“Was Sampson mad at his secret friend?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Did Sampson say who his secret friend was?”
“He called him Big Daddy.”
We had reached the Broward General Medical Center. Burrell drove around to the rear of the building, and pulled up to the emergency entrance. I opened my door and started to get out. Tyra squeezed her arms tightly around my chest.
“Are you going to find Sampson?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m going to find him.”
She burrowed her head into my chest. “Good.”
Hospital emergency rooms were hell on kids. People who’ve been shot, stabbed, and beaten up filled them late at night, along with drunks and druggies. If kids weren’t traumatized going into one, they usually were when they left.
I carried Tyra into the emergency room and found a quiet seat in the corner. The place was filled with hard- luck cases, many of whom were bleeding and battered. I made eye contact with every one, and watched them drift to other parts of the room.
Burrell brought a female doctor to where we were sitting. The doctor checked Tyra’s pulse, listened to her heartbeat, and looked into her ears without the little girl letting go of my chest. Burrell took the chair next to mine.
“I contacted HHR,” she said quietly. “They’re sending someone over.”
“Has Tyra been reported missing?” I asked.
Burrell shook her head no. By not reporting her daughter missing, Tyra’s mother had made herself an accessory in her daughter’s kidnapping and would be arrested, while Tyra would be turned over to an agent with Health and Human Resources.
“Where’s my mommy?” Tyra asked.
“She’s on her way,” Burrell said reassuringly.
“You said that before,” the little girl said.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Burrell said.
Tyra started to cry. Burrell went outside to see if the mother had arrived. She returned with a black woman dressed in shorts and flip-flops and wearing the vacant expression of someone strung out on drugs. I rose from my chair holding the child.
“Hey, Tyra, look who’s here,” I said.
The little girl turned her head. “Mommy!”
I passed Tyra into her mother’s arms. The woman let out a sob, and crushed her daughter’s head into her bosom. A uniformed cop was stationed at the door. Burrell told the cop to watch Tyra’s mother, and make sure she didn’t leave with the child.
“Yes, ma’am,” the cop said.
Burrell motioned to me. “Let’s go outside. We need to talk.”
Burrell walked out of the emergency room. I started to follow, and glanced back at Tyra, who was still in her mother’s arms. I hoped that her future didn’t include any more crack dens, or living in dog crates, or parents who used her in drug deals. I wanted her to have a normal life, with school buses and days at the beach and report cards and all the stuff a child growing up was supposed to have. She deserved a better life, and in my prayers I’d ask God to give her one. It seemed the least I could do.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I stood with Burrell beneath a green canopy by the emergency entrance. A punishing rain had started to fall, and thunder rolled ominously in the distance.
“I want to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer,” Burrell said.
The tone of her voice told me I was in trouble again. I thrust my hands into the pockets of my cargo pants, and waited.
“Based upon what Tyra told us in the car, do you think Jed Grimes is responsible for these crimes?” Burrell asked.
“No,” I said.
“So Jed isn’t Big Daddy.”
I shook my head.
“But he’s the child’s father. Wouldn’t it make sense for him to call himself that?”
“It could be a family friend or someone who works in the neighborhood.”
“If I told you that we’d interviewed every single person who was around that child, including LeAnn Grimes’s neighbors, and Jed’s neighbors, and employees of every store, and they were clean, would you change your mind?”
“No,” I said.
“But everyone was clean.”
“You missed someone.”
Her frown grew. “No, we didn’t. We looked at everyone, and they all checked out. The only person who didn’t check out was Jed. That makes him our primary suspect.”
“So you’re buying Whitley’s savage spawn theory?”
“It’s the only one that works.”
Lightning crackled and flashed above our heads. Dozens of people died during thunderstorms in Florida every year, yet neither of us moved from our spots. Burrell had made up her mind, and she wasn’t backing down. I didn’t want to lose her as a friend, but I wasn’t going to retreat, either.
“Let me see if I’ve got this figured out,” I said. “You and Whitley are going to combine your investigations, since you’re convinced you’re looking for the same person. You were hoping that I would help you, and now you’re pissed.”
“I’m pissed because you’re going down one road, while everyone else is going down another,” Burrell said.
“Do you want me off the investigation?”
Burrell crossed her arms and stared at the ground.
“Is that a yes, or a no?” I asked.
I heard the unmistakable sound of a transformer being hit by a bolt of lightning. The lights in the parking lot flickered, then went off.
“I want you to reconsider,” she said quietly.
“There’s nothing to reconsider,” I said.
“Please, Jack.”
“You missed someone. Go back and interview everyone again.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
I couldn’t help myself, and held her shoulders, looking deep in her eyes.
“You’re making a terrible mistake.”
Burrell shoved me away. She started to say something, then bit her tongue. The door slid shut as she went inside.
I had stepped over the line. I should have felt bad, but instead I told myself she’d get over it. The rain was starting to ease up, and I ran to my car, having no idea how prophetic my words to her would become, or the nightmare I was about to enter.
