Striding up to the building, I identify the buzzer with one of the boys’ last names and press. Waiting for an answer, I’m saddened by the knowledge of having to do this twice tonight.
“Hello?” A disembodied voice comes through the speaker.
“Evening ma’am, my name is Detective Arsen Daniels from MNPD. Could I come in and speak to you, please?” My voice is steady, thankfully.
“Is everything okay?” I can hear the tears in her tone already. She knows it’s not.
“I’d rather speak face to face, ma’am.”
“First floor,” she mumbles, “number six.”
The door clicks for opening, and I walk through, the overwhelming aroma of marijuana immediately invades my senses. At any other time, I’d have found the source. Tonight, I just want to get in and out as quickly as possible.
Seeing her door at the end of the hall, I knock. The door opens, and a woman in her late forties answers, waving me in. “Ms. Jackson?” I query. I’d hate to give the news to the wrong person and then have to do it again.
“Yes.” Her chin wobbles as she responds.
“Could we sit?”
“Please, just tell me.” She does as I ask, anyways.
Taking a deep breath, I sit at an angle beside her and say the one thing I hate more than anything in this cruel fucking world. “I’m sorry to tell you this– “
“No. Wait. Please.” Tears stream down her face in rivulets, and I watch as she tries to hold it together and fails. Instinctually, everyone knows. They fight it for as long as possible, but they always know. “I just need one more minute. Just one last second to believe he’s being a typical teen and not calling. One more minute to believe he’s going to walk through that door.” Her eyes plead with me to give her that. “Please.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. I wish it did something other than sound like I’m placating her.
“When?” She sniffles with her head down.
“I first need to ask you, Johnny Jackson is your son?” I see the heartbreak in her eyes as she looks to me and nods. “Thank you. Johnny and another male were found at approximately three this morning in an abandoned lot.”
“Another male?” I had a feeling she was going to catch that.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Sighing, I hate telling her this, especially because I haven’t told his mother yet. “Connor Jackson.”
“No.” Her head shakes repeatedly. There’s nothing I can do at this point. Her entire world is crashing right in front of her face, and I’m the cause of her pain. “He can’t; they can’t. Oh, my God. No.”
“I’m very sorry.” If I never say those words again, I’ll be happy with it.
Her tears and sobbing seem to go on forever as she processes the loss of her son and nephew. I eventually find myself holding her in my arms as she lets it all out. When my phone rings, I have to contort my arm to get it off the hook on my belt. It’s my desk sergeant. Knowing he doesn’t call unless it’s important, I answer.
“Detective, we just received a missing person’s report about one of your victims. The parents are here now.”
Fuck. Exactly what I don’t want. “Has anyone spoken with them yet?”
“They’re filling out paperwork and waiting for someone to come in and speak to them.”
“Don’t let anyone say a word to them. I’ll be right there.” This is my case, my burden, and I won’t let another soul experience what this night will bring. “Ms. Jackson, Connor’s parents are at my precinct filling out a missing person’s report. I’d like for you to come with me to speak to them. Then I can ask you all the same questions at one time.”
Sniffling again, she pulls back from me and nods her head. “Just let me grab my purse.” Waiting by the front door, I can still hear her cries in my mind. Her pain permeates the entire apartment. As she comes from a back room, I dread the next few hours of my life, recognizing that this family is going to go through hell.
Some days, I fucking hate my job.
Marina