Profile of Fear: Book Four of the Profile Series (Volume 4) (6 page)

Cameron moved closer to Deacon. “Anyone else inside?”

He removed his air mask and rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead. “Yeah, there’s a woman and a child.”

“The woman should be Willie’s wife, Donda. Are you sure there’s a child?”

“Yes, sir. Little girl. Looks to be around two-years-old.”

The news hit Cameron like a sucker punch. How could he have missed that? He knew everything there was to know about Willie and Donda Hicks. Why wasn’t a child mentioned anywhere in his research? Why didn’t their undercover detective or informant mention a kid?

“Deacon, do you know if the child lives here? Could she just be visiting?”

“She lives here. Found her in a back bedroom in a crib. We found a stash of weapons under it.” The deputy pulled his air mask over his mouth and nose and then re-entered the house.

Cameron flushed with anger and wanted to hit something or someone. He should have found out about the little girl. They could have removed her from the house months ago. This was a major clusterfuck.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t found kids during meth busts in the past. They had. Cameron remembered each time as if it had happened yesterday—in distinct detail. Kids were his weak spot. A child in trouble could easily slice his heart into ribbons in seconds. There was no getting around it.

The little girl was only two-years-old? Just a baby. He tried to prepare himself. Kids found living in meth houses were commonly malnourished, improperly clothed, and neglected. Many of them tested positive for having methamphetamine in their bodies, thanks to their access to the drug. Or perhaps by exposure to second-hand smoke, resulting from their parents, a cook, or other users smoking meth in close proximity to the child. Parents were supposed to be a child’s fiercest protectors, yet they were the ones putting their children in danger of serious health issues for the rest of their lives.

Pulling out his cell phone, he called Child Protective Services to report they’d found a child in a home where a meth lab was operating. He talked briefly to a CPS supervisor who promised to assign a case manager. He gave her one of his deputies’ cell number and disconnected the call.

Glancing back at the emergency response vehicle, Cameron shouted to first EMT he saw. “Galloway, they’re bringing out a two-year-old. Get ready. She needs to be decontaminated.” Sandy Galloway, a seasoned EMT, had work meth scenes with him before. If anyone would know how to treat a small child who may have been exposed to meth, she would.

Cameron raced to his car, pulled out a clean white T-shirt, and headed back to the house. He arrived just in time to see Deacon coming out. The small child in his arms was hysterical. She wailed, flailing skinny arms and legs in a blur as she hit and kicked at him.

The officer was visibly upset. “I can’t get her to calm down. I can’t understand it. I have nieces and nephews who adore me.”

Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Cameron peeled back the blanket she was wrapped in and took a good look at her. Her little face was crimson and all scrunched up as she bellowed. This kid was not a happy camper. “I think she’s afraid of you because of the mask. Let me have her.”

Relief brightening his expression, Deacon handed the child to Cameron. She immediately stopped crying, sucked her thumb, and stared at him with the bluest eyes Cameron had ever seen. “You’re okay, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine.”

Hugging her securely to his chest, he walked to the emergency response vehicle where Sandy Galloway had stacked white towels, along with a bar of soap and a wash cloth. She stood in front of the shower, adjusting the privacy curtain.

He glanced down at the child who stared right back—still sucking her thumb. After a moment, she raised her little hand to touch his face. “My name is Cameron, but my friends call me Cam. What’s your name?”

She hesitated, making him wonder if she could talk. But then she pulled her thumb out of her mouth and said, “Becca.”

“Becca is a pretty name.” Gazing at her sweet face, he wondered how anyone could put her at such risk. Deputy Gail Sawyer joined Sandy Galloway, who was now testing the temperature of the water spraying from the side of the vehicle. It was time to decontaminate the child in his arms with a warm shower. “Becca, do you like to play in water?”

Much to Cameron’s relief, she nodded and smiled.

Cameron nodded toward the running shower. “Gail, is the water warm?”

“Yes, sir. Are you sure you don’t want to wait until we get her to the hospital to bathe her?”

“Have you taken a good look at her? Her clothes are filthy and so is she. Take off her clothes and put them in evidence bags to be tested at the lab. Get the camera. Take the photos that Child Protective Services needs to document any abuse, and let’s get them done ASAP. I’m not taking any chances with her health. This child is getting decontaminated. If there is any chemical residue on her, it’s getting washed off now.”

The deputy pulled a small camera out of her pocket. “When I heard there was a child, I thought we’d need photos.”

Cameron smiled approvingly. As a rookie, Gail’s performance had been far-from-stellar, including the time she shot herself in the foot at the gun range during a law enforcement shooting competition. But she’d worked hard to improve his perception of her, and it was working.

“I’m ready, sir.”

Cameron lowered Becca to the ground where she wrapped herself around his leg like a vine. “Becca, this is Gail. She’s a deputy and she protects little girls like you.”

Gail inched toward her. “I heard your name is Becca. Is that right?”

The toddler nodded and tightened her hold on Cameron’s leg.

“How old are you?”

Becca held up two fingers.

Gail smiled and bent down. “Two years old? I have a niece who’s two. My name is Gail. Is it okay if I take some pictures of you, Becca?”

When Becca looked up at Cameron, he bent down to her level. “Don’t be afraid, sweetie. I’ll be right here. As soon as Gail takes your pictures, you can play in the water. Would you like that?”

When she nodded, Cameron placed her on the ground and pulled off the blanket that was wrapped around her. Becca wore a pink nightshirt that was too small, clinging to her little body like a second skin. The garment was long overdue for washing. Cameron gritted his teeth as a surge of anger rushed through him. Obviously, her parents cared more about their damn drugs than caring for their little girl.

Through his earpiece, he heard that the deputies transporting Willie and Donda Hicks to the county jail were preparing to leave. Into his mic, he ordered the deputies to stay put. He wanted a word with both suspects.

Turning to Becca, he said, “I need to talk to your mommy and daddy for a minute. Gail will take good care of you. I promise I’ll be right back, and then you can play in the water. Okay?”

Becca eyed him as if she was trying to determine if she could trust that he would return. She peered up at Gail and then back at Cameron. “Okay.” Her little voice tugged at his heart. He patted her affectionately on the head and headed toward the patrol cars parked near the road.

She hadn’t asked for her parents once. Not even when he mentioned talking to her mommy and daddy. That was odd. Most kids in this situation would be screaming for their parents. That Becca didn’t ask for either one sent an alarm through his brain. Something was off here. Why wasn’t she asking for them?

“Where’s Willie?” Cameron demanded once he reached the patrol cars.

“He’s here.” Larry Rice, one of the Sheriff’s rookie deputies, opened the back door of his cruiser.

Cameron looked inside. “Willie, we have your little girl and we’ve called Child Protective Services.”

“Good for you. What do you want? A medal? How about a medal shaped like a doughnut?”

Ignoring the remark, Cameron knelt next to the car so he could get a better look at his suspect. Resting his head back, Willie struggled with his handcuffs and nervously scratched at open sores on his arms.

“I just thought you’d like to know what was happening with your daughter.”

“Are you talking about Becca?”

“Who else would I be talking about?”

“She ain’t my kid.”

“You’re not Becca’s father?”

“No. Are you hard of hearing? I just said that. Donda and I went through a rough patch several years ago and she ran off. When she returned, she was knocked up. So Becca’s
not
my kid. I could give a shit what Child Protective Services does with that brat. So get out of my face.”

Slamming the vehicle door closed, Cameron glanced at Deputy Rice. “We’re done talking. Take him in and book him.”

Deputy Mary Hesselgesser-Wright waited for him outside the second patrol car. As he approached, she opened the back door to reveal the second suspect sitting inside.

With a smirk and a wave of her arm, Mary said, “In the back seat of police cruiser number two we have Donda Hicks,
no one’s
candidate for Mother of the Year.” All their earpieces were on the same frequency, and she’d obviously overheard his conversation with Willie. Apparently the deputy had made the same parental assessment of Donda as Cam had for the husband. A hint of a grin threatened Cameron’s serious expression before he bent down to talk to Donda.

“Mrs. Hicks, I’m Sergeant Chase with the Sheriff’s Office. I’d like to talk to you about your daughter, Becca.”

“What about her?” Donda’s response was more of a demand than a question. Emaciated, her dirty blond hair tied back in a ponytail, she was in constant movement in the car, twitching, scratching at her arms, and shaking. She was in bad need of a fix.

“Thought you might want to know we’ve called Child Protective Services.”

“There’s not a hell of a lot I can do about that, handcuffed in back of a police car. Now is there?” Donda scratched at her neck and glared at him.

“Do you have family in the area? Somewhere Becca can stay?”

“You’re kidding, right? My so-called family wants nothing to do with me or the kid.”

“How do you know they wouldn’t take Becca in?”

“Because I tried to give her away, and none of them wanted her. To be honest, I don’t want her, either. Christ, I’m nineteen. I never wanted to be a mother. I’m too young to be tied down by a snotty brat. She’s better off with someone else.”

Cameron closed the door and pushed away from the vehicle. Clenching his jaw, he cursed and tried to get a handle on his anger. He’d known stray cats who were better mothers than Donda Hicks. He made a mental note to add child endangerment and neglect to her growing list of charges.

With no relatives to take her in, the girl would go into the child protective system. There was a good chance Becca could get lost in the foster home system and get bounced from place to place, never find a loving parent and a permanent home. Was that a worse fate than living with an addicted mother who didn’t care about her? Probably not, but he couldn’t bear to think of the child in either situation.

If his older brother, Brody, were here, he’d say, “You can’t save them all, Cam. No matter how much you want to. You can’t save all of them.” Yeah, but maybe if he was lucky, he’d be given a chance to help Becca.

In his earpiece, he heard Gail say, “Sergeant, just heard from CPS. The case manager will meet us at the hospital. Just finished the photos.”

“I’ll be right there.”

When he reached the emergency response vehicle, he saw that Becca was stripped down to her birthday suit and her clothes were in evidence bags. Gail was holding the wiggling little girl, who stretched out her arms to Cameron as soon as she noticed him. He took her from Gail.

Gail looked frustrated. “I tried to get her in the shower but she wouldn’t have anything to do with it. She keeps saying ‘poo.’”

“What does that mean?”

As soon as the question left his mouth, Becca began chanting, “Poo. Poo. Poo.”

Cameron looked at Gail. “Does she have to go to the bathroom?”

“I already asked her that, and she said no.”

“Well, she has to be decontaminated. I was hoping she’d want to play in the shower water.” Walking Becca to the shower, Cam said. “Want to play in the water, Becca?”

She gleefully clapped her hands and giggled. “Poo. Poo. Poo.” But when she saw the shower, she shook her head and said, “No. I want poo.”

Wearily, Cam asked, “Poo? Do you want shampoo—for your hair?” Cam raised his arms and moved them like he was washing his hair.

Becca giggled again, shaking her head, “No sha-poo. I wants my poo!”

“Wait a minute. I think I know what she’s saying!” Gail took off running to the back of the house. Moments later she returned holding a bright pink plastic kiddie pool. “I saw this earlier when I was doing a perimeter check. Let’s see what happens if I put this directly under the shower spray.”

Becca jumped up and down, pointing excitedly. “My poo!”

“No, Gail. You know protocol. These idiots might have used the pool for something other than a toy.”

Sandy Galloway approached them and bent down to talk to Becca. “Sweetie, if you will let me wash you in the shower, you can have this.” From behind her back, she withdrew a small teddy bear wearing a white hoodie. The Shawnee County Sheriff logo was imprinted on the front of the shirt.

Becca’s eyes widened with delight and in no time, the child was splashing in the water, soaking Sandy, who was determined to scrub her down with soap.

Holding her digital camera at her side, Gail leaned closer to Cameron. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”

The shower curtain flew open and Becca ran out, exposing a series of purple bruises dotting her rib cage. Sandy quickly captured the toddler and placed her back in the shower. Inhaling deeply in an effort to subdue his anger at her abusers, Cameron turned to Gail. “What did you find besides the bruising on her ribs?”

“There’s discoloration around one of her wrists. She cried out when I touched it.”

“Damn it.”

“The doc may find broken bones and more injuries when they examine her at the hospital. The baby has not had a good time of it.”

Fists clenched at his sides, anger hummed through Cameron’s body. “I want to know which one of them did this to her. Someone is going to pay.”