Birthdays of a Princess by Helga Zeiner Page B

a bit odd. Number 357
doesn’t exist, and she hasn’t been registered under any other number in that
street. There’s also no school registration of Tiara Brown, no driver license
for Melissa Brown, no nothing of anything. Those two didn’t live in Galveston,
and if they did, they were flying so much under the radar, it was practically
illegal. I don’t know why, but I wonder if Melissa gave us the correct
address.”
    “I think we have to take everything Melissa Brown tells us with a
grain of salt. She stated in my initial interview with her that she worked down
there at different supermarkets, but now she tells the reporter that Tiara’s
father left her enough money when he died.”
    “You mean Mike Brown?”
    Macintosh frown.
    “That’s odd—him having the same name as the grandmother.”
    “Yeah.”
    Macintosh immediately realized where he had gone wrong.
    “Shit. Brown is Melissa’s maiden name. How could I assume it was her
married name?”
    “If the name of Tiara’s father isn’t Brown, it could be Rodriguez.”
    “You bet. Which means, Tiara Rodriguez-Brown is our girl and that’s
why we came up empty handed when checking the ad agencies for records of our
famous child model. None of them had a Tiara Brown on their list.”
    “Right, I’ll check again and ask about a Tiara or Tia Rodriguez.”
    Macintosh drummed an angry melody on his desk top.
    “I don’t get it. Why the hell does the mother make such a secret out
of it? Why didn’t she just give us the girl’s name?”
     “Maybe you should try once more to talk to the daughter. Get her
side of the story.”
    Macintosh glared at him.
    “Seriously, I think it’s worth another try.”
    Harding was right. Go and do your job. Don’t chicken out when it
gets uncomfortable.
    “Sorry,” Harding said. “I know, it’s tough for you. I’d do it if I
thought it would help, but I don’t have your experience, and as it’s probably your
last case—”
    “Right. You’re right. They move me into a corner for the last six
months and dump a bunch of files on my desk.”
    “They certainly won’t put you in charge of a new homicide case.”
    Macintosh snorted.
    “So, make the best of what you got. I mean, maybe the girl couldn’t help
it. Maybe she had a good reason.”
    “Like what?”
    “She’s so young. I’m not saying she’s innocent, but we don’t know anything
about her background. You should give her a chance to explain herself.”
    “She had her chance.”
    “She’s had time to think by now. You should at least try once more.
Everything else is discrimination, and that’s not your style, never has been. What
would your daughter say to that?”
    Macintosh’s face turned red.
     “Leave my daughter out of this.” He took a deep breath. “If you
think I pick and choose what I want to do, you still don’t know me. I’m gonna
see that girl, in my own good time, and give her a chance to explain herself
and that stupid goddamn crime she’s committed if it’s the last thing I do on
this earth.”
     

 
     
     
    Chapter
23
     
     
    Another week has drifted by, barely noticed, except for the falling
leaves outside my window. The old trees out there are high enough for me to see
a few stubborn leaves still attached to their otherwise bare branches.
    I’m staring a lot out this window, and at the empty page of my
journal. I have too much time on my hands, but I still refuse to leave my cell
for anything other than the dreaded morning classes, the bike riding and
Stanley’s visits. He hasn’t been back for a few days now—I guess I’m not on his
priority list. My stubborn-like-an-autumn-leaf attitude persists every time the
case worker assigned to me shows up to do her job. She has a lot on her plate
and only checks with the Center’s admin every time she comes visiting if I have
changed my mind. I tell them thanks, but no thanks.
    Can’t do that with the detective though. It seems he is drawn back
to me like a magnet. I