  What January was trying to get was the detective’s perspective on the situation. She had learned that a lot of things could be revealed through the words a person used or didn’t use. Besides, the detective had been at the scene and her supervisor hadn’t been.

  Sean was about to tell the woman that, since she already seemed to know what was going on, he wasn’t about to jump through hoops just for her personal amusement. But he also knew that was just his frustration talking. So, instead, the homicide detective took the social worker aside so he could talk to her and fill her in on the details away from the desk sergeant and anyone else who might be listening.

  “We got a call from someone in the area claiming that they heard shots being fired at the old, abandoned toy warehouse. The patrolmen who took the call figured it was probably just a car backfiring, but because the call was logged in, they had to go to the location and check it out.” The detective’s expression was grim as he told her, “When they did, they weren’t prepared for what they found. Three adult males, shot dead.”

  January tried not to wince. Because of her job, she was used to dealing with abuse in various forms, but so far, she had never had to deal with murder. This was something new for her.

  “They were murdered, I take it?” she asked. That was what she had been told, but somehow, saying it out loud made it that much more real for her. January’s breath felt as if it had just solidified and backed up in her throat.

  Sean caught himself studying this woman.

  Closely.

  Judging from her clothes and her bearing, she looked a little too polished to be doing this sort of work for a living. Given her last name, Sean couldn’t help wondering if this was all just a diverting lark for her, or if she actually took this job seriously.

  Belatedly, he realized that the social worker had asked him a question and that he hadn’t answered her.
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  Nodding, he said, “Yes, they were murdered. Execution style,” he added, watching her face for a reaction.

  To her credit, the woman seemed to take the news in stride. “How was the little girl found?” she asked.

  “The coroner was just logging the bodies in,” Sean answered, “when his assistant heard this high-pitched whimpering noise coming from not too far off.”

  “Whimpering?” January asked. She could almost picture the scenario and her heart ached for the frightened little girl.

  Sean nodded. “One of the patrol officers said it sounded a little like a frightened puppy. Thinking it might be another victim too weak to call out, the responding officers spread out, looking for him or her.” The detective frowned as he described the scene. “They found Annie crouching behind some crates, apparently attempting to hide.”

  “Annie,” January repeated. Blackwell had told her that no one knew who the little girl was. Had he made a mistake? “Then you found out her name?” she asked, curious.

  The detective shook his head. “No. One of the patrolmen referred to her as Annie. You know, like Orphan Annie, the kid in that old comic strip,” Sean explained.

  “I know who Orphan Annie is,” she told the detective. “So did she respond to that name when you called her Annie?”

  The detective shook his head. “No, and that’s part of the reason why you’re here. As far as I know, Annie, or whatever her real name is, hasn’t responded to anything that has been said to her. I tried to get her to talk, but it was like I wasn’t even there. The social worker your department sent tried her hand at communicating with the kid, but she didn’t get anywhere, either.

  “As a matter of fact, after she made several attempts to get the little girl to say something, anything, your Ms. Eckhardt got this confounded look on her face like she felt she was completely out of her depth. I got the impression that she was afraid to call her supervisor about it, so I did. Seemed like the best way to go. Blackwell said he would send reinforcements. Apparently—” Sean gestured at her “—you’re the reinforcements.”