Mother's Milk (11 page)

Hobbs pulled out a stiff Manila folder and looked through its contents. He selected a single snapshot and put it on the table in front of Marion Kane. It was a close-up of the dead girl's face shot at the scene.

Marion stared at the image. A strand of brown hair, gray at the roots, fell across her forehead. To Barrett it seemed as though the woman was forcing herself to look, to be certain, to have no doubt.

‘Yes,' Marion said in a dull voice, ‘that's her.'

They turned at the sound of a door opening. ‘Shit.' A middle-aged, thin man with military style salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a navy suit, white shirt, and no tie was shaking his fingers after having spilled his amber-colored drink on the French doors. He wiped his hand on his pants and squinted against the sun; he walked toward them. ‘I'm John Kane,' he said, not sitting, not extending his hand.

From across the table, Barrett smelled Scotch, good stuff that carried the whiff of peat and oak.

Wordlessly, Marion stood, picked up the photo and held it in front of her husband.

He shook his head and stumbled back. Hobbs reached over and grabbed him by the arm; the mostly empty glass tumbled to the deck but didn't break. Barrett stood and helped John Kane into a chair. She looked at the spilled alcohol as it glinted in the sun.
A drink wouldn't be so bad
, she mused.

‘We saw this coming,' Marion said, sitting next to her husband and putting a hand on his right shoulder. In her other she held the eight-by-ten photo. ‘I had just hoped …' Her words trailed.

‘She said she wanted to go into rehab … again,' John said. ‘Or am I jumping to a conclusion. It was an overdose, wasn't it?'

‘Yes,' Hobbs said, ‘but some things make it suspicious.'

‘It was that boy,' he said, his mouth twisted.

‘Which boy?' Hobbs prompted.

John Kane's eyes teared, he looked at the tumbler lying on the deck. He got out of his chair, his gait unsteady. ‘Marion, you tell them. I need a drink. Anyone else?' He picked up the glass and without waiting for anyone to respond headed back indoors.

Marion watched her husband's retreat. ‘He's not always like this, at least not this early in the day.'

‘Mrs. Kane,' Hobbs said, ‘could you tell us about your daughter, her friends, who she hung out with, what you know about her drug use.'

Marion Kane looked at Hobbs and then at Barrett. ‘She was a beautiful girl, and an “A” student up until her junior year. She had it all, looks, talent, lots of friends. She wanted to be a designer and have her own fashion line.'

‘What happened in her junior year?' Barrett asked.

‘Drugs,' Marion said. ‘At first I didn't know why she was acting so strange. Not her usual self. She used to be so happy, always doing extra things at school – designing costumes for the drama club or making decorations for dances. Junior year that all changed. I could almost point to the day, suddenly she wouldn't talk to us, stayed up in her room, on the Internet with her friends, doing God knows what. I'd try to check the history on her computer, but it was mostly emails and instant messages to her friends. It was our cleaning woman who found it. When she showed me, at first I didn't understand what I was looking at. I mean, when I was in college I smoked some pot, who didn't? Even tried uppers a few times when I had to cram for a test, or to see if I could lose weight. But this was … it was alien, it didn't belong. It was so ugly and what was it doing in Ashley's room, hidden inside her dresser?'

‘What was it?' Barrett asked, noting how Marion had trouble looking at Hobbs, and wondered if it was because he was a cop, or was it his scars.

‘It was an old cigar box, just like the ones she used as sewing boxes, only it had needles, drugs in plastic bags, a lighter … It looked dirty. I mean I'd always prepared myself for the drug talk with my girls; I thought we had one of those healthy open relationships, the kind I'd wanted with my own mother. But here I was staring at something like on a TV show. My sixteen-year-old little girl was shooting drugs. How could I not know? And where the hell would she get them?' Her jaw clenched. ‘It's not like we live in the city. I mean, my God, this is one of the most expensive communities in the state.'

‘How did you handle it?' Barrett asked.

‘I told John, of course, and he handled it … well, in hindsight, I don't know. He exploded and when she got home from school he was furious. Didn't let her talk, just yelled at her. I tried to step in, but in some ways I agreed. How could she do this to herself? To us? We ended up calling a friend of the family who's a psychiatrist and she helped us locate a facility in Connecticut, which would take her right away. She didn't want to go. We forced her. She was furious, screaming at me, screaming at John. She said horrible things. It was like watching
The Exorcist
. She seemed possessed; this was not my daughter. Even her face – she was vicious. She called her father an alcoholic, which made him furious. It's a miracle we didn't have an accident on the way. They kept her for four weeks. The first week she refused to see us or talk to us. They explained that she was going through a detox and was pretty miserable. When she finally let us visit, she was exhausted, but at least she looked like my daughter. She apologized for some of what she'd said.' Marion bit her lip and looked at the photo again. ‘She looks like she's sleeping.'

‘Mrs. Kane,' Hobbs said, ‘your husband mentioned some boy …'

‘I'm sorry, it's just everything's so strange. I don't know how I'm supposed to react. I feel numb. They don't prepare you for this, for having a child who's a … junkie. One of Ashley's doctors that first time sat us down and told us horrible things. How many kids – good kids, from good families – die each year from heroin, all of the diseases that go with it. They tested her for AIDS and hepatitis.' Marion glanced at Barrett. ‘When she got out of that place, I swore that it would never happen again; I wouldn't let her out of my sight. I searched her room when she was at school, insisted she give me the passwords for her MySpace and Facebook pages. I needed to know where she was all the time, who she was with; I didn't let up. I couldn't stop myself, but somehow, just a couple months later, the changes came back. She withdrew, lost weight, her eyes were funny sometimes … So back to Connecticut for another month. I was furious, but when she got out she promised to stay clean. And for the rest of the year and through graduation she was herself again. But this is where we made our big mistake. She'd applied and gotten accepted to half a dozen design schools. Her first choice was the Fashion Institute in Manhattan; it was her dream. We figured that she'd been off drugs for over a year, and that maybe she was done with it – like some kind of phase.' Marion shook her head. ‘It happened so fast. She made it through her first semester, was excited, sewing up a storm, loving her classes; it was everything that she'd wanted. At Christmas it was like old times. She made me the most beautiful green-silk dress and gave her sister an outrageous scarf, all covered with feathers and … it was just wonderful. But a month later I knew something was wrong. She sounded tired and the spark was gone. I asked her point-blank if she was using drugs … I couldn't even bring myself to say the word heroin. She denied it, said she just had a lot of projects to finish and hadn't been sleeping well. I didn't believe her and drove in. She was furious and told me that I didn't trust her, which was the truth. I tried to reason with her and she screamed at me. Told me she was eighteen, that it was her life, and that I couldn't drag her off to the hospital anymore.' She looked at Barrett. ‘It was the most helpless feeling. I called her dean, the dorm manager. They all told me that there was nothing that could be done unless she was in imminent danger of hurting herself, and that without hard proof that she was using they couldn't search her room.'

‘That must have been awful,' Barrett said.

‘I called every day. Sometimes she wouldn't even pick up. When she did she didn't say much. I told her I knew she was using. I let her know that I loved her and that whenever she wanted to get treatment I'd help her.' Tears slid down Marion's face. ‘I knew something was going to happen. Every time the phone rang my heart jumped, wondering if this was going to be the bad news. And then two weeks ago, we got a call … it was three in the morning. She'd been arrested. She was crying and begging us to come to the police station and pick her up.'

From behind them, John Kane had reappeared. His gait was unsteady as he crossed the deck and joined them drink in hand.

Marion looked at her husband, and then at the two-thirds-full tumbler of Scotch. ‘I was telling them about Ashley's arrest,' she said.

‘We should have left them there,' he responded. ‘Might have done some good.'

‘Them?' Hobbs asked.

‘The boy,' John Kane said, his vowels starting to slur. ‘The one who was feeding her dope,' he said. ‘Bobby Dix. I bailed out Bobby Dix and my daughter.'

Marion cut in. ‘They'd been arrested for possession. The officer who was handling the case said that he could have upped it to possession with intent to sell, but because it was the first arrest for both of them, and because I told him that I'd get her into a treatment program, he'd go with the lesser charge. When I saw her in that cell, she looked like a junkie. She'd lost weight, you could see the bones in her face, and her eyes were like glass … empty. She begged me to get her out, and her boyfriend … Bobby. She'd never mentioned him before. She said she wouldn't leave without him.'

Hobbs pulled out his packet of photos and placed a second one in front of John and Marion. ‘Is that him?'

‘He's dead too?' Marion asked. ‘They were together?'

‘Yes,' Barrett said, not wanting to see the picture, ‘they were found yesterday morning.'

John stared at Bobby's image and then at the one of his daughter. His eyes teared up again.

‘What happened after you bailed them out?' Hobbs asked.

John choked and started to cough.

‘She'd lied to us,' Marion said, watching her husband swig back his drink. ‘She'd promised that she'd go into a program. As soon as we left the precinct that changed to, “I couldn't possibly go into a program until the summer.” Nothing would make her change her mind. John got angry, she started screaming in the middle of the street – it was horrible – and that's the last time we saw her. She grabbed Bobby by the hand and they walked away.'

‘Do you know anything about him?' Hobbs asked.

‘Just what she told us, which could have been lies. She said they'd been going out for four months. He was polite, good-looking, and he seemed embarrassed at how angry she got. He even tried to calm her down when she started to yell at us. I assumed he was a student like she was. I remember wondering why he hadn't called his parents to get him. I didn't want to ask too many questions and by that point we were all so tired; I was crying, John was furious. There was nothing we could do and so we drove home, and I started with the daily calls again, and hounding the dorm manager. He was very polite, but said there was nothing he could do.'

‘She called Saturday,' John said, his glass nearly empty. ‘She told me she was sorry. I told Marion to pick up.' He drained the Scotch.

‘She was frightened,' Marion added, ‘but she wouldn't say why. She was crying and begged us to take her and Bobby to rehab. I wasn't about to argue. I told her to get a bag packed and we'd be there as fast as we could. She told us she'd be in her dorm room. When we got there she was gone. I thought I was going to lose my mind. I got the dorm manager and made him go around to every single room in that building. No one had seen her, no one knew anything; I knew they were lying. I tried to call her on her cell, she wouldn't pick up.'

She looked at her husband. His eyes were watery. ‘Finally,' she said, ‘I got her roommate – Taylor – alone. I knew she didn't want to talk to me; she was scared. I remember when Ashley first got to the Institute she'd talked about Taylor; she'd found a friend … one who didn't use drugs. Taylor wouldn't say anything and had me go with her into the bathroom. She told me that everything changed when Ashley started going with Bobby. She said he wasn't a student, he was a drug dealer who hung out at the dorm. She said he tried to pass as a student, had an ID that he'd use to get in. But what made her so frightened was she said he wasn't the only one and that lots of kids in the dormitory were experimenting with heroin. I asked her when she'd last seen Ashley, or Bobby for that matter. If she knew where they were staying … She didn't.' Marion's jaw trembled. ‘The rest of that day and the past couple have been a blur. We went back to the precinct station where she'd been arrested. They couldn't help. We couldn't even file a missing person's report because it was too soon.' She shrugged her shoulders. ‘When we couldn't think of anything else, we drove around the Village, the Lower East Side, those horrible parks in Brooklyn where people live in tents. Finally, we came home. I tried her cell, I don't know how many times more, called the dean, the dorm manager … Mostly, I think we've been waiting … and here you are.'

‘Did this Taylor mention any other names?' Hobbs asked. ‘Any of the other kids she thought were doing or selling the drugs?'

‘No,' Marion said. ‘She was too frightened. I think just talking to us took everything she had.'

‘No mention of a Carly or a young man named Jerod?' he persisted.

‘No.'

Her husband stared out at the distant vista, the rolling hills on the other side of the valley, the river below. A tear dropped, his jaw clenched, and he suddenly hurled his tumbler as far as he could. It sparkled in the sun before vanishing from view. He turned back to Hobbs, and looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. ‘Will we need to identify the body?'