I’m busy and take a message for me.”
“Hmf!” Nessie sounded in protest. “I don’t like lyin’ Miss Cassie.”
“Every time I talk to him it’s more bad news,” I said.
“Alright…Alright.” She said and hung up on me.
I sat at my desk with a feeling of dread. What if he called to tell me about another victim? I was a coward for not taking the call and pushing it off on Nessie. After the coffee shop encounter, I felt like Ben attempted to position himself in my life. I love Jimmy, and even if we were over, I wasn’t on the market.
A minute later, Nessie, called back. “He said he had mo’ questions for you , an’ he needs you to come down to the station to talk to him and that Skinner.”
There were five different police stations in Indianapolis, two of which overlapped the location of Mary House. He could be at either the South Station or the East Station. “Did he say which station?” I asked.
“Um, no an’ I didn’ t ask.” Nessie performed a good job at Mary House, but she was a terrible secretary. Numerous times she took messages, and forgot vital information, such as the caller’s name or number. “I figured he already told ya where he worked.”
“He didn’t.” I sighed.
“Didn’t he give you his card or something?”
He h ad, in fact, given me his card, but I dropped it in the trash by accident. “Yes, I’ll look for it. Thank You, Nessie.”
I pulled my waste paper basket out and began rummaging through it. Fortunately, it was free of half eaten lunches and soda cans. I searched hopelessly. I almost gave up the search when I found the small business card at the bottom of the basket, stuck to another paper with a wad of mint chewing gum. Glad it was my gum, I separated the paper from the card.
Why did they want me in person? I hoped not to identify a cadaver. A scene from a movie flashed in my head. I envisioned a person in a morgue with a cop and the medical examiner. They pulled a covered body out of the locker and yank down the sheet. “Can you identify this body, ma’am?” The officer asked. I got a cold shiver at the thought.
I looked at the clock on my desk. I ha d another forty-five minutes left before my shift ended. Detective Ben King would have to wait until I finished work. I couldn’t up and leave with Mary still absent.
I return ed e-mails and read the intake evaluations for new court ordered residents. The second evaluation caught my eye. The woman’s name was Tabitha Staten. I knew her. It was her first stay at Mary House, but I knew the woman’s story.
Tabitha was only twenty two years old. I never met her, but I knew her sister Shannon, one of the first residents at Mary House. Shannon cleaned up for her little sister, Tabitha. Abandoned by drug addicted parents, Shannon raised herself and five other siblings. Shannon, the oldest, took to the streets to provide for them. She knew only one way to earn money by selling herself. Shannon’s mother was a prostitute and her father was a dealer. Shannon started using in order to deal with the acts that were required as a prostitute. Shannon came to Mary House a mess. She had one goal, to clean up. She wanted to take care of her siblings. Shannon hoped to keep Tabitha from following in her shoes.
Shannon did well in the program. She stayed at Mary House for about a year, and then got a job. She tried to be a good mother to her siblings. Police found Shannon dead behind a dumpster not long after leaving Mary House. Someone murdered Shannon.
Everyone though t Shannon went back to her old life, but I didn’t. Police never caught the person responsible, but I always thought her father had something to do with it. It enraged John Staten when Shannon refused to work for him. She fought for custody of her siblings and won. I think he killed her, and took the kids. He must have moved on to selling Tabitha. It frustrated me to see Tabitha in the system. She had potential. Not to mention that her sister
“Hmf!” Nessie sounded in protest. “I don’t like lyin’ Miss Cassie.”
“Every time I talk to him it’s more bad news,” I said.
“Alright…Alright.” She said and hung up on me.
I sat at my desk with a feeling of dread. What if he called to tell me about another victim? I was a coward for not taking the call and pushing it off on Nessie. After the coffee shop encounter, I felt like Ben attempted to position himself in my life. I love Jimmy, and even if we were over, I wasn’t on the market.
A minute later, Nessie, called back. “He said he had mo’ questions for you , an’ he needs you to come down to the station to talk to him and that Skinner.”
There were five different police stations in Indianapolis, two of which overlapped the location of Mary House. He could be at either the South Station or the East Station. “Did he say which station?” I asked.
“Um, no an’ I didn’ t ask.” Nessie performed a good job at Mary House, but she was a terrible secretary. Numerous times she took messages, and forgot vital information, such as the caller’s name or number. “I figured he already told ya where he worked.”
“He didn’t.” I sighed.
“Didn’t he give you his card or something?”
He h ad, in fact, given me his card, but I dropped it in the trash by accident. “Yes, I’ll look for it. Thank You, Nessie.”
I pulled my waste paper basket out and began rummaging through it. Fortunately, it was free of half eaten lunches and soda cans. I searched hopelessly. I almost gave up the search when I found the small business card at the bottom of the basket, stuck to another paper with a wad of mint chewing gum. Glad it was my gum, I separated the paper from the card.
Why did they want me in person? I hoped not to identify a cadaver. A scene from a movie flashed in my head. I envisioned a person in a morgue with a cop and the medical examiner. They pulled a covered body out of the locker and yank down the sheet. “Can you identify this body, ma’am?” The officer asked. I got a cold shiver at the thought.
I looked at the clock on my desk. I ha d another forty-five minutes left before my shift ended. Detective Ben King would have to wait until I finished work. I couldn’t up and leave with Mary still absent.
I return ed e-mails and read the intake evaluations for new court ordered residents. The second evaluation caught my eye. The woman’s name was Tabitha Staten. I knew her. It was her first stay at Mary House, but I knew the woman’s story.
Tabitha was only twenty two years old. I never met her, but I knew her sister Shannon, one of the first residents at Mary House. Shannon cleaned up for her little sister, Tabitha. Abandoned by drug addicted parents, Shannon raised herself and five other siblings. Shannon, the oldest, took to the streets to provide for them. She knew only one way to earn money by selling herself. Shannon’s mother was a prostitute and her father was a dealer. Shannon started using in order to deal with the acts that were required as a prostitute. Shannon came to Mary House a mess. She had one goal, to clean up. She wanted to take care of her siblings. Shannon hoped to keep Tabitha from following in her shoes.
Shannon did well in the program. She stayed at Mary House for about a year, and then got a job. She tried to be a good mother to her siblings. Police found Shannon dead behind a dumpster not long after leaving Mary House. Someone murdered Shannon.
Everyone though t Shannon went back to her old life, but I didn’t. Police never caught the person responsible, but I always thought her father had something to do with it. It enraged John Staten when Shannon refused to work for him. She fought for custody of her siblings and won. I think he killed her, and took the kids. He must have moved on to selling Tabitha. It frustrated me to see Tabitha in the system. She had potential. Not to mention that her sister
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