Page 31 of A Dye Hard Holiday

“I love you too, Dad,” I said, hugging him tight. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I bent down and looked through the window at the prisoner in Anderson’s squad car. “Is this some kind of joke?” I asked Adrian. I stood back up and looked at my former partner. “Who is this kid?”

“Thiskidwas caught red-handed trying to break into the back door of Books and Brew,” Adrian said. “No ID and refuses to talk.”

“Runs fast,” Anderson grumbled.

“Seriously?”

I know what you’re thinking. Aren’t you the guy who was taken down by the seventy-year-old woman? Yes, that was me, but this kid couldn’t have been more than eleven years old. This was no Christmas Bandit or hardcore criminal. There was no way that he was sophisticated enough to pull off those burglaries on his own. Could he be part of a ring?

I bent down and looked into the window again. That time, the kid turned, and our eyes met. The sadness I saw in his expression punched me in the gut, robbing me of my breath. Maybe I wasn’t the greatest judge of character all the time, but my track record was pretty impressive. “This kid isn’t our criminal mastermind.”

“I agree with you on that,” Adrian said.

I stood up and motioned for Adrian to follow me a few feet away so that the boy wouldn’t overhear us. “Do you recognize him?”

Adrian shook his head. “I know almost every person who lives in this town, and I’ve never seen this kid before tonight. He could live in a neighboring community, but judging by the condition of his clothes and his hygiene, I’m guessing he’s a runaway. He’s not wearing a coat or gloves and it’s twenty-five degrees outside. The dumpsters were open behind the business and there are signs that someone went through them. They would not have found much since trash pick-up was this morning. I think the kid tried to break into Books and Brew to find food.”

“He won’t tell you his name or anything?” I asked.

“Hasn’t said a word,” Adrian replied.

“Take him back to the station, fingerprint him to see if we can find a match in the juvenile system, enter his height, hair, and eye color into the databases for missing kids to see if we can find a match. Oh, and call children services. I’ll meet you there in a few.”

“Where are you going?” Adrian asked as I walked away.

“The diner to get him something to eat. Maybe he’ll be willing to talk with a full stomach.”

The kid reminded me of a wounded, half-starved animal. He looked at the food suspiciously, wanting to refuse it, but the will to survive wouldn’t allow him to pass up the opportunity to fill his belly. He ate with his fingers, getting food everywhere, while Adrian and I watched through the two-way mirror. Adrian’s assessment about his hygiene and clothes were spot on. How long had this kid been hiding among us and why didn’t any of us see him?

“Found a positive match for our would-be criminal,” Officer Anderson said as he entered the room. “Marissa Smith from Goodville.”

“Marissa?” Adrian and I both asked.

It was impossible to see the kid’s features through the dirt and grime, but the buzz haircut and clothes made me think we were dealing with a boy. “Are you sure?”

“She has a juvenile record, Captain. Her caseworker, Susan Musgrave, will be here any minute.”

Susan Musgrave looked relieved to see Marissa, but also a little worried. “What did she do?”

“She tried breaking into a local business,” Adrian told her. “We think she was looking for food.”

“Why did no one in Goodville let us know that a kid from our county was missing? Why wasn’t her picture all over the news?” I demanded to know.

“Her foster parents didn’t report her missing to us or the Goodville police,” Susan said furiously. “I assure you that there will be hell to pay over this.”

Susan pushed open the door to the interview room and we followed her inside.

“Marissa, are you okay?” Susan asked softly.

“Don’t call me that, Susan,” the child tearfully replied. “My name is Mark. Why won’t anyone call me that?”

I waited for Susan to correct the child, but instead she reached across the table and covered his hands. “I’m sorry, Mark. Can you tell us what happened to make you run away from your foster home?”

I suspected I knew, but I listened as Mark began to talk about his most recent heartbreaking experience at his latest foster home. It boiled down to a family who refused to accept that Mark was a transgender boy. The arguments started a year ago and escalated to the point where he no longer felt safe living there, so he ran away to Blissville.

“We’re not going to pursue charges,” I told Susan once we stepped outside the interview room to talk.