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Authors: Carol O'Connell
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own best guess. “I figure you were after the money. Your old man left a lot of debts, didn’t he? That contract bonus was your only chance to make some real cash. Am I right?”
The young policeman only stared at him. There was nothing in Kendall’s face to suggest insubordination; evidently, he simply didn’t care if Costello got it right.
“Kendall, I don’t think you’ve got the heart for this job either—not the makings of a good investigator. You’re a twenty-five-year-old man who doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up. I don’t think you’ll last a month.”
“Then why am I here?” There was no sarcasm. Kendall seemed only curious.
Costello picked up the BCI application and flipped through to the last page, a form required for separation from the Makers Village Police. No signature? Apparently, no one had even asked if this cop wanted a transfer. Now whose screwup was that? He set the application forms to one side.
“Fair question, Kendall. You’re here because you made us look good when you brought in that girl’s bike.” And this was the truth, or part of it. “Thanks to you, we got a leg up on the feds, and right out of the chute, too.” God, he had loved that. “And I can make use of you for a while.”
The captain waited for some response. He had no idea what the younger man was thinking, and he was feeling oddly manipulated by the continuing silence.
Costello looked back at the slender biography. “So you went to St. Ursula’s Academy. Good. Marge Jonas got you an appointment with the school’s director. After you talk to him, I want you to get cozy with David Shore. I think the kid’s holding something back, probably nothing important. Maybe he’s just feeble. David was abandoned in a department store when he was three, lived in foster homes till he was six—that’s all we know about him. See what you can add to that.”
He had meant that Kendall should get out of his office and get on with the information gathering, but the younger man took him more literally.
“He’s not feeble,” said Kendall. “If David’s not from money, then he has a full scholarship at St. Ursula’s. That means his IQ goes right off the charts. The cutoff number is lower for paying students, but all the scholarship kids are high in the genius range.”
The new recruit was holding up the boy’s trading card, and now Costello could read the false prophecy, “Tomorrow’s Star,” printed at the bottom of the special issue.
Kendall slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. “And David is so crazy about baseball, he kept a five-year-old card on a player who never made the cut. He can’t say two words out loud, not to a stranger, but he talks to Mary Hofstra. So he’s—”
“Mary? You know the housemother?”
“I remember her, and she probably remembers me. If David’s holding back, it’s not because he can’t communicate. Either he doesn’t want to rat out the girls for something they did, or he’s ashamed of something he did.”
Costello nodded as he leaned far back in his chair. So this cop can think. So? Rouge Kendall’s brains had never been in question, but his history worked against him. “Okay, you be David’s new best friend. Nail down a case for runaways. Any questions?”
“You leaked the runaway theory to the press before I brought in Sadie Green’s bike.” This was not an accusation, only a dry delivery of fact. “Why?”
“Gwen Hubble’s father is a security fanatic. Pathetic, isn’t it? The poor bastard sets up this elaborate alarm system to keep the bogeyman out. Never occurred to him that it was useless for keeping a kid inside. We found Gwen’s prints on the number pad for the door alarm. So she slipped out to meet her little friend Sadie, and they left town on the bus.”
“You’ve had time to interview all the drivers on that route.”
“Very good, kid. And we came up dry. Interesting, huh?” In the next moment, Costello wondered
The young policeman only stared at him. There was nothing in Kendall’s face to suggest insubordination; evidently, he simply didn’t care if Costello got it right.
“Kendall, I don’t think you’ve got the heart for this job either—not the makings of a good investigator. You’re a twenty-five-year-old man who doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up. I don’t think you’ll last a month.”
“Then why am I here?” There was no sarcasm. Kendall seemed only curious.
Costello picked up the BCI application and flipped through to the last page, a form required for separation from the Makers Village Police. No signature? Apparently, no one had even asked if this cop wanted a transfer. Now whose screwup was that? He set the application forms to one side.
“Fair question, Kendall. You’re here because you made us look good when you brought in that girl’s bike.” And this was the truth, or part of it. “Thanks to you, we got a leg up on the feds, and right out of the chute, too.” God, he had loved that. “And I can make use of you for a while.”
The captain waited for some response. He had no idea what the younger man was thinking, and he was feeling oddly manipulated by the continuing silence.
Costello looked back at the slender biography. “So you went to St. Ursula’s Academy. Good. Marge Jonas got you an appointment with the school’s director. After you talk to him, I want you to get cozy with David Shore. I think the kid’s holding something back, probably nothing important. Maybe he’s just feeble. David was abandoned in a department store when he was three, lived in foster homes till he was six—that’s all we know about him. See what you can add to that.”
He had meant that Kendall should get out of his office and get on with the information gathering, but the younger man took him more literally.
“He’s not feeble,” said Kendall. “If David’s not from money, then he has a full scholarship at St. Ursula’s. That means his IQ goes right off the charts. The cutoff number is lower for paying students, but all the scholarship kids are high in the genius range.”
The new recruit was holding up the boy’s trading card, and now Costello could read the false prophecy, “Tomorrow’s Star,” printed at the bottom of the special issue.
Kendall slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. “And David is so crazy about baseball, he kept a five-year-old card on a player who never made the cut. He can’t say two words out loud, not to a stranger, but he talks to Mary Hofstra. So he’s—”
“Mary? You know the housemother?”
“I remember her, and she probably remembers me. If David’s holding back, it’s not because he can’t communicate. Either he doesn’t want to rat out the girls for something they did, or he’s ashamed of something he did.”
Costello nodded as he leaned far back in his chair. So this cop can think. So? Rouge Kendall’s brains had never been in question, but his history worked against him. “Okay, you be David’s new best friend. Nail down a case for runaways. Any questions?”
“You leaked the runaway theory to the press before I brought in Sadie Green’s bike.” This was not an accusation, only a dry delivery of fact. “Why?”
“Gwen Hubble’s father is a security fanatic. Pathetic, isn’t it? The poor bastard sets up this elaborate alarm system to keep the bogeyman out. Never occurred to him that it was useless for keeping a kid inside. We found Gwen’s prints on the number pad for the door alarm. So she slipped out to meet her little friend Sadie, and they left town on the bus.”
“You’ve had time to interview all the drivers on that route.”
“Very good, kid. And we came up dry. Interesting, huh?” In the next moment, Costello wondered
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