Triptych (Will Trent 1)

He looked down at the black poodle standing at her feet, then back up at the woman. “I’ve come about your daughter.”

Her hand went to her chest. She grabbed the door to steady herself. “Ashley…?”

“No,” he assured her, reaching out to hold the woman up. He’d never considered she had more than one daughter. “Aleesha,” he told her. “I’ve come about Aleesha.”

She blinked several times, looking confused. “What?”

Will had a confused feeling himself. Had he read the mailbox wrong? Was he on the wrong street? “You’re Miriam Monroe?”

She nodded. The dog barked, sensing trouble.

“I’m sorry,” Will apologized to the woman. “I was told you had a daughter named Aleesha.”

“I did have a daughter,” she agreed. Her voice was faraway, as if she had lost her child long ago, which by her next words was exactly how she felt. “Aleesha left us when she was a teenager, Officer. We haven’t seen her in nearly twenty years.”

Will wasn’t sure what to say. “May I come in?”

She smiled, stepping back from the door, gently moving the dog with her foot. “I’ve forgotten my manners.”

“It’s fine,” Will assured her, thinking that no matter how many times he did this, he would never be able to predict how a parent would react to news of their child being lost.

She suggested, “Shall we go into the parlor?”

Will was trying not to gawk at the foyer, which was the largest he had ever seen in a private home. A huge staircase spiraled up to the top floor and a chandelier that looked as if it belonged in an opera house dangled above his head.

“We got it in Bologna,” Miriam explained, leading him into the adjoining room. “My husband, Tobias, is an amateur collector.”

“Oh,” Will said, as if that made perfect sense. He thought about the homes he had visited over the last few days, Aleesha’s shabby two rooms, the cramped apartment where Eleanor Allison raised her grandchildren. This was a mansion, plain and simple. From the thick rugs on the floors to the colorful African folk art on the walls, this was the type of place you lived in when money wasn’t a concern.

Miriam sat back in a comfortable-looking chair as the dog settled at her feet. “Would you like some lemonade?”

“No, thank you,” Will told her, sitting on the couch. The cushions were hard and he guessed they didn’t use this room much. He wondered if the grand piano tucked under the bay window was just for show. He also wondered what the hell he was doing. Will had learned a long time ago that giving a parent the news that their child was dead should be done quickly. Dragging it out only made it harder when the information finally came. Will wasn’t Miriam Monroe’s best friend; his job was simply to tell her the truth, then leave.

So, why wasn’t he?

Maybe it was because there was something soothing about the woman’s voice, her presence. Her face could have been the illustration dictionaries used for “mother.” When Will was a kid, he had assumed that black kids were more loved than whites for the simple reason that of the hundred or so kids at the Atlanta Children’s Home, there were only ever two African-Americans. Funny how stereotypes got stuck in your head when you were little.

“How can I help you?” she prompted. Her voice was very cultured, and she managed to glance at her watch without looking impatient.

“I’m sorry I frightened you. I assumed the woman I talked to on the phone earlier told you that I called.”

“She mentioned someone called, but I wasn’t expecting a policeman on my doorstep.”

“I’m sorry,” Will repeated, taking out a spiral notebook and a pen. He used this for show, mostly to let people know he was paying attention. He had clicked on his recorder when he’d taken the pen out of his breast pocket.

He said, “You don’t seem surprised that I’m here about Aleesha.”

“I suppose I’m not. Aleesha chose a life for herself that her father and I did not agree with. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that you’re not the first police officer to knock on our door.” She smiled, but there was something more guarded about her manner. “If you think we can lead you to her, I’m sorry to say that we cannot.”

Despite, or maybe because of, the woman’s poise, Will knew that this was not going to be easy. “Where is your husband now?”

“He’s giving a lecture in New York,” she explained. “He specializes in health issues affecting women.”

Will scribbled something in his notebook. “I see.”

“You think it’s ironic that a man who has devoted his life to helping women has a daughter who is a prostitute and a drug addict.”

“Yes,” Will admitted. “I do.”

She sat back in the chair, seemingly relieved that they had gotten that out of the way. “We did everything we could to try to help our daughter.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Are you really?” she asked, as if she wanted to catch him off guard. “We spent thousands of dollars on treatments, family therapy, individual therapy. Anything we thought would help her, we did.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “The simple fact was that Aleesha did not want help. She started running away before she turned thirteen.”

Will echoed something that Angie had said about the girl. “You can’t help somebody who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“That’s true,” the mother agreed. “Do you have children?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t have any children.”

“It’s the most wonderful blessing God has given us, our ability to bring a child into the world.” She held out her hands, cradling an imaginary infant. “You hold them in your arms that first time, and they are more precious than gold. Every breath you take after that is only for your child. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Will nodded, his chest feeling as empty as her arms. He figured even if his own mother had held him, she obviously had no problem handing him off to somebody else shortly after.

Miriam continued, “Aleesha got mixed up with this boy.” He could see tears wetting her eyelashes. “I grew up poor, as did Dr. Monroe. We both knew the value of a good education, though, and we worked very hard to take advantage of the opportunities that other folks had fought, even died, for.”

He tried to compliment her. “Obviously, you’ve succeeded.”

She gave him a glance that said they both knew that material things were hardly a measure of success. “We thought raising our children here in this neighborhood would protect them. Decatur has always been a little oasis.”

“Drugs have a way of getting into any community.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she allowed. “We wanted so much more for her. You live through your children. You ache for them, hurt for them, breathe for them when you can.” She told Will, “She ran off with some man she met at the treatment facility. She was arrested a few weeks later on a drug charge. Aleesha went to jail and the man disappeared, probably found himself another silly girl.”

When Will started with the GBI, he had been amazed to find how many women ended up in jail because their boyfriends had sent them out on a deal, convincing the women that cops were more lenient with the fairer sex. Prison was full of young girls who thought they were in love.