Waist Deep

20

Phyllis re-filled my coffee and took away the tea cup, which was still nearly full.I pushed my thoughts of Katie as far away from the front of my mind as I could and I opened the folder that she’d brought for me.

Keeping her out of mind was nearly impossible as I thumbed through the pieces of paper inside the folder.She must’ve received my voice message almost immediately and gone straight to work.There were notes on some of the items, and they were grouped together by subject.

I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes. She put some effort into this. And now, just like that, she was gone again. A familiar aching in my chest flared and pulsed at the thought.

I took a sip of my hot coffee and swallowed too soon. My throat burned and my eyes watered.I brushed at my eyes and turned back to the file.

Matt Sinderling had nothing more than traffic tickets on his record, which didn’t surprise me.Katie had written only one word in red ink below his entries.“Comp?” meaning complainant.

Good guess, chica.

Gary LeMond was also clean.Not even a traffic citation.I noticed that he’d been fingerprinted, but Katie had circled the entry and made a note that all teachers are required to be printed for their teaching certificates.

Kris Sinderling had just one entry.My stomach sank when I saw the type-code for the entry.

PROST, it read.

“Great,” I muttered.Prostitution.

It didn’t make sense.How does a girl like Kris go from wanting to be a movie star, and probably having the tools to make it happen, to working on the streets?That was a Los Angeles story maybe, but not a River City story.

The entry wasn’t a formal charge or even an arrest, though.It was an FI, a field interview.That meant a cop had stopped her and figured that prostitution was what she was up to. He just didn’t have enough probable cause to make an arrest, so he did an FI.

Even so, she was a runaway.Why didn’t he take her into protective custody and call her parents?

I looked at the date and realized the contact had occurred before Matt had reported her as a runaway.

I pressed my lips together.Fine, she wasn’t a runaway.But she was still a sixteen-year-old girl out at-

My finger traced the typed entry and found the time.

0213 hrs.

Jesus.How do you not do something about a sixteen-year-old girl out on East Sprague at two in the morning?

I turned to the next page and saw that Katie had pulled a copy of the FI.I read through it.

Subject contacted Sprague/Smith with known prostitute (street name Rhonda, see other FI).Dressed provocatively.Claimed to be waiting for bus, but busses no longer running.Offered her a ride home or to safe location.Subject refused.Denied being engaged in prostitution.Name check clear.Known pimp, Rolo, spotted one block away, across the street.

How many FI’s had I written just like that when I was on the job?All it really told me was that she was there and when it had been.And that she appeared to be working as a prostitute.The excuses she had used were amateur and timeworn.

I found the name at the bottom of the page.Officer Paul Hiero.

I closed my eyes briefly and tried to recall Paul.I remembered that we used to kid him a little about his last name, but that was about all.

I flipped the FI over and read through the biographical data on Kris Sinderling.She’d given him 329 Poplar in Cheney for an address and a telephone number that wasn’t a Cheney number.All Cheney numbers begin with the prefix 235.I guessed the number she gave to be a cell number. Or one she made up.

Hiero described her clothing in detail.Short denim skirt.T-shirt tied off and exposing the midriff.Matching black stilettos.Small gold hoop earrings.My eyes flitted over to the MARKINGS/SCAR/TATTOO box and saw it had been filled in.

“Oh, great,” I muttered again.

Hiero had drawn a crude North Star compass in the small block and written, “LU thigh, partially obscured.”Kris had a tattoo on her left upper thigh that was only partially visible, even though she wore a short skirt.

In Washington State, it used to be the law that no minor could be tattooed without parental consent.Body piercings and tattoos were rampant among kids today and unscrupulous businesses took advantage of that.

I drank my coffee and shook my head.What had happened to her?

Hiero had let a sixteen-year-old girl stay out on the streets.What was he thinking?On top of that, some maggot tattoo hack had been more than happy to tattoo her upper thigh.

My stomach churned.I pushed the coffee away.

The last piece of paper was a square yellow post-it note.Katie had written, “Check her DOB?” on it.

I flipped back to the computer entry and read Kris’s date of birth.

January 18, 1987.

I checked Hiero’s FI.The same birth date was listed there.

I sat back in my booth seat.

She’d lied.

That was no big surprise, I realized.She had only changed the year of birth by one and had made herself seventeen.Seventeen is a magical age, even for cops.People don’t expect the same level of adult responsibility as an eighteen year old on some things, but on others, we figure it’s close enough.A seventeen year old out at two in the morning is not going to get hauled in, not if there isn’t anything else to hold her on.And based on Hiero’s FI, there wasn’t.Just his suspicions.I’m sure he told her to get lost or he’d arrest her, and she probably believed him and left for the night.He probably didn’t want to get hung up dealing with a juvenile for several hours.Especially not a seventeen year old who was practically an adult.

And Kris Sinderling…well, she had something about her, didn’t she?Something that would say, “Hey Mr. Policeman, I know I’m only seventeen, but I look twenty-three, don’t I?You don’t need to worry about me.I can definitely take care of myself.And maybe take care of you…?”

I forced the image from my mind and slammed the thin file shut.

“You okay, hon?”

Phyllis stood next to my table, a pot of coffee in her hand.Genuine concern was on her face.

I put my hand over the top of my cup.“Fine.”

She shook her head.“I don’t mean the coffee.I mean you.Are you okay?”

I didn’t have an answer for her, so I pulled out two five dollar bills and dropped them on the table.

“You’ll need some change,” Phyllis told me as I slid out of the booth.

“Nope,” I said, folding the file Katie had given me and sliding it into my jacket sleeve.“That’s for you.”

Phyllisgave me an enthusiastic thanks.I nodded that I heard her and left the diner.