Page 23 of Jar of Hearts
Walter Shaw stands there, an inch shorter than Kaiser’s own six feet two inch height. His short hair is grayer, and there are more lines around his eyes and mouth than were there the last time Kaiser saw him, five years ago. Other than that, Georgina’s father looks more or less the same.
“You really still live here?” Kaiser asks, more a statement than a question. “I thought you would have sold the house. After the… after the trial.”
“Hello to you, too.” Walter doesn’t appear happy to see him at all. “Market was way down, and I wasn’t going to sell it for pennies on the dollar. Besides that, nobody wanted it. Too much bad press, thanks to you.”
“Is Georgina coming back here when she gets out?”
“This is my home, which makes it her home.” The older man crosses his arms. “And where the hell else would she go?”
Kaiser stares at Walter Shaw, the father of his best friend from high school, the father of the woman he arrested. He’d sat at Walt’s table, had eaten Walt’s beef stew, had drunk Walt’s beer when he wasn’t home, had been in love with Walt’s daughter.
Georgina’s father stares back. It feels like a face-off of sorts, neither man wanting to back down, but neither knowing what to say next, either.
Kaiser speaks first. “Walt, I care about your daughter. I’ve always cared. I hope you know I was just doing my job.” It’s not exactly an apology, but it’s the best he can do.
After a moment, Walter nods. It’s not exactly an acceptance, but it’s the besthecan do. He jerks his head toward the activity in the cul-de-sac. “So what the hell’s going on over there, anyway?”
“We’re still figuring it out,” Kaiser says. “By the way, has Georgina ever said anything to you about where Calvin James might be?”
The older man frowns. He doesn’t like the question. Before Kaiser can rephrase it, the door slams shut in his face.
8
The dead child has been identified as Henry Bowen, age twenty-two months. His parents, Amelia and Tyson Bowen of Redmond, filed a report first thing that morning, and as far as they know, their young son is still missing. Kaiser will do the official death notification when they arrive.
At the very least, it’s two mysteries solved. They know the child’s name, and they’ve confirmed that their Jane Doe isn’t the child’s mother. Though it might have been easier, from an investigative standpoint, if she had been.
Thanks to the wonders of modern technology—also known as the smartphone—the photo Amelia Bowen used in her child’s missing-person report was taken at bedtime the night before. Kaiser has no doubt it’s their boy. He has the same hair, the same front teeth, the same Spider-Man pajamas. Whatever happened to Henry occurred sometime between 11:30P.M., when his mother checked the video monitor before falling asleep, and 8:30A.M., when she woke up and checked it again.
“What do we know about the parents?” he asks Kim. They’re in the small break room of the morgue, where Kim tracked him down.
She pulls out her little black notebook. Though she’s a whiz at technology, Kaiser’s partner is old school when it comes to note taking, preferring to jot notes by hand rather than type into her phone,as most cops did nowadays. She even uses pencil, so she can erase mistakes if necessary. She says the act of handwriting helps her concentrate.
“They both work for Microsoft; he’s a software engineer, she’s in marketing. They live in a nice house; Zillow values it at just under a million. She drives a Lexus, he drives a BMW. Henry was in daycare at a place called Rainbow Jungle not far from the Microsoft campus.”
“Rich,” Kaiser says.
Kim makes a face. “That’s not rich. That’s slightly upper middle class—for Redmond, anyway.”
He doesn’t argue. He grew up in an apartment in Seattle with a single mother and ate Kraft macaroni and cheese three nights out of every week. His grandparents scraped together the money to pay for his Catholic education. Kim grew up near Bill Gates’s neighborhood on the Eastside and went to private school. Their definition of “rich” differed, to say the least.
“What else? How did they sound on the phone?”
“I didn’t speak to them, I spoke to the officer who’s bringing them here.” Kim is fixing herself a coffee. It’s common knowledge within Seattle PD that the morgue has the best coffee, for reasons nobody can explain. “The mother said he normally wakes up around seven and hollers, but neither of them heard anything this morning so they stayed in bed. She went to check on him around eight-thirty. Found the window wide open and the little boy gone. She woke her husband and called 911 immediately because he’s not yet able to climb out of the crib on his own.”
“Do they have a nanny or a babysitter?” Kaiser asks, thinking about the dismembered woman.
“His only caregivers are the ones at the daycare, and the teenage girl who lives next door, who babysits for date nights. The teenage girl is fine, I checked her Instagram and she’s already posted three selfies this morning.” Kim tugs at her ponytail. “None of the four caregivers at the daycare fit our Jane Doe. Two are too old, and the younger ones are both Jamaican. Our best bet is to ask the Bowens if they recognize her.”
Kaiser looks up at her. “And how are we supposed to do that? Take a picture of just the nose and mouth?”
“Shit, that’s right, the eyes are missing. I forgot.”
Kaiser suppresses a sigh. Kim’s a smart woman when it comes to certain things. Organized, meticulous with her notes and reports, very thorough. But every once in a while, her mind slips on an obvious detail, for no fucking reason. It drives Kaiser batshit, but he bites his tongue.
“When are the parents getting here?” he asks.
“There’s traffic. Seahawks game. Might be an hour, maybe more.”
