Least Wanted (Sam McRae Mystery 2)

“How does her father feel about this?” I had a funny feeling that the father was clueless.

“Father?” Jackson bellowed. “Since when has that man been a father? Was he there for her when she was sick? When she needed advice? Did he give her gifts at Christmas? Or even a birthday card?” Jackson continued to recite a laundry list of Rodney Fisher’s various malfeasances. His speech was rushed, his words garbled. He paused to catch his breath. “What has the man done, ’cept not be there for her?”

“He took her in when her mother was in rehab. And he is her father. Unless he’s willing to give up his parental rights, to become Tina’s guardian, you’ll have to show that he’s unfit.”

He grumbled. “He’s unfit, all right. I tole’ that court not to let him have her. And what happened? She grew up wild, that’s what. He never gave her no ground rules, no guidance. How fit a parent can a man like that be?”

It seemed to me Shanae had fallen short in that regard, too. Now was not the time to bring it up. William Jackson had already made up his mind.

“Have you spoken to Tina’s father about this?”

“Yes, I’ve spoken to him.” His voice grew stronger. “And the son of a bitch told me to go to hell.”

“Bad news, Mr. Jackson. The burden is on you to prove he’s an unfit parent.”

“Well, how hard could that be? With Tina running wild every night and him not lifting a finger to stop her.”

“You might be able to prove it. Trying to do it now might hurt Tina’s defense in the purse-snatching incident. I intend to emphasize the good things about Tina. I need to steer clear of the issue of her ‘bad friends,’ if at all possible.”

He was silent a moment. “What does that mean?”

“It means the cases present a conflict of interest. One I’m not sure I can work around.”

“I see.” Except for his breathing, he fell silent. “Then I suppose that ends our business.”

“It would help me a lot if we could keep in touch. I’m concerned about Tina’s welfare. If what you’re saying is true—”

“Thank you, anyway, Ms. McRae.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help to you. I appreciate . . . Hello?”

Uncle Bill had already hung up.

* * * * *

I left a message for Tina to call me. After I hung up, I thought about Ellen Martinez’s comment about Tina going “off the rails.” Maybe she was. Maybe being raised by an angry, overworked mother had spurred her to deviant behavior. With her mother dead, Tina was left with a poor excuse for a father who allegedly forgot her birthdays.

I strained to remember what it was like to be 13. When I entered my teen years, my parents had been four years dead. Although my life with them in Bed-Stuy had been far from idyllic, loneliness overcame me, as I recalled the void left by their deaths. I shivered and redirected my thoughts elsewhere.

The memory of my cousin took its place. Addie stepping in like a deus ex machina and whisking me off to live with her in Takoma Park, Maryland, saving me from the tender mercies of life in a New York City foster home. Not that Addie was perfect. Her idea of cooking was adding hot water to Ramen noodles or heating a frozen pizza. And her financial situation was precarious at best. Yet for reasons known only to her, she’d taken charge of me when other relatives hadn’t bothered.

One of the biggest mysteries of my life concerned my grandparents. Why had they cut and run after my parents died? How come they hadn’t stepped up and taken me in?

I recall asking Addie. She simply laughed and said, “Your grandparents are assholes. You want to live with assholes?”

I hadn’t wanted to live with them. I’d never met them, but would have appreciated their occasional attention. I never came to terms with their behavior, why they never bothered to get know me.

Again, I wrested my attention from the memory. It didn’t matter now. None of it mattered. I had learned how to fend for myself thanks to their negligence. Tina, on the other hand . . . .

Would juvenile detention help Tina? Would community service or talking to a counselor make a difference? Maybe. One thing I did know: I would fight to get Tina the best deal possible. If I could only figure out what that was.

CHAPTER SIX

By the next day, Duvall had run the background checks and found nothing suspicious. Since the records could be out of date, he said he’d recheck them periodically. He found addresses for Darrell Cooper in Philadelphia and Vince Marzetti in Frederick, a historic Maryland town 50 miles north of Washington, D.C. He found no record of ITN Consultants. What a surprise.

Again, I tried to reach Tina Jackson and was sent to her voice mail. I left a third message and, uncharacteristically, my cell number. Leave a client my cell number? They must be wearing parkas in Hell.

My next call was to Tina’s guidance counselor at Silver Hill Intermediate School. “Good morning, Frank Powell speaking.” He had the velvet voice of a deejay.