Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Lennon went to her email, clicked on the message from Jamal, and brought up the video. The screen filled with a view of the couch she’d stood in front of earlier today, only this time there was a young woman wearing a pair of shorts curled up in much the same position Lennon was sitting in now.
Lennon hit play and sat eating the rest of her dinner as Jamal asked Cherish questions about her childhood, the food seeming to curdle in her stomach as she listened to the young woman’s story.
Lennon set the mostly empty box on the coffee table, stretched her legs, and brought the computer onto her lap so she had an even more up-close view of the screen. Speaking of the walking wounded Jamal had referred to earlier. Lennon felt a lump forming in her throat, as if that curdled food might not stay down. To be pimped out by your mother? When you were a kindergartener? How did you ever move past something like that? Maybe the answer was you didn’t—hence following in the woman’s footsteps, creating the same life for yourself you’d been cruelly subjected to before you even knew your ABCs.
Lennon went back to The Fringe’s website and looked at the lists of categories. There were a seemingly endless number of interviews in each list. Prostitutes. Pimps. Addicts—drugs, sex, gambling. Those suffering from mental illness. She did a search for the name Anthony Cruz, and then Tony Cruz, and then simply Cruz, but there was no hit.
Again she perused the lists and lists of people Jamal had interviewed, overwhelmed in the pit of her gut. She was tempted to slam her computer closed. Did she really need to expose herself to more of this when she already dealt with these people every day she was at work? When she was employed, anyway. Wasn’t that enough? She could have an officer or someone else at the station wade through the videos when she got back, cross-checking each one against the photos of the victims from the crime scenes.
Her finger hovered over the X at the top of the screen, but after a moment she blew out a breath and scrolled to the list of videos featuring addicts. She watched a couple of them, hitting pause when she thought she recognized one of the men from the park. A heroin addict named Santiago Garza. She emailed herself the direct link to the video and then scrolled to the next one and watched that. When that one was done, the next one automatically began playing. Lennon sat there watching story after story of trauma and abuse. Ruined lives. Horror spoken of in monotone.
But God, so many of them were also surprisingly funny and sweet and charming. So . . . human. Doing the job she did, it was easy to forget that. When she’d started watching the videos, she’d thought it would be more of what she’d been exposed to as an officer and then an inspector, but it was the opposite. It was a glimpse into the humanity behind the drugs and the sex work. And like Jamal had said, it was a glimpse into the why, even if the what now remained elusive.
Lennon startled and let out a small yelp when her phone rang, bringing her from the harsh world of homelessness and drug abuse back to the safety of her couch. She set her computer aside and reached for her phone, sitting on the coffee table, shocked to see that it was already one in the morning.
It was Tommy’s number.
“Hello.”
“It’s a boy. Nine pounds even. All ten fingers and ten toes, and he looks like his mother, thank God.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Oh my gosh. A boy. Congratulations. How’s Sam?” A tear spilled out of her eye and tracked down her cheek, and she brushed it away, embarrassed, as though he could see her.
“She’s amazing. They both are.”
“What’s his name?”
“Beau Thomas.”
“Beau. Oh, I love it. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“We should be home tomorrow afternoon. No complications, so they’re booting us out. Come over anytime.”
“Okay. I will. How about this weekend? Tommy, hug Sam for me and kiss that baby. Hold him tight.” She pulled in a small sniffle.
“I will. Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I’m just happy for you. And for him. He’s got the best parents.”
“Thanks, partner. See you this weekend.”
“Bye, Tommy.”
She hung up and sat clutching her phone, a tidal wave rising inside. Her phone beeped with a text coming through, and when she looked down at it, she saw a photo of a tired but beaming Sam, a grinning Tommy, and a swaddled infant cradled in his mother’s arms. Another one came through right after, a close-up of Beau.
Brand new. Perfect in every way.
The wave of emotion crashed over her, and she dropped her phone, bringing her hands to her face as a sob broke from her mouth.