Of Things Unseen Read online

  “Trying to stay cool in this heat, man. Can you brief me real quick?”

  “Sure thing, man. Let’s move over here in this shade.” They took shelter a few feet away under a canopy of trees. In any other context, it would have been a beautiful setting in which to hike or camp. Instead, it was the lonely final resting place of some poor soul who had met an undoubtedly violent end.

  Grimes began his rapid-fire monologue. He was known for them. “Okay, so I was the first officer on the scene. The hiker, the guy who found the body? Old guy with his dog, most likely not involved but they’ve got him at the station.” Grimes wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and squinted. “Uhhhhh, what else...oh! We found clothes. By the looks of the ones on the body, they’re women’s clothes, so I’m gonna go out on a limb and say our victim is female. Given the state of decomposition, I’m guessing she’s been out here at least a month. But with the heat, it could be less time than that. Obviously, the medical examiner will know more than I do so we’ll wait on that.”

  “Right.”

  “Once CSI stumbled across the second set of clothes, they widened the perimeter an extra 500 feet around.”

  “Dumpsite?” asked Barrington.

  “Could be.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. This won’t be an easy one. Hey, Boone and Wilson are here already. Why do they have you out here?”

  “I had the same question.”

  “I guess they have their reasons.”

  “Guess so.”

  “THANK YOU, BABY,” SAID Barrington as Fallon set the plate in front of him. It was chicken and dumplings, one of his favorites. She had finally learned how to make her dumplings from scratch the way his mother made hers.

  When they first started dating, she mostly cooked easy meals like spaghetti and cheeseburgers with fries—all satisfying enough, but not what he was used to. He never complained, though. He knew better.

  Instead, he let his mother do his dirty work. A couple of months into the marriage, Fallon took notice of his delight whenever they would visit his parents. Completely unprovoked, but appreciated, his mother asked Fallon what she was feeding her son and proceeded to school her on the importance of feeding a traditional Southern black man. Barrington feigned surprise before putting on a little show defending his wife. “Mama, don’t do that,” he’d said. “Fallon feeds me just fine.”

  Jeanette nodded. “Of course she does, I didn’t mean to imply anything.” Fallon assured Jeanette that she wasn’t offended and asked for her recipe for the meal they had just eaten—chicken and dumplings. It was all Barrington could do not to smile.

  But Fallon got the last laugh. His mother-in-law returned the favor years later when she came to visit after Taylor was born. She innocently questioned the feasibility of Fallon doing so much of the housework given the presence of a newborn and the full-time job she’d be returning to soon. Ms. Cathy cleaned the house from top to bottom and suggested Barrington hire a cleaning lady to maintain it. Almina came and cleaned twice a week now.

  “Sorry for the texture of the dumplings. Taylor was extra clingy today and I wasn’t able to stand right over them like I usually do.”

  He took a big, steamy bite. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is perfect.”

  She smiled, setting Taylor’s plate in front of her. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Always do. Why couldn’t Marshall or Simone watch her for you?”

  “Simone is studying and Marshall has tutoring today.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” His stepson wasn’t much of an athlete but the boy was smart as hell. The school had tapped him for a tutoring assignment and he’d jumped at the chance to pad the service section of his resume. Why a fourteen-year-old boy needed a resume, he didn’t know, but Fallon thought it was important.

  “So how was work?” she asked.

  “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “That bad?” She carried her plate to the table and sat down across from him.

  Barrington shook his head. “I got thrown onto a homicide case because some reporter decided to call our department racist.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious. Some women, some black women are missing and somebody wrote this article about how the families aren’t getting any help because the victims are black.”

  “Hmmm...” she said. She spooned chicken into Taylor’s mouth and the toddler promptly spit it back out.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Her favorite word, and always a lie.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m asking you what.”

  Fallon took a bite of her own food and chewed thoughtfully. “I really don’t wanna get into it. We’re having a nice dinner.”

  Barrington set his fork down on his plate and the loud clink startled Taylor. He reached over and rubbed her arm before turning his attention back to his wife. “Come on. Spit it out.”

  “Okay. Well, we’ve had this conversation before. We talked about it back when that little black girl got kidnapped from the mall.”

  “Okay. And...?”

  “And I read the article. I agree with it. If these girls were white, it wouldn’t have taken y’all months to start looking into the cases. The first girl would have had a SWAT team looking for her around the clock.”

  “SWAT teams don’t look for missing people, babe.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He shook his head, smiling at the absurdity of arguing so strongly in favor of a scenario that hadn’t happened. “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “Well, of course I don’t know for sure but I think history has shown it to be the case nine times out of ten.”

  “Nah.”

  “Am I lying?”

  He downed his iced tea. “You’re not lying but you are letting your emotions cloud the facts.”

  “Here you go. What are the facts?”

  “First off, you know I hate talking about this race shit. Second, these people haven’t talked to anyone in the department. We don’t even know if these cases are related so how could they possibly know that?” Fallon rolled her eyes but he continued. “The fact is that most missing people don’t get any kind of special treatment from the cops and they also don’t get any media attention. It’s a numbers thing, not a race thing.”

  “Okay then, who decides who gets covered?”

  He sighed. “It’s complicated. There’s a very particular type of missing person that gets that kind of attention.”

  It was Fallon’s turn to smile. “Uh huh. And what do those types look like 99% of the time?”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that. But trust me, poor white girls, white prostitutes, drug addicts are not getting attention. Nobody cares about them any more than they care about black girls.”

  “Do you see what you just did?” she asked, pointing a fork full of dumplings at him.

  “What? What did I do?”

  “You equated white prostitutes and junkies with black girls. You just proved my point!”

  “Nope. That’s not what I meant. Don’t twist my words.” She was awfully fond of that tactic and she was good at it. Every now and then he regretted marrying a woman who was so much smarter than him.

  “Then what did you mean?” she asked.

  Barrington sat back in his chair and sighed. “Those white girls who get all the attention? Their people have money. Not every time, but most of the time. If not money, they have...power, or standing in their community. And sometimes they have connections in the department or at the news or radio station and they can mobilize a gang of people to back them up on these searches. They have folks who can dedicate their entire day and donate store space or huge houses to set up command posts and shit like that. It’s not really because they’re white. I mean it is, but it isn’t. It’s about power. Our department has no choice but to prioritize those cases.”

  She was
silent for a minute. “So according to you, it’s not because they’re white, yet you just listed off like ten things that white people are more likely to have. Excuse me, middle-class white people.”

  “And whose fault is that?” he asked.

  “Whose fault is it that black folks don’t have the same resources? Is that really what you’re asking me, Barrington?”

  “What’s stopping black families from doing those same things?”

  Fallon threw her head back and closed her eyes. “Why do we have to do any of that? And I’m not buying that all of that is the reason they get more coverage. You’re generalizing.”

  “You done?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened and her mouth flew open. “I fucking hate talking to you about this stuff.”

  “Aye! Don’t cuss at me in front of my daughter.”

  “You just said shit a minute ago!”

  “Not at you, though.”

  “Whatever. You don’t get it. It’s so frustrating talking to you. About anything.”

  “You’re just mad because I don’t agree with everything you say,” said Barrington, enjoying the argument now.

  “No that’s not why I’m mad!”

  “Okay, my food’s getting cold. I’m eating.”

  She scowled at him. “I oughta throw that damn plate in the trash.”

  He let out a laugh and she shook her head at him. He knew she was frustrated but there was a hint of a smile on her face. They had debates all the time but it rarely got too serious.

  “Things are different now,” she said. “Social media changed the game. Black folks aren’t gonna let that stuff slide by unchecked anymore. I’m glad that article is out there. Maybe it’ll keep y’all honest.”

  He didn’t feel like going back and forth again. They rarely saw eye-to-eye on race and he could never understand how a black girl who grew up in Minnesota thought she knew more about the subject than he did. His entire life had been all-black everything. Black church, schools, sports teams, neighborhoods. Frankly, he didn’t get the fascination. He was tired of black folks.

  “Whatever,” he said. “They brought me in and I’m gonna do what they ask and get my check.”

  “Right. Because you don’t wanna rock the boat.”

  He pointed at her. “Exactly. I don’t do politics, I do my job.”

  They both ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Fallon stopped and sat straight up in her chair.

  “I’m gonna say one more thing and then I’m not saying anything else.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “What if it was Simone or Taylor? Or me?”

  “Baby, I’m a cop. That’s one of the perks. If it was somebody in my family, there wouldn’t even be a question.”

  “Right. But why do the Simones and Taylors of the world need to have police officer fathers to get help? Just chew on that, okay? For me.”

  He sighed and looked at his wife. Then he looked at his daughter, so tiny, so beautiful, whom he loved more than anything else in the world.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 13

  THE CROWD STOOD SILENTLY in the park, candles aflame, and watched as Elaine Scott ascended the steps of the platform and walked toward the podium. She shook hands with Mayor Dixon and Representative Williams from the sixth district before approaching the microphone.

  “Good evening. My name is Elaine Scott. Tiffany Scott was my daughter. I’m both glad and heartbroken to say that our baby is coming home.

  “Tiffany was special. Like all parents, we had high hopes for our daughter’s future, dreams of her graduating from college, of walking down the aisle, of giving us grandbabies. But those dreams died with her. Although this was not the ending to her life that we envisioned, and it’s certainly not the ending we prayed for, we are thankful that we finally have an answer. That we can finally lay our daughter to rest. That we can properly and thoroughly grieve for her. We don’t yet know what happened to her in her final hours but we know she did not meet a peaceful end. We also know that what happened to our baby was not an accident. Someone is responsible for our daughter’s death. Someone snatched her away from us, the people who loved her. And whoever that person is, he had no right to do so. He decided to play God, but we’re going to give him hell.”

  The audience nodded and murmured their agreement. Mrs. Scott continued.

  “Tonight, we stand with the families of other missing women and girls and we demand answers. We deserve to know what happened, and we deserve justice for our daughters. The person who did this must be found and put away so that he does not do any more harm to our children.”

  The crowd nodded and clapped, each striking of hands spilling wax down the sides of the candles toward their paper holders.

  “Unfortunately, as we all know, when our children are harmed, we often do not get the same kind of attention that other communities do.”

  The crowd murmured their agreement.

  “The media and the police are often all too eager to shine a light on our misdeeds in the name of protecting the public, but when one of our children is victimized, that spotlight dims and the public is quick to turn a blind eye. Rather than rushing to help, sirens blaring, toting all of the resources they have at their disposal, they merely deign to assist us, and only after we’ve begged and cried.”

  Loud applause followed, along with an “Amen!” Barrington, standing to the left of the platform, surveyed the crowd, wondering if the perpetrator was in attendance. He could be there among them, holding a candle, pretending to grieve, feasting on the pain of others. It wasn’t uncommon.

  “But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that our people are strong. We’re strong, and we’re resilient. And we’re smart. Yes, we are. We’re smart enough to know that bad things happen to good people all the time, everywhere, and unfortunately, these things often happen at the hands of people who live right down the street, or even right next door.”

  Mrs. Elaine was a sharp lady. Barrington had to give her that.

  “So to the community, I say to you tonight: Be vigilant. Keep your eyes open. Be aware of your surroundings. If you see something suspicious, or if you know someone who is acting strange, don’t be afraid to tell someone because you might be saving a life. There is a killer among us and we need to get him off our streets before he kills again.

  “To the police: I say to you there are countless other places in this country where black women and girls have gone missing and been murdered and their cases have never been solved. No one has been held responsible. I stand before you tonight to let you know that will not happen here. Not in Townsend. We will never stop looking. We will never move on. We will never forget. And tonight, we ask you to utilize your best resources, your greatest minds, your connections and time and talents in order to find this monster and get him off the streets. We will stand side-by-side with you, helping in any way we can. We are not adversaries. We are members of a community asking, no, demanding justice. Tonight, we say their names. Tiffany. Renee. Amber. Bianca. And these are just the ones we know. We speak their names. We will find them. Thank you.”

  There was yelling and cheering, applause and jumping up and down. It reminded Barrington of a revival, and Mrs. Scott had just brought the house down. He silently cursed Bill Price. How was he supposed to follow that?

  “Detective Dunn?” asked Rep. Williams. Barrington had been so busy seething that he’d missed his introduction. He jogged up the steps of the platform and shook the appropriate hands before giving Mrs. Scott a warm hug. That she reciprocated came as a surprise to him. He cleared his throat and looked out at the crowd. Someone way in the back shouted, “Fuck the police!” He ignored it.

  “Good evening. My name is Barrington Dunn. I’m one of the detectives working on this case. I’m here tonight on behalf of the Townsend Police department. We want you to know that there is nothing more important to us than finding this person and getting him off of our streets. These young women are daughters of t
he community, and we don’t take that lightly.

  He smiled at the crowd. “I actually grew up about ten minutes from here, over on Sandimore Drive.”

  He saw a few nods of acknowledgment and a couple of smiles.

  “I spent my Friday nights skating at Golden Glide, just like many of you. I got my hair cut at Scooby’s on Pace Street. I played basketball at Jackson Rec and I swam at the Brownsville pool in the summertime. I know these streets well. And I should, cuz I stayed in them.”

  More smiles and some laughter. It was okay, he was one of them.

  “Like many of you, I went off to college, but then I chose to come back. Why? Because this is home, and I can’t think of any other place that feels so welcoming, so comfortable, so peaceful to me as...” He paused for a moment. What the hell, might as well use it.

  “...as a black man. It feels like an oasis in a country that has so often felt hostile to me. To us. And I want you to know that I hear your concerns, and I understand. I empathize. Because I’m one of you. And I...we are going to do everything in our power to find your daughters. Our daughters. This is personal, and it’s important, and we’re taking it very, very seriously.

  “Now, let me be clear. We have a plan in place. We’re working these cases. I’m in close communication with our partners in the media, with the families, and with the community leaders. We’re using every resource at our disposal, but we can’t do it without your help. What we need from you is not only to keep your eyes and ears open, but to call us and tell us what you see. What you hear. Don’t try to gauge whether or not it’s a good lead. You let us worry about that. Just call. We have a dedicated tip-line set up solely for this case, and we have people working around the clock to chase down leads. If we partner together, we can find the person responsible and get him off the streets.

  “Again, I cannot stress this enough...it is crucial that you call in with any tips, no matter how insignificant they may seem. And finally, I want to say to the families that you are not in this alone. We are with you, 100%. Thank you.”