The interviews with the other members of the Clinton Street Evangelical Church had been a straight forward affair. A half dozen of the dead girl’s email messages could be traced directly to the church. Three messages came from men: only one of those was not staff but a regular member of the congregation.

From the staff: one message came from the Youth Minister Thomas Hampton and one from Watts himself: a message to all members.

Mike found the only name on the non-staff list was a businessman who had been out of the country for the past three weeks. His name was moved off the short list but Mike wanted to question the man later if the other names on his list produced no leads.

Pastor Frank Watts pleaded with Mike to hold off questioning the members of the church for a couple of days so he could broach the subject carefully in his Sunday service. Mike agreed, hoping he would not come to regret his act of compassion.

Jerry Weible sat in the back row at that Sunday service listening to the sermon intent on the subject matter and the influence the pastor might use on his flock. Mike wanted someone there who could gauge the veracity of the pastor’s open affect towards Mike and his ongoing investigation as it burrowed under the flesh so close to the pastor’s home. No one would welcome a disturbance of this ilk amidst his flock but this had come home to roost and no amount of wishing could make it go away, Mike only hoped to collect the information he needed to put the world right again.

*****

Mike’s eyes felt as if they were on fire. He sat at his desk, his back aching, after another night sifting through the piles of information that all seemed to point in different directions. But all these bits starting at one point: that tiny crumpled form  in a parking lot, dead in the light of a new day. Melissa’s murder was consuming Mike. Each piece of evidence was examined again and again in Mike’s manic desperation.

Jerry stopped at the doorway of Mike’s office and stared at the top of the man’s head for several moments.

“Mike, when’s the last time you slept at home?” he asked softly.

“Hm?” Mike looked up at his partner expectantly. “What did you get from that guy’s sermon?”

“You look terrible, Mike.”

“Fine!” Mike snapped. “What did you get from the church?”

Jerry looked sadly at his boss. “He will not be cooperative…”

Mike spun his face towards the window and rested his chin on his fist. “I knew I shouldn’t ‘ve trusted him. Damn it! He's giving his people a heads' up on our info.” Mike bobbed his head at his exclamation then he ran his fingers through his hair. “All right. I held off—as promised—so fuck ‘em. Let’s go talk to these fuckers.” Mike stood and swung his arm into the sleeve of his coat that rest on the back of his chair.

“Yeah. Watts talked a big line about ‘the cops grasping at straws’ and

… Mike?” Jerry asked softly.

“Yeah?” Mike glared impatiently at his partner. “What?”

“You should go home and get some rest… really. How long have been here?”

Mike sighed and stared down at files on his desk for a moment. “A long time…” Mike answered quietly.

There was a pause in their conversation as both men thought about their next words.

“Mike, I’ve gotta take Sadie to the doctor for her eight month exam… Um, I gotta be there… it's this afternoon. Remember, we cleared this a month ago?”

Mike sat down hard in his chair, still staring at the mess of paper on his desk that represented the life—and more importantly—death of a girl. “Yeah, Jerry. Ya gotta take care of your appointment. I'm forgot. Sorry.”

Jerry turned to leave, but stopped halfway. “Mike, would you like to come to our place for dinner, tonight?”

“Uh… no… thanks… Jerry. I’ve got some stuff to do here… I gotta figure out who in that church was doin' business with the girl.” Mike finished absent-mindedly.

“Look, Mike, I’m gonna tell Bill (the Captain of the department and Mike's good friend) to make you… go home.” Mike snapped his stare at Jerry, annoyance flushing his face. “You need to get some rest,” Jerry finished softly.

Mike sighed and then stood slowly. “You’re right. Come on, I’ll walk out with ya.”

Mike rubbed his burning eyes as the pair entered the early morning light in the parking lot. They stopped next to Mike’s car where Jerry inwardly searched for some piece of advice, news, or tidbit that could bring Mike some relief from his self-imposed purgatory.

“Sure you won’t come by tonight?”

Mike tightened his lips and shook his head gently. “I need some sleep.”

Jerry nodded and looked uncomfortable.

“Go on Jerry. I’ll be fine.”

Mike's partner shrugged and continued towards his car. Mike climbed into the driver’s seat of his car and stared at the steering wheel for a moment until he realized Jerry hadn’t started his car yet, waiting for Mike to leave before he would start for his appointment. Mike reached forward and turned the key, backed out, and waved once at Jerry as he left the lot, headed back to the stark white walls of his apartment.

Staring up at the ceiling for hours Mike found himself worse off in bed, than seated behind his desk. At noon Mike finally got up—sleep not coming—and wandered into the kitchen to open his refrigerator. The bare inside of the refrigerator caused him to clench the handle in his fist tightly. He glanced around the kitchen quickly before he snapped up his keys and he headed for the door. With no destination in mind Mike found himself wandering the downtown area passing many eateries until he found himself parked on the corner near Sidell Square.

With a deep sigh Mike closed his eyes and leaned his head back hoping to relinquish the images attached to this case and the thought of the evil still lurking out there on the streets near his home, near his daughter. An evil capable of killing a girl on the precipice of womanhood and second evil, capable of luring that same girl into a swirling malstrom of degradation and manipulation.

The pavement under his wheels only seemed to mock him, with some unctuous contempt. The streets knew everything and taunted him in his personal darkness.

Mike sat forward quickly and put his hand on the key to start his car, headed for somewhere, anywhere, when he spotted a blond head weaving through the crowd towards him. Lizzy’s smile shown brightly as she approached his parking spot.

She hopped up onto the curb lightly and strolled to the passenger’s door resting her palm on the handle.

Mike couldn’t keep a smile off his face, Lizzy didn’t bend over to peer inside, instead standing at the door tugging on the handle several times until Mike finally leaned over and popped the lock. Staring straight ahead Lizzy fell into the seat beside Mike.

“Where we goin’?” she chimed confidently.

“Where do you wanna go, Lizzy?” he replied softly.

She stared through the window for a moment and Mike thought he saw tears gathering in her eyes. Lizzy cleared her throat. “I’d like to go someplace… warm. A nice place. A place where people are nice…” Her chest fell as she sighed heavily.

“Buy me breakfast?” Dizzy Lizzy was back in control again.

“Sure,” Mike started up the car and they sped away.

“Where ya been, Mike?”

“Oh… I’ve been workin’ pretty hard. I just needed to get something to eat and I thought…”

“Mike…” she interrupted, leaning forward to catch his eye. “It’s okay… I missed you too.” She giggled and slapped her hand onto his thigh.

Mike turned to look at the pretty girl, her head cocked peering back at him.

“Yeah,” he replied softly. “I did miss you.”

Lizzy chuckled at that, crossed her arms and fell back against the seat.

“Was that so hard?” she quipped.

Mike smiled.

The pair finally found a restaurant that served breakfast 24 hours a day and Lizzy seemed thrilled by the discovery. Mike noticed Lizzy was almost skipping as they walked through the entrance.

Finding a booth near a window they sat across from one another and chatted about nothing in particular. They ordered and talked some more.

“My grandpa used to take me to a waffle house—he always called ‘em waffle houses not pancake houses, he said anybody can make pancakes but waffles are somethin’ special—and he would buy a giant waffle with everything on it, whipped cream, strawberries, sprinkles, everything!” she added excitedly. “Then he would put me in his lap and we’d eat it together.” A sigh from the girl tugged at Mike’s heart. “Those were the best…” Her voice trailed off as a waitress slid their plates in front of them.

“When was the last time you heard from your mother?”

Poking at her whipped cream with her fork Lizzy shrugged before she spoke. “Last I saw her she was living with some guy in the back of his camper… I got a homeless parent,” She shook her head sadly.

“She asked me for money… I said no.” Lizzy shoveled a whipped cream covered strawberry into mouth at that and chewed slowly.

Mike turned his gaze to his own waffle and picked at the holes with his fork. “Lizzy, there’s… places…  um…” He looked back up at Lizzy. She set her fork down, sighed heavily, and turned to stare out the window at the parking lot.

“Come on, Mike. Don’t ruin a good time, huh?” She said flatly.

“Okay.” Mike continued, “So why didn’t your mother and your grandpa get along?”

Lizzy raised her eyebrows and shot a sidelong glance at Mike. “He didn’t approve of her decisions.” Lizzy turned back to her waffle and pushed a hunk into her mouth, her cheeks bulging and her eyes crossed while she chewed. Mike smiled at her display.

“He’d have another heart attack if he saw me,” Lizzy finished, her hand darting up to keep the wad of waffle from falling onto her shirt. She let loose with a giggle. “Sorry,” she blurted out.

“No, I love to see someone enjoying their food,” Mike smirked as he spoke. Lizzy kicked gently at his shins under the table and they laughed together for a moment.

Lizzy swallowed and wiped her hands, placing her napkin beside her plate. “I think… you should take me out to breakfast a couple o’ times a week.” Lizzy said with a grin.

“I should, huh?” Mike blinked slowly at the girl.

“Yep,” she nodded. “I could be your informant.” She raised her eyebrows as she spoke.

“What, are you gonna inform me… about?”

“I can’t tell you now. You have ta buy me breakfast every week… then I can tell you what’s going on.”

Mike shook his head gently. “Oh, I get it. I’ve gotta come up with breakfast a couple times before I even know what I’m getting into.”

“Who would you rather have breakfast with?” Lizzy pasted a cheesy grin across her face.

“Should I start a list?”

Lizzy giggled. “I know you like me. No matter how hard you try to play the ‘tough guy’ I know you’re just a softy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And someday I’ll make good on your fifty dollars,” Lizzy beamed at Mike.

“Are you done eating?”

Bobbing forward Lizzy snatched the last strawberry off her plate using nothing but her lips. Tipping her head back Lizzy nibbled at the last red fruit pulling it into her mouth and pushing it back out again.

Mike blinked slowly, took one last swig of coffee, and slid out of the booth. “Well, I’m done.” He heard Lizzy giggle behind him as he walked in even strides towards the cash register. Waiting for their waitress Mike felt Lizzy press herself against his back. He liked the feel of her close to him, it made him feel as though her could somehow keep her from harm.

A woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun stopped in front of the register while she silently totaled up the bill.

“Isn’t he the cutest guy you’ve ever seen?” Lizzy piped up to the woman.

A flush of embarrassment caught the woman when she glanced up at Mike. Mike shot a distressed sidelong glare at Lizzy just as she giggled, clinging to his arm.

Mike looked back at the waitress and quietly said, “She has Tourette’s. Please, excuse her.” Lizzy laughed out loud, tilted her head, and shrugged at the red-faced waitress.

Outside the restaurant, Lizzy hung on Mike’s arm, prancing next to him. “You're always ready for me, aren’t cha?”

“I’m practicing for my daughter’s teen years,” he replied flatly.

“Mike, I wish…” Lizzy suddenly dropped her gaze to the stark pavement and for that instant Mike caught the girl’s embarrassment at the statement she almost blurted out.

“Yeah, me too, Lizzy. Me too,” he finished softly as the girl pressed her cheek against his coat sleeve.

“Okay. I bought you breakfast. What’s your inside information?” Mike asked as he started his car.

Lizzy turned her head and spoke staring out the passenger’s window.

“Something was… weird with her dad an' her.”

“Weird, how?” Mike asked as he accelerated into traffic.

Lizzy shrugged. “I dunno. Just weird. Every time the subject of her family came up she would say something about her dad and then the conversation always changed to something else… instantly. So, I don’t know.”

“You don’t have anything more definitive than that?”

“Jesus, Mike. We didn’t compare notes.” Lizzy continued to peer out the window but stuffed a finger in her mouth so she could nibble on her fingernail.

“Stop that.” Mike said quietly without looking directly at her. Her head snapped back towards him and her beaming grin was obvious out of the corner of his eye.

“’kay.” She dropped her hand onto the seat between them and turned back to stare out the window again.

They rode in silence for several blocks.

“Mike, do you think you’ll catch this guy?” Lizzy asked without looking at him.

He opened his mouth ready to give her reassurance but then snapped his mouth shut again with an audible clack of his teeth. Mike sighed. “It’s… kind of… a long shot, I think, unless it's somebody in that church.” He finished sadly.

Lizzy spun her head towards Mike. “I hope you do catch 'em.”

Mike dropped his hand on top of Lizzy’s and squeezed it. Her hand felt so small in his and that unprofessional feeling began welling up in his chest again.

They rode the rest of the way back to Sidell Square without speaking.

Baboo was directing traffic from his usual corner when Mike pulled to a stop and parked.

“Lizzy, how do you guys get pictures and… find each other?” Mike asked staring at the former professor as he guided a furniture truck through the intersection with his clenched fists upturned.

Lizzy waited until Baboo appeared again from behind the passing truck before she answered. “Friend of a friend… someone you heard about…” Lizzy shrugged and turned towards Mike. “It’s not like we have a union or newsletter, but uh… we hear about someone else or… meet up.” She looked back out the windshield as the Baboo’s traffic came to a halt for the next cycle of the signal.

“I just can’t figure out how Melissa got all those photos on her computer.”

“Hey, it’s a modern world, Mister, Chief Detective. She probably caught up with one of the…” Lizzy slowed down to chose her words carefully. “… girls, and then another one and then they began to trade pics over cell phones and stuff.”

Mike nodded. “Is that how you did it?”

“I’ve been at this a while, Mike. But yeah, that’s how I got some. Friend of friend. 'Click' on somebody's cell phone… Ya know."

“Sometimes I think you’re… the only one who can really help me on this. The only one who really cares about what's happening out here.”

His statement was greeted with silence and Mike turned to Lizzy, watching a slow smile build up on her face.

“Maybe, I care about other… people, an' stuff." Lizzy added quickly. "That’s why you need to take me to breakfast.” She grinned at her logic.

“Okay, Lizzy.” He agreed.

Climbing out of Mike’s car Lizzy spun around and dipped her head to peer at him through the open door. “Mike… come back… okay? You don’t have to wait until…" The girl shrugged. "Just come back. 'kay?”

Mike pursed his lips and nodded. “Of course.” Mike flipped his head at the man directing traffic. “Say, ‘hey’ to Baboo, huh?”

But Lizzy continued to stare at Mike, smiling broadly at him. “See ya, Mike.”

The car door slammed shut and Mike sighed as he sat watching Lizzy sashay along the sidewalk back into her world. He wished he could he camp out right where he was. Mike wanted to watch out for her, and for the professor and Maxwell the wild-haired man. But he knew that was not how police work took place. Arriving after the damage was done stuck in Mike’s throat. A more proactive system is what he longed for. A system that could have prevented Melissa’s death. He wasn’t sure how he could have prevented it but the secret life the young girl led, completely undetected, made him feel impotent in the face of this darker corner of the world. A dark corner smug in its inaccessibility; shielded by the same ideology that drives it to the margins of the culture by fiat that insolated, but also endangered citizens. The constant pull of these opposite poles also pulled at Mike until he felt an almost corporeal thinning of himself: his soul. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, started the car, threw it into gear, and headed back to the station. He had “rested” enough for one day.

*****

Mike fell into a chair in front of Bernard Simpson’s desk.

“Bernie, how long would it take for a crash course in cell phone, computer, internet… stuff?”

“Hi, Mike. I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” The man shot Mike a sidelong glance before he began typing again, the glowing screen in front of him bathing his features in a blue pall.

“Fuck you, Bernie.” Mike shot back with a half grin. “I seriously need to know some of the details and you are the master of this shit.”

Bernie pushed his chair back and spun to face Mike now. “It’s that Anson murder, isn’t it?”

Mike nodded.

“An ugly affair…”

“Yeah, and I’m the one in the spot light.” Clearing his throat Mike continued. “I just need to know how long it would take for me to get some serious information on the… seamy side of the internet and prostitution and cell phones, how they’re all tied…” Mike put his finger tips to his forehead and sighed, unable to put together a cogent question about something he knew so little about.

Bernie nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I can, but remember the technology changes as fast as we can figure out what’s happening.”

“All right. Do you think this girl had a cell phone? And could we somehow trace her whereabouts with it?”

The man glanced at the keyboard and back at Mike apologetically. “Mike, there are at least ten thousand new cell phones bought each day… just in this three state area. There’s rarely any credible paper trail. They’re cheap enough that someone can use it for a couple of calls and pitch it into a dumpster…”

“Wait,” Mike interrupted. “Somebody pays those phone bills...”

“Yes,” Bernie held up his hand to stop Mike. “And it’s all electronic debit and credit…”

“Shit. So stolen phones are no better than stolen credit cards, right?”

“Actually, Mike, it’s worse. Identity theft with a credit card has some built in security… but a cell phone has… You don’t have video records or witnesses—using a phone—like you would with a purchase, say in a… store. Even an internet purchase goes to an address. Something that can be investigated. Any sort of business conducted over a cell phone—especially an illegal or stolen cell phone—is virtually untraceable. Maybe we find that phone but it’s of no… value.”

“What about the internet?”

“IP addresses can be just as ethereal…"

"IP?" Mike asked.

"Internet Protocol. But if someone has a stolen password or creates a bogus online identity they can use that at the library, or a cell phone, or at an internet café or even WiFi: sometimes we can trace WiFi to a specific laptop but if someone has the wherewithal they can dump a computer before we can ever catch up to ‘em. And most of the time we can only track a message to a specific router or a NAT... um a NAT is... well, it's sometimes called 'network masquerading.'”

“Damn it! So the technology is pretty much a ‘black hole,’ huh?”

The man sighed. “Yeah, I’m afraid it is. Even the 'big boys' at federal the agencies can’t fight with a lot of this new, cheap technology that’s everywhere, now.”

“So photographs and…”

Bernie held up his hand again. “Mike, everything: messages, photos… even money transfers, though if that happens we can trace where it comes from and where it stops. I saw the report about what the techs found on the girl’s computer. I signed off on the report: there's almost nothing there that could be tracked down. You guys found cash, nothing to indicate a bank account so we’re left with almost nothing, really.”

The two sat together in silence until finally Bernie offered one flush of hope. “Mike, I can run a check through… um her internet server and see what’s there, but any 'bad guy' with a brain knows how to leave zero trace. Okay?”

“Sure, Bernie. Better than nothing. I appreciate it.” Mike said softly.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

Mike nodded and rose. He stood feeling overwhelmed by the lack of any real evidence save the one piece of indisputable proof: the DNA left at the scene. Mike offered up his hand to Bernie but the man didn’t move and sighed heavily instead.

“Let’s see if I can find you something, first.”

Mike stuffed his hand into his pocket, nodded, and wandered back to his office, dejected. The detached and ubiquitous nature of modern technology created some kind of backwater current haunted by terrifying individuals and those willing to court that evil for money and its power. It wasn’t the technology that clawed at Mike’s belly but the ease at which it could be used by both sides of the equation. He knew that Lizzy’s situation wasn’t inexplicably tied to the anonymous nature of the computer age but he knew Melissa’s was. And seeing the ease at which she could navigate that world mystified him.

Mike desperately wished he could intervene and help these young people—or Lizzy at least—somehow, or he realized, maybe, he felt some measure of guilt because his own daughter could somehow be caught up in the same eddy if he couldn’t become better connected to her and her life. Connect to her soon.

*****

The ringing of his phone startled Mike. He realized he had fallen asleep at his desk again and his back ached.

“Mike, it’s Bernie.” The phone crackled.

Mike cleared his throat. “Yeah, whatcha got?”

“Some of the work has already been done…”

“Um, hum.”

“But not by us.”

“I don’t understand, Bernie.”

“Mike, somebody outside the department has been looking into the dead girl’s internet transactions.”

“Who?”

“Mike, how the fuck should I know? But somebody way up the food chain.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Not that far up the chain… but almost.”

“What are you saying, Bernie?” Mike snapped impatiently.

“That church has a lot of political clout. They’re on cable, and they got about a million people who go there and watch it on TV, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Maybe somebody’s pushin’ some buttons at the state or federal level.”

“That is a lot of voters, isn’t it?” Mike unconsciously squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Now, Mike felt he would be faced with yet another obstacle in the course of his investigation. “Did you get anything good?” Mike finished.

“Well, I got some stuff. I sent you a report. You’ll have to sign off on it so we can bill your office.”

“Fucking, whatever.” Mike sighed. One office billing another for information and time spent on a case seemed ludicrous to Mike but it was now the standard within the department. “Okay, thanks a lot, Bernie.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I billed ya for it.”

Mike listened to the buzzing in the receiver for several seconds more. The idea of police work between offices being billable time was not something that Mike was completely comfortable with but a bean counter from the state came to his department and convinced the city manager to buy off on the idea of “accountability” inside each department.

Regardless of the methodology, Mike now had something to move on, no matter how reedy it might be.

Amnesia or the lack of memory is sad and troublesome. Many times in your life you can get in difficult situations only because you don’t remember an important person’s name or something else that is much more important, such as the name of a medicine.

You should write everything you can if you have this problem. Be organized and careful.

The reason for the existence of amnesia is the existence of very traumatic experiences; in other words, this condition has a protective function. It appears when there is a trauma that the person wishes to forget, but this is not a conscious function. It works without the participation of the human conscience. For example, when someone suffers a disaster or something terrible happens in one’s life, amnesia protects him or her from remembering the horrible scenes or situations that he or she saw or lived.

Amnesia can have a psychological reason that cannot be logically justified if we ignore what is happening in the psychic sphere of the affected person. In this case, I recommend psychotherapy through dream interpretation with the unique and correct method of dream translation discovered by Carl Jung and simplified by me. I continued Jung’s research in the unknown psyche, where craziness remains, and I discovered the existence of the wild conscience.

This wild, violent and evil content often obliges the unconscious that produces the dreams in order to protect us from craziness, to provoke amnesia to the human conscience in order to protect it from the memories projected by the wild side.

If your problem is not so serious, but you keep forgetting many important details and many things you must remember, here are my directions to help you improve your memory until you become able to remember everything you need and even what is not necessary:

1. Associations

The best way to remember names and difficult words is through associations. For example, if a person’s name is Walter Miller. In order to remember this name you have to think about a word that reminds it… How about “watermelon?” This way, the similar sounding word will help you remember the real name of the person. (If you don’t actually remember the real name of the person but you quickly say the substitute word that you associated with their name when you meet them, they will have the impression that you said their real name…)

The same tactic can be used for other things as well: you simply should associate names, substantives, titles, etc., with words easy to remember.

2. Attention

When you hear or read something important, pay attention to it. Say to yourself: “now this person is saying this and I should remember it” or “now I’m reading the most important part of the text, I have to keep it in my memory.”

3. Repetition

Repeat several times the words or sentences you have to learn, but not without thinking like a parrot. Think about what you are saying, visualize the things that you are repeating in your mind, and be in contact with what you are trying to memorize.

4. Make a Summary

Rewrite the most important parts of what you are trying to learn. Make a summary with the essence and keep it in mind. You don’t have to remember all the details. You can write them in your own words. Only the essence of what you are trying to remember must be memorized.

5. Exercise

Try to remember many things, even if you don’t need to. If you keep your mind working, you become more intelligent and your memory will be excellent!

Prevent Depression and Craziness through the scientific method of Dream Interpretation discovered by Carl Jung and simplified by Christina Sponias, a writer who continued Jung's research in the unknown region of the human psychic sphere.

Learn more at: http://www.scientificdreaminterpretation.com and http://www.booksirecommend.com

Click below to download your copy of the Free ebook
Beating Depression and Craziness

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Christina_Sponias

Have you submitted Your own dreams for Free professional dream interpretation and psychotherapy?

Don’t waste time! This is a limited offer, only for this summer.

A single dream is not enough. We need a series of dreams in order to understand what is happening to the dreamer and to understand the guidance of the wise unconscious mind that produces our dreams.

So, write down your dreams every day if you want to see results for your efforts.  Your dreams and their special messages should be really important to you!

You need to start right now so you will have enough time to submit many dreams. If you put off this opportunity, time will pass and you won’t be able to send me anything…

Go to http://www.scientificdreaminterpretation.com and learn more.

Christina Sponias

I have a 6 year old daughter who is the best goddam thing since sliced bread, she is charming, beautiful, funny, clever and most of all - she is innocent, as a 6 year old should be.

I dread the day I have to decide she is capable of doing things on her own, such as going to the shops, meeting up with her friends, going to the cinema, all the ususal things a teenager would do.

Not because I am a clingy Mum, far from it, and not because I dont trust her to be sensible (I'm sure she will be),  no, its other people that worry me.

Every day I pick up the local paper and the headlines scream out,  'MUGGING' 'STABBING', 'RAPE', 'ROBBERY', so much so I darent buy the bloody thing anymore - it depresses me.

Every parent must go through this when its time to let their darlings grow up, but the world is slowly turning into a bad and dangerous place, and my little angel is too nice, too kind and too innocent to be let out there on her own.

What can I do? Is my future going to be clock watching, waiting for the minutes to pass until I know she will be home, lying in bed waiting to hear a key in the door, constantly ringing her mobile phone to check she is okay?  She would hate that I'm sure - I would too, I dont want to be seen as a suffocating Mother who can't let go.

My parents probably felt the same way back in the day, but l doubt there were all the dangers that teenagers face today, I cannot remember a single time when I ever felt like I was in danger.

Where we live isn't the best of neighbourhoods but then again it isn't the worst by a long shot.  Although saying that I went to my local shop one tea-time a couple of years ago, only to be held up at gunpoint whilst i was in there by armed raiders. Dosent exactly fill me with hope.

Maybe I should leave the worrying until it's time and concentrate on the now. I would be interested in your views, experiences and advice if you would like to share them with me.

When Mike walked into the office of the Clinton Street Evangelical Church the secretary denied him entrance. He was still dressed like a derelict. When he produced his badge and explained that he had been on an undercover detail the woman relented at last and asked him take a seat while she buzzed the pastor.

“Do you always treat 'street people' like that?” Mike asked flatly as he seated himself.

“Like what?” The well-dressed woman behind the desk replied.

“You tell ‘em they can’t come in here?”

“Detective Joseph,” the woman sighed. “We have a mission downtown where we feed over 250 people a day. That’s where the street people belong. Not here. Not in this office.” The woman bobbed her head slightly as she finished in a condescending tone. He felt the sting of her venom but decided it, better to let it go rather than engage in a debate about Christian ideals versus behavior.

Two minutes later a paunchy middle-aged man strolled confidently down the middle of the hallway straight towards Mike with counterfeit grin pasted on his round face. Mike recognized the movements as the gait of someone who was accustomed to taking charge when he entered a room. The man extended his hand a half-dozen steps before he reached Mike. Then he let loose with a derisive chuckle.

“My secretary said you were dressed like a hobo. I see she wasn’t exaggerating.”

Mike took an immediate dislike to the round balding man but rose quickly and took the pastor’s hand in his, squeezing it harder than he normally would. Mike wanted to establish that he was in the position of power so he could control the conversation completely. It occurred to Mike then, that wearing his disguise might have been an error. He narrowed his eyes hoping to pierce the reverend's ecclesiastic veneer and knocking him into a defensive posture.

“I’m Chief Detective, Mike Joseph. I’d like to ask you some questions about the murder of Melissa Anson.” Mike still clung to the man’s hand. There was an immediate response in the man’s face. The blood drained out of it leaving him an ashen gray.

“Um, yes... Detective. I’m... uh.” The man stammered while Mike clung to the man’s hand hoping to increase his discomfort. The reverend cleared his throat nervously, tugging his chubby paw from the Mike's grasp.

“I’m pastor, Frank Watts.” With that, Mike released his grip on the man. Again, Watts cleared his throat and glanced around the room searching for a place to rest his gaze and conceal his inward distress.

“Can I get you some coffee or something? My secre...” The words seemed to catch in his throat. “She should be here, um...” The woman was no longer seated behind her desk.

“No.” Mike watched the man’s every move with a calculating eye. “Can we talk in your office?” Mike asked plainly.

“Sure!” The man answered nervously and he extended his hand down the hallway towards an open doorway near the end.

Mike pulled up next to the man and offered his hand in order to have the man walk in front of him. Every technique Mike could employ to keep control of this meeting was coming into play now. Pastor Watts moved down the hall in jerky movements towards the light streaming through the open portico.

Watts spun his high-backed chair a half turn and plopped down behind his large wooden desk.

“Sorry about this mess.” Watts was scooping up scattered papers. “I’ve been going over the financial statements before we have our annual Elder’s Meeting.”

“What can you tell me about Melissa Anson and her involvement in the church youth group?” Mike sat quickly and focused his stare into the man’s eyes.

Watt’s scanned the remaining papers on his desk, hesitated, then he drew a quick breath before he started.

“Detective Joseph, we have a long history of serving this community and when something like this happens we...”

“Like what?” Mike broke in.

“Hm?”

“When something ‘like what’ happens?” The question was fired at the pastor abruptly to keep him off balance. Mike recognized this was a man who was versed in techniques to control conversations and Mike was working hard to dominate the interview.

“This murder. It was awful.”

“Pastor Watts, I’m here to investigate a claim that Melissa was having a sexual relationship with several members of your church.” Mike dropped the bomb into the pastor’s lap and waited for a response.

The man licked his lips slowly and shuffled a couple of papers together uneasily. “Detective Joseph, do you have some proof that Melissa was sexually involved with any members of this congregation?” The minister continued while he fidgeted with the papers in his hands.

“I’m afraid I can’t comment on evidence in an on-going investigation.” Without hesitating Mike tried to set the hook. “Can I get a mouth swab from you for DNA evidence?” Mike fished small glass vial from the pocket of his grimy coat.

An involuntary blink came hit the minister before he spoke. “I don’t have to if you don’t have a warrant...”

“Do you want me to get one?” Mike deadpanned quickly. The minister shook his head slowly. “Okay then, how long before you can have the rest of your staff here?”

The minister’s eyes narrowed now.

“I think I’d like to have an attorney present for this.”

Mike didn’t miss a beat. “Fine. I’ll be sure to tell the judge you requested one when I file for the warrant.” He was rising out of his chair before he finished his statement.

“Chief Detective,” the pastor was waving Mike back into his seat. “Whatever we discuss between us will have to stay between just us.”

Mike fell back into his seat.

“I can’t guarantee that. But if none of your staff is involved in this murder I don’t see any reason to...” Mike paused to spread his hands wide, “... make harmful allegations that can’t be... corroborated.”

Watts put down the papers and stroked his chin several times between his index finger and thumb. He shifted his gaze out the window into the distance. Turning back slowly, the minister pursed his lips and stared directly into Mike’s eyes for a moment.

“I’ll have ‘em here inside an hour...”

Mike crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“Okay, now what can you tell me about Melissa Anson?"

*****

Pastor Frank Watts the head of Clinton Street Evangelical Church instructed his secretary to have the entire staff  come to the church for an emergency meeting while Mike put in a call for more DNA swabs kits with his cell phone.

Watts related his knowledge about the dead girl and the youth minister, only five years her senior.

During a teary confession the youth minister admitted to Watts that he and Melissa had some contact after the church services but the young man hadn’t given the pastor all of the details. After the murder the youth minister came to Watts baring his soul because he was heartbroken about her death and the implication that she was having sex for money. The man explained to Watts that there had been inappropriate contact between himself and Melissa but he pleaded for forgiveness and had assured Watt that they had never gone beyond petting.

“Petting...” Mike echoed the word like it burned his tongue. “Do you believe that?”

“Detective, like you stated earlier about ‘allegations that can't be corroborated’... I have no reason to doubt him.”

The mellifluous tones rumbled through the pastor’s voice and Mike felt his advantage slip away that very second. He knew he had lost the element that put him in charge of the conversation. Silently, he cursed himself for allowing the pastor a modicum of wiggle room. He now saw the tiny crack open before his eyes into a chasm that the man would play to his advantage

"We'd like to have a list of everyone who uses the church's computers." Mike played again for an advantage.

"The church's computers… What for?"

Mike shot a withering look at Watts "In case someone from here might have contacted Melissa. Email contact between the killer and the Melissa could've come through the computer's here." Damn it, Mike thought. I shouldn't have said that. Get you head right Joseph, he admonished himself for leaving another door open to the pastor.

"Certainly," Watts answered cheerfully as he was dialing phone. "Ruth would you print up a list of all the parishioners and staff with 'administration' access to our network." Watts covered the receiver with his palm. "We're in the process of upgrading from a Metro Area Network to a Wide Area… it's all tied in with our cable carrier," he finished in a half whisper just as a printer behind the pastor's chair kicked on.

"Thank you." Watts hung up the phone. "The electronic age has truly been a blessing to us. What, with our television ministry and electronic debits and credit…" The man spun around to pull a sheet of paper from the printer's tray. "We never could have kept up with all this technology without our computers."

Mike scribbled in his notepad. He had no idea what the man was telling him but he did not want Watts to catch on. Mike dutifully wrote down each and every term so he could research them later. The high ground Mike had held at the beginning of the interview was no more. All Mike could do now was work harder on the next dialogue.

*****

The church Youth Group Minister was a handsome young man who looked as clean cut as they come, but from the moment the man walked through the doors of the church Mike could see the man was edgy.

“Chief Detective Mike Joseph, this is Thomas Hampton.” Watts turned to the man now and in soft tones said, “Just tell Detective Joseph everything you told me.”

Mike felt his jaw flex. “Please, can I handle this?” He growled at Watts.

“Sorry.” The pastor held up his open palm and glanced away to stare out the window into the gathering dark.

Still scribbling in his notebook Mike was using a ploy to establish himself as being in the power seat. At last, he finished his set up and held the young man’s gaze for longer than usual before speaking.

“Where did you meet Melissa Anson?”

“Here… uh at Youth Group.” He cleared his throat several times waiting for Mike to finish writing again.

“Had you met with her outside the church?”

“Um, no.” The man turned to Watts who now stared back with no change of expression. “We had some… time… alone. Um.” He sighed before continuing. “We had some time, uh, here that we, um… had inappropriate contact,” he finished his sentence in a rush.

The details related were as Watts had promised but now Mike wanted to shake this young man up.

“You know sexual contact with a minor is Class C felony?" Mike asked plainly.

The young man swallowed hard before he nodded once.

"So where were you that Wednesday night that Melissa was murdered?” Mike asked in an even tone employing words and tactics he hoped would frighten the young man, possibly into some blunder or confession.

“Um, I was in charge of the Youth Group meeting that night. She wasn’t here. She’d been missing a lot of the meetings, lately.” He nodded to add punctuation to his answer.

“So you never met with her outside of church functions?”

The man glanced quickly at Watts who turned his head away instantly.

“Um... no. I already said that.” He stated in an unsteady voice.

“We have the murder placed between 2:30 and 3 AM. Were you still here at that time?”

The young man blinked deliberately. “I was at school, um at the Jesuit university at…”

“I know where it is…” Mike interrupted still pushing the young man in hopes of keeping him off balance, keeping the power in Mike’s court.

“I was in the dorm, asleep.” The man added nervously.

Mike tried to keep the man in the corner of his sight while he scribbled in his notebook. He was watching in case the youth minister shot some signal towards Watts. The intense dislike Mike had for the head pastor of the forth largest evangelical television station on the east coast was clouding his judgment and the moment Mike realized it he felt his shoulders sag. Gotta focus, he thought.

After taking a deep breath, Mike continued questioning the youth minister in a more civil tone. “Do you have a roommate who can verify that?”

“No sir, but we have a 24-hour charge-of-quarters who writes down everybody coming and… um…” Mike heard an audible gulp as the man swallowed. “Coming and going.”

"Do you use the computer's here at the church?" Mike continued.

The young man shook his head and Mike noticed the Jesuit student didn't look towards the Pastor when he answered the question. Mike believed him.

Continuing with the interview it was apparent to Mike the youth minister was not a prime candidate as a murderer. Keeping pastor Watts in the room during the interview was intentional but the instant he recognized that he had kept Watts in the room hoping to hang something on the pastor Mike regretted his decision. This case was causing too many errors in his polished interview techniques. Mike reminded himself to stay focused.

*****

One of the words he scribbled in his notebook and circled several times was: focus. He had written the same word while speaking to Lydia Anson. Mike was beginning to question his mental state. His interview techniques had been refined and honed by himself and many other law-enforcement professionals: what should have been second nature to him no longer reflected the light of truth in his practiced eyes.

Why has this case thrown me off my game? he wondered.

A young girl was dead after a foray into a world rarely seen even by veterans on the force. Pederasts and prostitutes were not uncommon but the particulars of this case covered relatively new ground. Mike sorted through two dozen files the department held on cases of underage sexual contact. This one case was different than any of the others. Underage male prostitutes were seen from time to time but neither side was apt to share much with police in those cases and the bulk of the cases of heterosexual prostitution were forced upon the girls by someone. These made for a clear cut case of evil—men and even women a couple of times—making it easy to determine the “citizens” from the “scumbags.” But this was terra incognito for Mike and everybody else who brushed against this.

In a discussion with a vice cop who specialized in underage male prostitution Mike couldn’t believe that the man actually commented that “these boys” weren’t really being hurt and he finished with, “They’re getting a lot more out of this than money.”

The man chuckled when he said it and Mike found a fire rising up inside his chest as he listened to the man’s callous interpretation of this vicious and dangerous usury lifestyle. Growing confusion, coupled with some commonly held moral myopia, was washing over Mike each day like a storm driven wave, and with each crash of it a panic inside him arose. He began to feel as though he would drown before he could reach the surface. Lizzy’s life connected to the streets—and those like her—was something Mike could not understand, and his own daughter’s age—so close to those other girls’—gnawed at him, turning him inside out with fear and apprehension. He needed some remedy or closure in this matter before he could calm the maelstrom raging inside.

*****

Mike rolled to a stop in front of the house that he and his ex-wife had shared: a house he hoped would have been the only one he ever knew, with the only wife he hoped he would ever know.

Prudence was skipping out the door before he stepped onto the walkway. His daughter aimed an air kiss at his cheek as she scurried past. Mike caught her and pulled her close, to encircle her small body, and hold her. He heard the front door slam and the knocker "clack" as he pressed his daughter to his chest.

"Jeez. Leggo, dad," his daughter murmured trying to wrestle him to arm's length. "What wrong with you?"

He held onto despite her efforts to affect an escape. "Nothing's wrong." He whispered as he finally released her.

"Well, yer actin' goofy." She murmured sliding into the passenger's seat.

"Sorry," he mumbled before he walked to the driver's side and climbed in.

"Can we go get pizza at the mall?"

"Of course, Pru. Anything you want." Accelerating away from the house Mike shot a broad smile at his daughter.

"You sure, yer okay?" Prudence popped with a hint of sarcasm tinting her voice.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Is this teenage rebellion?" Mike asked mockingly.

"Can you stop analyzing till after we eat?" She snapped.

Mike felt her sting. "Sorry. I didn't think I was analyzing…" he started defensively.

"You never do, dad," she interjected. "You never do." She completed her rebuke in slow measured syllables

"Sorry." He answered softly.

His daughter turned her face towards the window and they rode in silence.

*****

Mike sat across from his eleven-year-old daughter watching the steady parade of girls, not yet women, costumed in provocative garb, much too revealing for their age, he thought. That reoccurring panic was welling up inside him again, seeing so many young girls showing off their immature figures to the collective scrutiny of all. The images from the Melissa Anson's computer and Lizzy's series of photos floated in his vision—sunspots burnt into his retina—tearing at his composure, leaving ragged bloodied streaks to mark its path.

"What's wrong, now?" Prudence broke his reverie.

"What?" Mike shook off his distraction.

"Tsk. If I wanted to eat alone I would've stayed home." His daughter droned wearily.

"I'm just thinking about…" He stopped. "What do you mean 'alone.' Where's your mom at?" He knew he was overreacting but caught himself too late. His ex-wife was no longer his concern but his daughter's needs were still his, he rationalized.

His daughter stared at him with one brow raised and distress swabbed across her forehead.

"I, I… just wanna know why your mom doesn't… eat with you. That's all." He stammered.

With a dull look in her eyes she explained that her mother was taking classes at the local community college and most were night classes so they only ate together four nights a week, now.

"So where do you go when your mom's at school?" Mike asked with a lump in his throat.

"Jeez, dad. I'm eleven years old, now. Most of the time I baby-sit for one of mom's classmates."

"A man…" As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he had asked the wrong question.

Prudence wadded up her napkin. "Okay, I think you've fulfilled your obligation for the week." She was standing by the time she finished.

Mike leapt to his feet, "Please, Pru. Don't do this… I'm a… little distracted, I know… but I still want to spend time with you." Mike pleaded.

"I'm not having fun," the girl snapped. "Would you please take me home, now?" There was a note of finality to her voice.

Mike sighed heavily. "Okay."

As Mike pulled to a stop in front of his ex-wife's house his daughter opened the door and had one foot on the curb before he could speak.

"Wait!" Mike begged.

A tightness gathering around her lips, Prudence turned towards her father and gave him a smoldering glare.

"I'm… so sorry… I've been somewhere else, today."

Prudence opened her mouth to speak. Then stopped. A moment slipped past, then she finished apologetically. "Maybe next week, we'll have a better time."

Mike nodded dumbly. His daughter leaned in quickly and kissed his cheek and was gone before he could react. Watching her saunter up the walkway towards the front door Mike fought to keep his growing panic at bay. His daughter could be leading a double life and he would have no idea, the possibility of that was twisting him inside out. He reached up and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly to calm himself and then he tried to turn off his emotions one more time.

There are many phrases to describe dangerous situations:

"playing with fire"    "living with a time-bomb"    "walking the razor's edge"

There should be more phrases to describe safe situations, like ...

"camping in the living room"    "playing with a picture of fire"     "living with a nerf ball"

Can you think of any good "safe" phrases?

note: "Vanilla ice cream again! You're really camping in the living room with that choice.  Oh! You're lactose intolerant! Pardon me."

http://humor-blogs.com/

Reg Braithwaite, Ruby blogger/programmer extraordinaire, is hanging up the gloves to look for something more dangerous.  His fascinating and well-written blog will be missed.

His points about how throughout history some of the most paradigm-shifting ideas have been viewed as extremely dangerous by the system of society are worth noting.  He has decided, in short, that it would be more interesting to pursue something more cutting edge, now that Ruby has become more mainstream.

I share his inbuilt desire to make interesting and unusual things, but most of all, I share his interest in making something dangerous.  I want to build something that makes people cringe at the very thought of it, in the same way that his knights cringed at the idea of some lowly serf wielding a high-powered crossbow.  Specifically, I want the current insanely greedy health care system to recoil in fear at the crossbow in my hands.  I want to fix the laundry list of problems in the way everyday people deal with medicine.  I want to keep people from being scared to see a doctor for fear of what it might cost them in the end.

As a programmer and not a crusading politician, how can I do this?

I have a few ideas.  Some involve Google Health, which I feel has been almost swept under the rug in the press, and yet has the potential to revolutionize medicine with the proper application.  Pretty soon I aim to explain a bit about my medicine-minded startup, but for now, just be satisfied with my assertion that it is indeed dangerous.

Mike was seated behind his desk in the station when a member of the vice section laid a folder down in front of him.

“Elizabeth Madeline Saunders,” the man said as Mike flipped open the folder and peered at the stack of previous arrest forms. “She’s sixteen years old and we’ve pulled her off the street a dozen times... she manages to find her way back each time.” Mike thumbed through the stack. Nothing worse than prostitution showed up on her record. “She walked off a minimum security site eight months ago, so we could bring her in to lock-down if you want.”

Mike shook his head.

“What’s her story?” Mike knew that girls who worked the streets usually did it to support a drug habit or someone else’s. It was rarely to “make a living.”

“Boyfriend...” the man said as he dropped a second folder onto Mike’s desk. Mike looked at the blurry black and white photo of the snaggle-toothed man clipped to the outside of the folder before he opened it.

“A dope shooter. Kenneth no middle name Tanetz. Two-time felon,” the vice man continued. “Last time, he pulled two years at Rikers’ Island. My guess, he’ll go down for good next one.” The man spoke without emotion.

“The address is no good according to his parole officer. If you find him we could take down for a long stretch,” the man added.

“No,” Mike shot back without looking up from the files. “He may actually help me on the Anson investigation.”

“Not likely.”

Mike slowly peered up at the man.

“Him and the hooker put together don’t equal zero,” the man deadpanned. Mike felt the muscles in his jaw flex at the man’s callous response. The man must have sensed Mike’s building anger. With a shrug of his shoulders he wandered away, out of Mike’s glare.

Mike’s finger and thumb pressed into the bridge of his nose as he forced himself to forget the hard-hearted nature of his fellow officers. They were putting up the barriers that protected them from emotion and the realization that the “scum bags” might actually be people under the patina that separated the “good guys” from everybody else.

*****

Early the next morning Mike sat feeding the cooing mass of gray pigeons in the square. He scanned the area to locate his backup. Now that someone knew who Mike really was, a larger number of plain clothes officers was needed to protect him. Baboo stood on his usual corner this morning eyeing Mike with suspicion while he ushered the day’s traffic on its way. Maxwell arrived and began a conversation with the plastic chairs that had, so recently, been unkind to him.

At about 1:15 Mike spotted the pretty young girl stroll into the square casually. Lizzy eyed the entire crowd before she ambled towards Mike. Passing by Baboo on her way, she whispered to the former professor for several tense moments. Two joggers knelt to adjust their shoe laces and a man selling flowers from a cart spoke into a wilted flower arrangement.

Baboo laughed loudly as Lizzy walked away but he quickly threw an uneasy glance towards Mike sitting on his bench alone. With a heavy sigh Lizzy plopped down next to Mike and picked up a paper bag that sat between them.

“Salami?”

Mike threw a pinch of dried crusts towards his winged charges.

“With mayo and Swiss cheese,” Mike said softly.

A smile built up on the young woman’s face until there was almost a measurable light it contained by itself.

“How did you ever become a cop?” Her voice carried a hint of a giggle. Mike figured this was part of her act.

“I liked being outdoors.” He smiled in spite of himself as he bantered with the sixteen-year-old streetwalker. She laughed softly at his joke and scanned the square again.

“You brought your friends, today.”

Mike turned to look directly into the girl’s blue eyes.

“They thought you might be dangerous.” Mike smiled openly, now.

Lizzy hesitated and then laughed before she leaned against his shoulder. This time Mike didn’t push her away.

Lizzy leaned back and laid her arms on the top of the bench. One arm snaked around Mike’s shoulder. He didn’t resist. Then she leaned forward quickly trying to move her face into Mike’s eyesight.

“You ready for this trip?” she asked softly. Mike threw another pinch of bread to the pigeons before he answered.

“Are you gonna give me a story about an alcoholic mother and an over-affectionate step-father?”

Lizzy pursed her lips and sat forward so that her face was even with Mike’s. “Nah.” Her head shook slightly from side to side as she answered. “That’s not my tale... I just don’t like bein’ told what to do.” Mike stared at the girl for several moments while she stared right back at him. She shrugged before she finished her answer. “I’d rather be here than where I was.”

With that, Lizzy fell back on the bench, laced her fingers behind her head, threw her calf onto her knee and scanned the crowd, one more time. Her crowd.

For that moment, Mike felt like someone had grabbed his shoulders and had shaken him vigorously, though he knew that wasn’t the case. The thought of this young girl preferring the dangerous life of prostitution to growing up in her home was like a gut kick to Mike. His own daughter had expressed her displeasure at rules and regimen to him more than once.

“You gotta daughter, right?” Mike didn’t answer but stared at the crumpled bag in his hands instead. “The nice ones always do.” Lizzy added. “If we take a walk are the ‘jack boots’ gonna tackle me and slap the cuffs on?”

Still staring at the wadded brown bag Mike answered quietly. “Nobody’s gonna touch ya.”

Lizzy sat forward quickly. “Hey careful, I gotta make a living.”

An involuntary chuckle escaped from Mike’s throat prompting to Lizzy join in. “What’s your name, cop? I’m sure you know mine, already.”

“Mike.”

“No middle name... or last name?” Lizzy smiled and added in a husky voice, “Just Mike?”

He turned his head towards her. “Mike Joseph. Chief Detective, King County Police Department.”

“Ooh, top gun, huh? ‘lissa would’a been proud...”

Mike closed his eyes and sighed at Lizzy’s attempt at humor.

“Lighten up, Mike.” Dropping her arm around his shoulder Lizzy smiled broadly and finished, “Or you’re gonna blow a fuse.”

Mike nodded and began to speak but his words got tripped up along the way.

“She’s jus...” He cleared his throat several times.

“Your daughter’s about the same age?”

Mike licked his lips and then looked away.

“She’s eleven.”

“Mike,” Lizzy leaned forward to catch his eye. “You seem okay. That usually means she’ll be fine. Just don’t fuck it up.”

“Like with Melissa?”

“Ha...” An odd smile settled on Lizzy’s lips while she let her comment hang there in space for several seconds before she answered his question.

“Mike Joseph, you’ve only scratched the surface of this thing, I am sure.” He nodded. “Come on,” She snatched up the bag with the sandwich as she leaped to her feet. Strolling backwards for several steps she flicked her head beckoning Mike to follow her on her slow walk towards Maxwell who had been sitting alone in his regular chair talking for quite some time.

The signal Mike gave, a quick shake of his head while he put his index finger on his ear, was meant to let his backup know that he would be going with girl by design and that they should follow at a discreet distance.

Lizzy’s open palm—dropped aside her slim hips—directed at the detective's face halted Mike’s progress about ten feet from where the man with errant hair was seated. Moving slowly she pulled up another plastic chair and slid it next to his. She placed the bag on the table next to the man and began to talk to him in soothing tones while she stared at Baboo’s passing traffic.

“Hiya, Max. You look good today.” The man was only interested in his internal dialogue and didn’t seem to notice the girl’s arrival. “My new friend, Mike, brought you a salami sandwich... with Swiss cheese and mayo.” Lizzy turned to glance up at Mike, smiling. “He wants to know more about ‘lissa.” Now Lizzy peered into Maxwell’s face. The man laughed at some joke only he heard and then shook his head sadly. “You remember ‘lissa? She brought you roast beef.”

For a moment it seemed that the clouds parted in this man’s mind and suddenly he looked around at his situation as though he couldn’t understand why he was here amongst strangers. A sly smile crossed his lips as he looked directly at Lizzy. But then he laughed at the comedy playing out in his head and he was lost again.

“Take care, Max,” Lizzy whispered as she stood. Then she wandered away from the man.

Mike fell in behind her. They approached Baboo together just as he was assisting a delivery truck through the crowded intersection.

“Hey, Babs.” The gray-haired man turned with a broad smile pasted on his face in response to Lizzy’s voice. The smile faded quickly when Baboo saw her standing next to the stranger who had confronted him yesterday.

“Baboo, this guy's my new friend, Mike.” She spoke slowly and distinctly.

“I got no friends named Mike,” the man blurted out, eyeing the detective at length.

“No, Babs he’s my friend. Do you remember who I am?”

A quick grin flashed on his face as he broke off his glare and focused on the girl.

“You... you’re married to Max... You are... Max. No, you’re Baboo’s wife...” he chimed happily.

“If I’m your wife what’s my name, Babs?”

“Trick question, trick question.” Baboo shook his head confused by her inquiry.

“Babs, my friend, Mike, is my new husband, okay? He won’t hurt you. Husband of Dizzy Lizzy, okay?”

The man turned his gaze towards Mike and he smiled. “A friend of Baboo’s. Dizzy Lizzy’s got a new husband... “ Now, the man puffed out his chest. “Lizzy used to be my wife.” He was grinned broadly.

“Baboo,” she tried to get his attention again. He looked at her finally. “Look out for Maxwell, okay?”

“Maxwell?” The man spun towards the passing traffic for some sign of recognition.

“My other husband, remember?”

The former professor snapped his head towards the man with the wild hair.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Your husband, I remember. I’ll take care of him. I will.”

“Just make sure nobody takes his sandwich, okay? He doesn’t always see people,” she finished.

“Maxwell, yeah. Doesn’t see. Au pays des avenges les Borges sont rois.” The last line was uttered with a perfect Parisian accent to Mike's ear. Baboo returned to his neglected traffic now. No longer interested in interruptions.

“Bye bye, Babs.” Lizzy knew the gray-haired man was no longer listening as she wandered away from him. Mike hurried to catch up to her.

While stationed in England Mike and Cynthia spent most of his leave time in Paris where he picked up the language quickly. Because of that time spent Mike made French his minor at U of M.

“Do you know what he was saying?” Mike asked. Lizzy shrugged without turning around. “That French line was from a story about a fairy tale kingdom of blind people.” Lizzy slowed her paced slightly, cocked her head and looked over her shoulder towards Mike. “It means: um... in the land of the blind... uh... the one-eyed are kings.”

Lizzy took several more steps and then stopped. A smile crossed her lips as she looked back to the mad man directing traffic. She chuckled softly, shook her head and began walking again.

“So where’s your buddies?” The girl chirped. Mike glanced back over his shoulder and noticed no one was in immediate pursuit. As she peered back at the former professor Mike realized Lizzy had determined they were not being followed. She was quick, Mike realized.

“I wanted some space,” Mike shrugged.

With a half serious leer Lizzy shot at him, “You wanna quick date? First one’s on the house. But I can guarantee one session with me and you’ll be back with your paycheck in your hand.”

Mike chuckled out loud but replied quietly. “You might be right.”

Lizzy wrapped her arms around his elbow and leaned in close to him, her cheek ensconced against his sleeve.

“Come on, Mike. When was the last time you had sex so good it scared you?” Lizzy pranced beside the older man still clinging to him.

“I don’t know. What time is it right now?” he answered.

Lizzy giggled, pressing the top of his hand to her stomach, entwining her fingers in his.

Mike couldn’t explain it but he felt more comfortable with this girl than had felt with anyone in a long time. And not that he really know much about her, except that she took care of the people in her world—like Baboo and Maxwell the wild-haired Man—people who made no demands of her but depended on her just the same. Mike could understand that and decided that was why he took an instant liking to her.

She tugged him into an alleyway that had one steel door visible several yards from the street. A key slipped easily into the lock that looked rusted and unused. The door creaked open and Mike held up his index finger to the girl.

“Be right back.” He stepped quickly to the sidewalk where he turned towards the square and signaled to someone out of Lizzy’s sight. His open palm was a signal for his backup to wait where they were.

Returning to the doorway he stepped inside the stairwell and took the steps two at a time. Lizzy followed slower. Most of the doors along the hallway were gone and this building was obviously going through some kind of condemnation process.

The only door left hanging in the hallway had the words “Hello S'Kitty” scrawled across it in green day-glow spray paint. Mike stopped and turned towards the young girl and raised his eyebrows as he stood in front of it. She nodded once.

“Yep. This is it. You’re good, Chief Detective.” With her shove the door swung wide.

Inside the apartment Mike studied every detail to gain a better understanding of this girl who might shed some light on this investigation.

The room was dominated by a huge black and white poster with two buses parked side by side. Above the windshield, where the destinations were displayed, one had the word “boredom” while the other was headed for “nowhere.” Kurt Cobain’s sad face seemed to dominate the rest of the walls with a smattering of handbills displaying local area bands to fill in the blank spots.

Lizzy waited until he had taken in the entire view before she piped up, “I did it myself...”

With a nod Mike replied, “Not even a magazine?” Lizzy actually gushed at his verbal jab. Mike cocked his head to examine the young woman more closely.

She had blondish hair almost auburn and saucy features punctuated by a slightly upturned nose. With a brazen smile smeared across her wide mouth and full lips Lizzy looked like the tomboy next door perched on the precipice of womanhood. Mike wondered what men thought about the late Melissa Anson, or his own daughter for that matter.

But there was something uncertain about Lizzy that made her exceedingly attractive. At all times, her eyes were focused on him and attentive. He found himself actually enjoying her company and even some odd kinship to her.

“Honestly, you can have a freebie. I like you, Mike.” A softness crept into the girl’s voice.

He studied the girl’s eyes in hopes of catching a flash of something, anything that might give him some insight into the mind of Elizabeth. He had come to the conclusion that she was much smarter than he or anybody else had given her credit for. This girl had a beauty that went beyond physical attraction and while Mike couldn’t put his finger on it directly, he could only describe it as charisma. Something about her nature and her willingness to accept people as they were without taking from them or being condescending made her appear as a precious gem, yet uncut.

“Why, Miss Lizzy, if I don’t know better I’d say you might have a crush on me.”

“Ooh, a crush. That’s the beginning of the end for a workin’ girl. In the movies sometimes the bad girl ends up with the hero.” There was a hopeful lilt to her comment.

Mike chuckled softly at that and nodded slowly. “In the movies,” he answered with a crooked smile and a certain sadness in his voice.

“So where’s your boyfriend?” Mike tried to change the subject.

Lizzy’s hands snapped to her hips while she pasted a look of faux consternation on her face.

“What’s makes you think I have a boyfriend?”

“A couple of little birdies told me.” He smiled broadly at her.

“Ha ha... I forgot who I was talkin’ to.” Lizzy shrugged. “He’s not here,” she quipped as she scanned the room quickly. Taking two steps forward she put her toe under the mattress that lay on the floor and bent over to peak under it.

“Nope. Not here either. He must be gone.” She smiled seductively after she finished.

Mike blinked in slow motion trying to steer the conversation back to the investigation without being abrupt

“Was there a reason you asked me up here besides trying to bag a chief detective?”

The sixteen year old smiled pushing out her bottom lip with her tongue as she did. Her breath left her body in a rush as if she were honestly relieved that Mike didn’t take her up on her offer. With a toss of her hair she took three steps and was across the room. A cigar box next to the mattress lay open and Lizzy pulled a Polaroid picture out of it. Over her shoulder Mike could see a stack of pictures remained in the box.

Handing the picture to Mike he saw Melissa wearing an outfit similar to the one she was wearing when she was found. The front of her short skirt was wadded in her hand, held above waist, to reveal a hairless pubic region. What struck Mike the hardest was the seductive look on this thirteen-year-old girl’s face. That look spoke volumes more than the investigation had turned up so far. Mike’s felt a knot form in his stomach as he absorbed her wanton expression and Lizzy caught his distress immediately.

“Fasten your seat belt, Mike Joseph. This is the end of the world as you know it.” Mike didn’t answer but continued to stare at the picture. Lizzy tugged at the snapshot in his hand but he wouldn’t release it.

“Mike, it’s about sales. With a specific clientele.” Pulling a second time at the photo Lizzy whispered, “Come on, leggo.” He nodded absent-mindedly in agreement as he forced his fingers open.

Lizzy leaned in on Mike’s arm as he released his grip on the offending photograph. “Mike,” she whispered. “That’s not your daughter, okay? We’re the exception.”

Mike blinked hard to refocus on the interview and to wipe the image of the young girl’s face from his mind.

“How did… How did you meet Melissa?” He managed in a shaky voice

“A church gig. They volunteered to do a kitchen thing down here. I helped out a little and ‘lissa walked right up to me and asked a buncha questions. After that she an' I started hangin' together.” Lizzy was shuffling the photos in the cigar box as she answered

“Was she hooking?”

“Mike,” Lizzy stopped filing her photo collection, tilted her head slightly, and corrected him playfully. “That’s so yester-year. Dating is a much nicer term.”

“Are you gonna start calling yourself a ‘sexual therapist’?”

“Maybe. If I get business cards.” She slowly smiled and Mike joined in.

Mike knew the others in the station would accuse him of romanticizing this girl: a sixteen-year-old streetwalker who had been in the business since she was twelve. Staring at her file he couldn’t shake this feeling... the clichéd “hooker with a heart of gold” story line only seen in Hollywood. Always with the happy ending. Mike knew reality seldom fit the Hollywood mold.

"Do you want to play this role forever?" Mike asked flatly.

"What else am I gonna do?" She snapped a snotty tone.

Her matter-of-fact response flashed like a lightning bolt in Mike's vision. He saw through her performance or thought he did. Maybe he wanted to believe that she could be someone different than Dizzy Lizzy, streetwalker. An anger roiled up inside of him, quickly.

Lizzy backed away from him when she spied tears welling up in his eyes. His hands shot out and grabbed her elbows in a vice like-grip. Lizzy tugged once at his grip and then her eyes flashed genuine fear as Mike refused to let go but instead pulled her nearer. When his arms encircled her shoulders and he pressed her body to his she relaxed, falling into his warmth.

To Mike it felt like Lizzy melted into his grasp. He could only hope she wasn’t the same as the hard-hearted beat cops he saw every day or the streetwalkers who worked the pavement, dying young, or having nothing left ended up as a overdose statistic when their carnal charms finally failed them.

His hands tangled in her hair as he held her to his chest. Mike simply didn’t understand and, unlike many of his fellow officers, he did want to know what pushed these human beings to sell themselves. This girl had more than a modicum of intellect, she was wise well beyond her years but she still chose a lose-lose lifestyle and Mike knew he couldn’t change that. That fact tore him apart inside.

“It’s okay, Mike.” He heard the girl's voice crack as she spoke. He rocked her slowly in his arms.

“Mike!” Lizzy’s voice was steady now. “You can’t save me. And you can’t save the world.” Slowly, he loosened his grip on her. He realized how small she really was when he realized his arms completely corralled her and he could still touch his own chest.

“Just find the guy who did this and then take care of your daughter...”

Mike flexed his jaw and nodded stiffly.

Lizzy sighed aloud and offered up the box full of photos for Mike to pick through. Thumbing quickly through the stack he noticed small figures drawn on the margins of some and he stopped to look at a snapshot of young nude girl exposing herself completely to the camera’s eye.

“The cross means...” She didn’t finish as Mike looked back to Melissa’s photo and noticed the small cross in the corner. Lizzy turned away as she continued. “An ‘x’ means hard jail time.”

Mike continued through the lot until he found a picture with a single star. He held it up and Lizzy turned back to glare at it. Then she turned away again.

“A star...” she shrugged and paused briefly. She cleared her throat before she continued. “A star means she got out. That one married an EMT, can ya believe it? Just like the movies... maybe you know ‘em.” Elizabeth spun on the balls of her feet to face Mike with a tight smile on her lips. There was an opening an Mike was giving a glimspe inside.

But just as suddenly, the maudlin sixteen-year-old girl who had the same hopes and wishes as other girls that same age was gone, once again insulated beneath the layers of the wise-cracking Dizzy Lizzy who supported her junkie boyfriend, like she supported the various human flotsam of Sidell Square, by selling her body to anyone willing to pay to have sex with a minor.

"What's Lizzy's picture gonna have on it?" Mike asked pointedly.

Lizzy's affect didn’t change, she continued to stare back at Mike unwilling to show him any more emotion. Mike caught a grim determination reflected in her eyes, causing his retreat to the security of his role as the law enforcement official.

"Okay," he sighed in resignation. "Where should I start with this?"

 “Well, the first place I’d look is in that fuckin’ church she went to. She'd banged half the youth group.” Dizzy Lizzy was back, fully in charge now.

Look in the obvious places first. Mike knew that but having Lizzy’s confirmation would allow him to step through the doorway running downhill. He learned a long time ago, the more an investigator seemed to know already the more willing a suspect was to open up. Mike didn’t subscribe to the interrogation methods most often used by other cops. Instead, he approached suspects as someone friendly who already knew the final outcome but wanted to fill in the details. His success with questioning suspects, coupled with his meticulous nature, had brought Mike notoriety within a three state radius as the best investigator around. He lectured several times at the U of M on his techniques. Cynthia told him cryptically after a lecture that he should “try and live with someone who thinks like that.”

“So what makes the church youth group a place to start looking?”

“Hey! Wake up, Chief Detective. Do you think the members of church youth groups are exempt from sexual angst. Come on. My second date was with a Baptist minister who quoted the bible the whole time he was fucking me up the ass.”

“Okay, Lizzy. I get the picture.”

She wrinkled up her nose at his comment. “Does it bother you when I tell you that kind o' stuff?”

“What difference does it make what I think?”

Lizzy’s shrugged slightly before her stare fell to the floor where she pushed a wadded up McDonalds’ wrapper around the splintered hardwood floor with the toe of her canvas tennis shoe. She held her hands clasped behind her back as she followed her toe’s progress with her eyes. Several times she sighed as if she were going to speak but then thought better of it.

The silence roared in Mike’s ears.

The possible answers to his question both terrified and titillated him. No matter how she replied, Mike felt he had accidentally crossed over some unspoken barrier that had, up to that point, protected both of them and had enabled them to maintain a wall of professional courtesy between them.

“Mike,” she broke the silence finally.

“Uh huh.”

“Mike, do you ever think you might've made the wrong decisions about your life?”

“Every day, Elizabeth. Every day.”

A look of faked horror grew on her face before Lizzy giggled aloud. “Ew! No one can call me that. That name is death. Ew!” she squealed, made an awful face, and then shook her entire body while dancing on her tip-toes in a tight circle.

Mike rocked back on his heels in order to better enjoy her childish display. “I told my daughter, if she made a face like that it might stick.”

A look even more grotesque now covered the young woman’s face. “Look what you did by using that awful name. Ah!” Lizzy screamed and shook her head as if she were trying to shake some vermin out of her hair.

“Come ‘ere, you still got some on your chin.” Mike beckoned to the girl while he chuckled watching the girl spin around the room as if trying to shed contaminated skin.

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