Profile of Fear: Book Four of the Profile Series (Volume 4) (9 page)

“So Sgt. Chase, when can I interview your family members and visit where Becca will live?”

A smile spreading across his face, Cameron said, “How about within the next hour or two?”

Chapter Sixteen

Cameron whispered a prayer and then stepped into a small conference room equipped with an oval table with the six chairs they’d need. A coffee pot sat on a small table in the back of the room, next to a tower of Styrofoam cups the height of Mt. Everest and a plate of sweet rolls.

Brody and Carly arrived first. Carly looked relieved. “Thank God. We thought you’d been hurt on the job when you said to come to the hospital.”

Cam spread his arms and she walked into his hug. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

His brother grasped his shoulder. “So why are we here, Cam? What’s going on?”

Cameron started to reply, but Gabe and Kaitlyn walked in, wearing the same worried expression Brody and Carly had.

Brody poured a cup of coffee for Carly and then poured cups for Gabe, Kaitlyn, and himself. Cameron had a coffee that he was nursing at the end of the table.

Cameron waved to the chairs. “Please sit down. And know how much I appreciate your meeting me here with such late notice, and no explanation whatsoever.”

Gabe squirmed in his chair and leaned forward. “The suspense is killing me. What’s going on?”

“I want you to meet someone.” Cameron pulled out his cell phone and retrieved the photo that he’d taken of Becca sitting on the examining table. Wearing his T-shirt, the child stared at the cell phone camera, her eyes filled with fear.

He gave the phone to Gabe who glanced at the photo, and passed it around to the others.

Brody gave the phone to Carly, then settled his gaze on Cameron. “Cute kid. Who is she?”

“Her name is Becca, and she’s one of the sweetest two-year-olds you’ll ever meet. We found her at the house where we had the meth bust this morning.”

“At Willie Hicks’ place? He had a kid?”

“Not his. Long story.”

Impatiently, Gabe handed back Cameron’s cell. “Just tell us what this is all about.”

“There are no foster parents available to take Becca in. The group homes are filled with teenagers. That’s no place for a two-year-old.” Inhaling deeply, he folded his hands on the table. “I want to be Becca’s foster parent, and I’m asking you to welcome her into our family.”

Brody was the first to respond. “Sweet Jesus, Cam, you’re a police sergeant. When are you going to have time to be a parent?”

“I’ll make time. It means that much to me. But I am going to need your help to create the best home possible for this little girl. She’s been through a lot. Won’t know until the doc sees her, but I think she’s been physically abused.”

Abruptly, Kaitlyn raised her hand as if she were sitting in a classroom. “I’m in.”

Surprised, Gabe turned to her. “Are you sure…”

“I’m not in the teaching profession because I
don’t
want to help kids.” Looking at Cameron, she said, “I’m on summer break so I’m available 24/7 until September, just tell me what Becca needs.”

Gabe snaked his arm around Kaitlyn’s shoulder. “The thought of a toddler in the house sounds like fun. I’m in.”

With a mixture of interest and compassion filling her dark eyes, Carly turned to Brody. “We’re always talking about having babies someday. Here’s our chance to get some practice and to find out if we’re any good at this parenting thing.”

Brody cracked a smile and said, “Looks like it’s unanimous. When do we get to meet our kid in person?”

Chapter Seventeen

Dusting off the shoulder of his suit jacket, Cameron straightened his tie and wished the meeting was over so he could pick up Becca from the hospital and take her home. He’d gotten the social worker’s sign-off, but he needed information from the hospital pediatrician about the child’s physical condition and needs.

Dr. Phoebe Weitzel’s small office had a simple, dark-wood desk with a laptop and a stack of files. It was very tidy compared to Cam’s office desk, which looked like the victim of a paper avalanche. On her credenza was a wedding photo of the doctor with her new husband, and a clock that sat on top of a small replica of the Eiffel Tower. On the wall were two framed college diplomas, along with her medical license. Another wall was covered with photographs of smiling children, presumably her patients.

The door opened, and a small woman wearing a white lab coat entered the room and extended her hand to Cameron.

“Hello, Mr. Chase.”

“Please, call me Cam.”

“Hello, Cam. I’m Dr. Weitzel. Melanie Barrett tells me that you are stepping in as an emergency foster parent for the little girl I examined last night, Becca Hicks.”

“That’s correct.”

“Then there are some things you need to know. Please sit down. Becca has been thoroughly examined and I want to talk to you about the results of her x-rays, toxicology screen, and blood testing.”

“Is she okay?”

“Becca shows signs of physical abuse. X-ray results revealed broken rib cage bones in various stages of healing. There is also a line of purple bruising dotting her rib cage where she has been struck with a blunt object.”

Cameron blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair. “I saw the bruises last night.”

“There’s discoloration and swelling around her left wrist.” Standing up, she turned on a small light illuminating an x-ray on the wall. She explained, “See the gap between these bones in Becca’s wrist? That’s a broken scaphoid.”

“So her wrist is broken?”

“Yes.”

“Is she in pain?”

“Yes, it’s undoubtedly uncomfortable for her if that area of her arm is touched.”

“How long will something like that take to heal?”

“Scaphoid fractures that are this close to the thumb usually heal in a matter of weeks with proper protection. This part of the scaphoid bone has a good supply of blood, which is necessary for healing. I’ve placed Becca’s arm and hand in a cast below her elbow. Try not to get the cast wet. Before her bath, put a plastic bag over the cast to keep it dry.”

Cameron nodded. “I’ll make sure.”

“I’m afraid there is another health issue concerning Becca. There are trace amounts of methamphetamine in Becca’s toxicology results.”

Cameron sighed heavily. “One of my deputies found a half-filled glass of iced tea in the living room on a coffee table last night. We think her mother, Donda, was drinking it. It tested positive for meth. The glass was certainly reachable by a two-year-old. It’s not a far stretch of the imagination that Becca drank some of the tea.”

“Like I said, it was just a trace. I expect her to fully recover.”

“Thank God. Did you find anything else?”

“Yes, Becca is underweight. She is thirty-three inches tall and weighs only twenty pounds. The average weight for a two-year-old girl with that height is twenty-six pounds.”

“My family employs a wonderful cook and housekeeper. In addition, we take turns cooking healthy dinners. Getting Becca the nutrition she needs will not be a problem.”

“That’s good, Mr. Chase, because Becca tested positive for anemia. The anemia may explain why her skin is so pale. In addition, her breathing is a little rapid.

“How much of a concern is this?”

“Anemia is one of the more common blood disorders. It occurs when the level of healthy red blood cells (RBCs) in the body becomes too low. This can lead to health problems, because RBCs contain hemoglobin, which carries oxygen to the body’s tissues. I suspect Becca’s anemia is caused by the lack of vitamin and iron-rich food. A healthy diet is critical for Becca.”

“Not a problem.”

Folding her hands onto her desk, she looked at him with concern. “It’s a lot of responsibility to foster a child like Becca. Right now, her emotional and physical needs are critical. Are you sure you want to take this on?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. If we’re finished, there is a little girl who’s waiting for me at the hospital.”

Chapter Eighteen

Just back from the hospital cafeteria, Diego carried a hot cinnamon roll and a large coffee as he headed toward the visitor’s room on the floor where he’d seen Juan’s kid. The room was empty when he entered. He took a seat near the door so he could see down the hall, where he noticed a couple of nurses chatting outside the kid’s room. He’d wait until they moved on, and then he’d have a look-see of the kid so he could report back to his boss.

Juan Ortiz was the most volatile boss he’d ever had or feared. The man had the disposition of a rattlesnake and was just as dangerous. There was no predicting what would set off his vicious temper, and when he got angry, he got violent. Lessons learned: One did not steal from Juan Ortiz and get away with it unscathed. One did not bungle a mission or disappoint. Your life depended on it.

Julio Garcia was one of Juan’s drug dealers who got greedy and started shaving proceeds off the top for himself. Unfortunately, Juan found out about it, but was unable to find Julio, who had disappeared. So Juan broke into Julio’s sister’s house in the middle of the night, slit her throat, and wrote a message to Julio with her blood on the walls of her bedroom.

Juan Ortiz was the ultimate bully, and Diego knew a thing or two about bullies. When Diego entered junior high school, he was barely five feet tall and had a raging case of acne. That made him a target for the Disciples gang of teenaged hoodlums. When not indulging in petty crimes, they looked for kids like him to harass and use for a punching bag. One day five members of the gang followed him after school into an alley. Knocking him to the ground, they kicked and pummeled him and left him for dead. A store owner found Diego and got him to the nearest hospital, where he nearly died. His father pledged that he’d make sure this never happened again. Not to his kid. It was the only promise the man ever kept before he deserted his family.

It took Diego six weeks to heal from his injuries that included a concussion, broken facial bones and ribs, and a bruised spleen. He’d never been in so much pain. During that time his mother, Rosalita, helped him keep up with his homework; his father, Benito, taught him how to fight dirty. Knives were his dad’s favorite weapon. He’d learned how to use a knife to his advantage in the Army, same place he learned to fight dirty.

Benito took Diego to a pawn shop to look for the ideal knife that was sized for the boy’s hand. The pawn dealer measured his grip from his index finger to the second knuckle of his pinkie. They settled on a five-inch blade, then looked for a switchblade that Diego could conceal in the pocket of his jeans. While they were in the store, the owner took out some oil and taught Diego how to clean and maintain his new knife. A folding knife needs to be oiled regularly to keep the action as smooth as possible. He explained, “A dull knife is a dangerous one. It is important you keep your knife oiled and sharpened. It may someday save your life. A dull knife may not.”

Now it was time for the training to begin. His father and his Army buddy, Rex, joined Diego on the patio. Rex went first. “It’s important for you to control your environment and stay calm when your first instinct is fight or flight. The one who keeps his cool usually isn’t the one who gets stuck.”

Benito issued a warning. “Only pull out your knife to avoid a fight, and then use it to defend yourself if necessary. Avoid fights, if you can. But if someone comes up to you in a threatening manner, look at their hands and at their pockets. If you see a weapon, draw your knife.”

Rex pulled out a hunting knife and said, “Keep your body behind your knife. Use it to protect your face, neck, and torso against your attacker. Make your body as small as possible by bringing in your shoulders and ducking your head. Secure your knife by wrapping your thumb around the grip with the blade facing down. Extend your knife-holding arm in front of you, like this.” He demonstrated, then asked Diego to do the same. Benito adjusted Diego’s striking arm until it was flexed at a 45-degree angle. Satisfied, he patted his son on the back and nodded his approval.

“Take off your shirt. Let’s practice.” As his son ripped off his shirt, Benito removed his own. Nervous sweat sliced Diego’s body as his stomach tightened with fear. He was relieved and curious when he saw his father reach into his pocket and pull out a black marker, yank off the cap, and then handed it to his son. “Pretend the marker is your blade and try to mark me as many times as possible while I try to stop you.”

His father bounced on his toes like a dancer, stepping backward, weaving to the left, then to the right. After several misses, Diego jabbed him with the marker to his ribs. “That’s one.”

Moving constantly, Benito remained facing his son at all times. He circled right and Diego poked him in the stomach. But most of the jabs did not meet his targets. He understood now how difficult it is to stab a moving target. Lesson learned.

The training continued for weeks, even after Diego returned to school. It went on until his father was convinced he’d learned the balance and precision to win the fight.

It wasn’t long until six members of the Disciples gang fell in line behind him as he walked home from school, pelting him with a barrage of insults. Especially vocal was a kid nicknamed ‘Bull.’ Nearly six-feet-tall, Bull worked out and had the muscles to prove it. He put his strength to good use robbing classmates for their lunches.

“Hey, midget. I saw your mama shopping in the boy’s department for your jeans.”

They reached the same alley where they’d nearly killed him. Diego spun around to face them.

Bull stepped forward, waving the rest of the gang back. They circled around the two boys. Bull clenched his fists. “How about I kick your tiny ass?”

A voice sounded in Diego’s head.
Keep calm and control your environment.

A flash of silver. Gasps from the boys. Diego whipped his switchblade out of his pocket, clicked the button and it sprang to life. “See this knife. I sharpen it every night. Trust me. You don’t want to mess with me.”