The Killing Room (Richard Montanari) - By Richard Montanari Page 0,52
sometimes take photographs of children when we suspect abuse.’
‘Are you saying this baby was abused?’
‘It’s possible. I can show you the pictures.’
‘I would appreciate it.’
Cochrane went into the back room for what seemed like fifteen long minutes. In that time four more people came into the clinic. Nobody made eye contact with anybody else, perhaps out of some sense of shame. They all seemed to wait patiently, reading coverless five-year-old copies of Sports Illustrated or Essence.
Finally Cochrane emerged, a manila file folder in hand. He took Jessica to the side, extracted two photos from the folder. One was a close-up of the back of an infant’s leg.
‘This is Ceci,’ Cochrane said. The photograph showed a deep purple bruise, just at the top of the right calf. ‘That’s her nickname, of course. Her full name is Cecilia.’
‘This is Adria Rollins’s baby?’
‘Yes.’
Jessica studied the photograph. ‘And this bruise is the result of abuse?’
‘Hard to tell,’ Cochrane said. ‘If a baby comes back with other evidence, we’ll have this record, then we make the call to Children’s Services. As I’m sure you know, unless the abuse is flagrant – which this is not – there has to be a pattern of abuse before a case can be made.’
With this Cochrane took out the other photograph, turned it over.
The plummeting feeling in Jessica’s stomach was instant, and debilitating. It took every ounce of her strength, and every moment of her training, not to break down in tears. The photograph in front of her was of the baby they had found frozen to death in that shuttered church.
There was no doubt in her mind.
She now had a name to go with the face that she was sure would live in a dark corner of her mind for a very long time, long after this case was closed.
The dead little girl’s name was Cecilia.
SIXTEEN
They sat at a table at the Subway on Frankford Avenue, near Cottman. It was between the lunch and dinner hours, and the regulars had not yet descended on the place. At this hour, the restaurant was nearly empty.
Byrne found himself covertly checking his pager every few minutes, hoping he wasn’t being obvious about it. The cases weighed heavily on his mind, but there was a team on it, and he knew if something broke he would get a phone call. He had his phone on vibrate, but it was on. When he decided to become Gabriel Hightower’s Philly Brother he knew there were going to be times like this, times when he should be chasing shadows instead of taking the days off he had coming. On the other hand, they had no hot leads at the moment, and the dead stay dead.
Gabriel was alive.
‘What did you think of the movie?’ Byrne asked. Gabriel had lobbied for every R-rated film on the roster, regardless of subject matter. In the end, Byrne picked a PG-13 action film, hoping that the action, and the sex, were muted. They were, as were much of the plot, characterization, and wit.
Gabriel shrugged. This time, Byrne noticed, it was only a one-shoulder shrug. Maybe they were making progress.
‘It was okay,’ Gabriel said.
‘Just okay? Is that better than a’ight?’
Gabriel smiled, his first bona fide grin. ‘I liked the part where that old guy wasted that kid. That was cold, man.’
They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their sodas through straws. Gabriel made bubbles. A pair of teenaged girls sat at the next table. Gabriel tried to make eyes without making eyes. Byrne remembered that stage very well.
‘So, you never told me how you got that nickname G-Flash,’ Byrne said. ‘Are you a photographer or something?’
Another smile. ‘Nah, it’s because I’m fast, man.’
‘Are you now.’
‘For real. But my brother, Terrell, he was real fast. Like lightning fast. He got medals and everything.’ Gabriel began to fold and unfold the wax paper his sandwich came in. Byrne just listened. ‘I remember this one time, when I was just little, maybe five or six or something, we had this dog. Real ratty-lookin’ thing. Called it Bitley.’
Byrne smiled. ‘Bitley? Where’d the dog get a name like that?’
Another one-shoulder shrug. This time the left. ‘Wasn’t my idea. Came with the dog, I guess.’
‘Okay.’
‘But this dog was fast. When he got out the door, he would be all the way up the street to the Boulevard before you knew it, right? Come home in a hour all dirty and shit.’
Gabriel looked up, realizing he swore. Byrne took no notice.