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“Before we go there,” Savich interrupted her, “we need to tell you what MAX found out about Moses Grace and Claudia. Her last name is Smollett, emphasis on the last syllable.”
Ruth sat forward, serious as could be now. “That’s an English name, isn’t it?”
Savich nodded. “Of all things, her mom was English. Her name was Pauline Smollett. She came to the United States when she was twenty-two. She was a high-school math teacher in Cleveland, and never married, at least in this country. From the police reports, she had a pretty colorful personal life, but she managed to keep it separate from her job. She raised a child, Claudia, out of wedlock by herself.”
“What happened to her?” Ruth asked.
“She was raped and murdered by a gang.”
Dix leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Police reports? How did you find the connection, Savich?”
“When I called, I told you we had more work to do,” Savich said matter-of-factly, then added, his voice dropping ten degrees, “and that meant following up some information Claudia gave Sherlock.”
Dix said, “Don’t you mean—You actually spoke to Claudia, Sherlock?”
Sherlock’s chin went right up, a fire burned in her eyes. “Yes, for quite a while. She called on Dillon’s cell while he was in the shower.” She looked at her husband, eyes narrowed, as if daring him to comment.
“She did indeed,” Savich said smoothly. “After her mother’s death, Claudia ran away from home. We had enough details for MAX to pull up a half dozen open cases with a similar profile, and that’s how we found Pauline Smollett. It all fit.
“Claudia has a juvenile record of her own, and we matched her ID photo with the picture of Annie Bender her mother Elsa gave us. Claudia looks just like her.”
Sherlock continued. “Claudia Smollett was nine years old when she started shoplifting cigarettes and booze from the local 24/7. She got thrown out of school twice, once when she burned a boy with a cigarette, and again when she broke another kid’s arm. Then there was the usual juvenile rage, throwing a textbook at a teacher, cursing out another, threatening her mother. She was a wild kid who probably wouldn’t have made it even if her mother had lived.
“She ran into Moses Grace moments after he murdered a homeless man. They got drunk on bourbon in a motel, and the rest is history. Claudia said the word ‘bourbon’ with a Southern accent, and it seemed to me she ran into him somewhere in the South.” She paused. “And Claudia isn’t eighteen. She turned sixteen three weeks ago.”
Dix pushed his fingers through his hair. “She’s about Rob’s age.”
Savich, fiddling with one of the sofa pillows, nodded. “She’s a child, a crazy, unrestrained child. It turns out my wife was right about the murdered homeless man. We found a report of a man beaten to death in an alley about eight months ago in Birmingham, Alabama. The police never found the assailant, but another homeless man said he saw an old buzzard in bloodied army fatigues, so my bucks are on Moses.”
“Claudia told me Moses wears army fatigues and old black army boots, so it fits,” Sherlock said. “We notified the Birmingham police, gave them what we’ve got. Unfortunately, they didn’t have anything to give us in return.”
“Did you trace the call, Dillon? Do you know where they are?” Ruth asked.
Savich said, “It’s good news, bad news. Claudia called from a prepaid cell phone Moses purchased for cash at a Radio Shack this morning. He activated it from a pay phone in the parking lot. It’s anonymous that way since there’s no registered owner, but the signal was loud and clear. And since they were calling from a set location, we located them dead-on.”
“Where?” Dix asked.
Sherlock said, “At a Denny’s on Eighth Avenue and Pfeiffer Street in Milltown, Maryland. Even though the local cops got there in under five minutes, Moses and Claudia were gone. Evidently Moses had left Claudia alone with the cell phone. When he came back she was still talking to me. I heard his voice, could tell he was angry at her for using it. So that means he knew we could find him. He hit the road fast.” Sherlock sighed. “If only he’d spent a bit more time in the men’s room, we could have joined them for dinner.”
“Please tell me where the good news is in all of this?” Ruth asked them.
Sherlock said, “Good news is we’ve got great descriptions, down to Moses’s old black lace-up army boots, and Claudia wasn’t exactly undercover. She had on low-cut plumber jeans, a skimpy hot-pink top, and a fake fur jacket. They made quite an impression on their waitress, who said Claudia was pretty but she wore too much makeup, and that the old guy looked like he’d spent a hundred years staked out in the sun.
Ruth sat forward, serious as could be now. “That’s an English name, isn’t it?”
Savich nodded. “Of all things, her mom was English. Her name was Pauline Smollett. She came to the United States when she was twenty-two. She was a high-school math teacher in Cleveland, and never married, at least in this country. From the police reports, she had a pretty colorful personal life, but she managed to keep it separate from her job. She raised a child, Claudia, out of wedlock by herself.”
“What happened to her?” Ruth asked.
“She was raped and murdered by a gang.”
Dix leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Police reports? How did you find the connection, Savich?”
“When I called, I told you we had more work to do,” Savich said matter-of-factly, then added, his voice dropping ten degrees, “and that meant following up some information Claudia gave Sherlock.”
Dix said, “Don’t you mean—You actually spoke to Claudia, Sherlock?”
Sherlock’s chin went right up, a fire burned in her eyes. “Yes, for quite a while. She called on Dillon’s cell while he was in the shower.” She looked at her husband, eyes narrowed, as if daring him to comment.
“She did indeed,” Savich said smoothly. “After her mother’s death, Claudia ran away from home. We had enough details for MAX to pull up a half dozen open cases with a similar profile, and that’s how we found Pauline Smollett. It all fit.
“Claudia has a juvenile record of her own, and we matched her ID photo with the picture of Annie Bender her mother Elsa gave us. Claudia looks just like her.”
Sherlock continued. “Claudia Smollett was nine years old when she started shoplifting cigarettes and booze from the local 24/7. She got thrown out of school twice, once when she burned a boy with a cigarette, and again when she broke another kid’s arm. Then there was the usual juvenile rage, throwing a textbook at a teacher, cursing out another, threatening her mother. She was a wild kid who probably wouldn’t have made it even if her mother had lived.
“She ran into Moses Grace moments after he murdered a homeless man. They got drunk on bourbon in a motel, and the rest is history. Claudia said the word ‘bourbon’ with a Southern accent, and it seemed to me she ran into him somewhere in the South.” She paused. “And Claudia isn’t eighteen. She turned sixteen three weeks ago.”
Dix pushed his fingers through his hair. “She’s about Rob’s age.”
Savich, fiddling with one of the sofa pillows, nodded. “She’s a child, a crazy, unrestrained child. It turns out my wife was right about the murdered homeless man. We found a report of a man beaten to death in an alley about eight months ago in Birmingham, Alabama. The police never found the assailant, but another homeless man said he saw an old buzzard in bloodied army fatigues, so my bucks are on Moses.”
“Claudia told me Moses wears army fatigues and old black army boots, so it fits,” Sherlock said. “We notified the Birmingham police, gave them what we’ve got. Unfortunately, they didn’t have anything to give us in return.”
“Did you trace the call, Dillon? Do you know where they are?” Ruth asked.
Savich said, “It’s good news, bad news. Claudia called from a prepaid cell phone Moses purchased for cash at a Radio Shack this morning. He activated it from a pay phone in the parking lot. It’s anonymous that way since there’s no registered owner, but the signal was loud and clear. And since they were calling from a set location, we located them dead-on.”
“Where?” Dix asked.
Sherlock said, “At a Denny’s on Eighth Avenue and Pfeiffer Street in Milltown, Maryland. Even though the local cops got there in under five minutes, Moses and Claudia were gone. Evidently Moses had left Claudia alone with the cell phone. When he came back she was still talking to me. I heard his voice, could tell he was angry at her for using it. So that means he knew we could find him. He hit the road fast.” Sherlock sighed. “If only he’d spent a bit more time in the men’s room, we could have joined them for dinner.”
“Please tell me where the good news is in all of this?” Ruth asked them.
Sherlock said, “Good news is we’ve got great descriptions, down to Moses’s old black lace-up army boots, and Claudia wasn’t exactly undercover. She had on low-cut plumber jeans, a skimpy hot-pink top, and a fake fur jacket. They made quite an impression on their waitress, who said Claudia was pretty but she wore too much makeup, and that the old guy looked like he’d spent a hundred years staked out in the sun.
