“This explains so much!” Jo said.
“Doesn’t it, though?” She extended her hand toward Jo. “I’m Lenora Rhodes from Children and Family Services.” Jo and Gabe shook her hand. “I’ve been assigned the impossible task of getting Ursa to tell me what happened the night she ran away.”
“She won’t tell you anything?” Jo asked.
Lenora pulled a chair out and set it in front of them. “She says she’ll only tell you, Jo. For five days we’ve tried, and she says it has to be you.”
“Smart,” Gabe said.
“I’m about to tear my hair out, she’s so smart,” Lenora said. “I’m going to tell you what I know in exchange for your help.”
“Does she have family?” Jo asked.
“Her only known living relatives are a drug-addicted grandmother who lives in a trailer and a grandfather with Alzheimer’s who’s living in a senior home. She also has an uncle whose whereabouts are unknown because he’s wanted by the police.”
“If she has nowhere to go, I’d like to apply to be her foster parent.”
“Slow down. Let’s take it a step at a time. Will you agree to talk to her?”
“Of course. Do you know what happened to her parents?”
Lenora looked around to make sure no one was listening. She leaned forward in her chair. “We know all about her parents. They both grew up in Paducah, Kentucky. Ursa probably got her smarts from her father, Dylan Dupree. He was on a great trajectory, one of those kids who succeeds at everything—until he fell for Portia Wilkins his sophomore year. Somehow, one of the smartest students at that high school got involved with one of the most troubled. Portia was a real looker—maybe that’s how it happened.”
“Or she was as smart as he was, and that attracted him,” Jo said. “Lots of smart kids get into trouble.”
“True,” Lenora said. “Whatever the reason, everything went downhill for Dylan when he started seeing Portia. He got into drugs and alcohol, his grades dropped, and he was often in trouble. The summer between junior and senior year, Portia got pregnant. When both families refused to support their decision to keep the baby, Dylan and Portia ran away. They hitchhiked their way out of Kentucky and ended up in Effingham, Illinois.”
“Did they get married?” Jo asked.
“They did, but not until after Ursa was born. Portia was waitressing, and Dylan worked with a contractor. By the time Ursa was two, their combined income was high enough to move into a decent apartment. There are no arrest records during that time, but we believe Dylan and Portia were using drugs and alcohol regularly.”
“Why do you think that?” Jo asked.
“Because Dylan drowned, and they found heavy drugs in his system. That was when Ursa was five.”
“Poor Ursa,” Gabe said.
“Friends who were at the lake verified he was high when he went in to swim. Ursa was on shore with her mother, who also was intoxicated.”
Lenora stopped talking when a couple stepped out of the elevator. She waited until they went through the ICU doors before continuing. “Dylan was the glue in the family, and when he died, everything came unstuck. During the next three years, Portia was constantly in trouble. She was fired from several waitressing jobs, arrested on a drug misdemeanor, and investigated for writing bad checks. She also lost her driver’s license after getting a DUI. When Ursa was in second grade, her school had Portia investigated for child neglect. Ursa was showing up to school in dirty clothing, and more than once she was found wandering the grounds long after school was over. Her behavior became increasingly odd—”
“Smart kids are often considered odd,” Jo said.
“They took that into account. But she disrupted class often. She would read things backward obsessively and raise her hand to tell wild stories to the teacher.”
“She was bored,” Gabe said. “Can you imagine what a second-grade curriculum would be like for a person with an IQ like that?”
Lenora smiled. “I love how you two defend her. But when a child is acting out like that, it’s usually a sign of a stressful home situation. During the home investigation, the social workers got the impression that Ursa basically took care of herself. She knew how to cook easy things like macaroni and cheese, and she did her homework, got ready for school, and went to the bus stop without any help. Her clothes were dirty because she couldn’t get to the Laundromat by herself. After Dylan died, Portia had to move to a dirt-cheap apartment that had no washer or dryer.”
“Did the social workers consider taking her away from her mother?” Jo asked.
“It has to be really bad for that to happen. They decided what was going on wasn’t that atypical for a child with a single mother. What they didn’t know was that Ursa lied when they asked if her mother used drugs and alcohol. Portia’s drug habit had gotten so bad that she was prostituting herself to get money to pay for it. She was a waitress at a bar-restaurant—”
“What was it called—the restaurant?” Jo asked.
“It’s not the place you stopped the night of the shooting.”
“You know about that?”
“I know about everything,” Lenora said. “We think Ursa had been to that restaurant before, but not because her mother had worked there. The last place Portia worked was a rough spot where she found men who would help her support her drug habit. Because she didn’t have a driver’s license, a friend who waitressed with her often drove her to and from work. One day in June, she went to pick up Portia at her apartment and got no answer. When Portia didn’t show up to work for two days, the friend convinced Portia’s landlord to let her look in the apartment. Inside they found a note on the refrigerator that said she and a friend had taken Ursa to Wisconsin for a vacation.”
“That was after school had ended?” Jo asked.
“Yes, Ursa was out of school. But Portia’s friend knew of no friend who would drive them to Wisconsin. She also knew Portia and Ursa wouldn’t leave behind their clothing. For a week she pestered the police, but when they finally started asking her questions, she suddenly backed off. She got scared because she also was a drug user and prostitute. The police pretty much dropped it after that.”
“When a little girl’s life was at stake?” Jo said.
“They had no leads, and the mother left a note. And by the second week, they had no evidence to search because Portia’s landlord dumped all her belongings and cleaned the apartment for new renters. Portia hadn’t paid rent for two months.”
“The police shouldn’t have let the landlord do that,” Jo said.
“They realized that two weeks ago when Portia’s body was found in a borrow pit.”
“Jesus,” Gabe said.
“Do they know how she died?” Jo said.
“The body was decomposed, but there’s evidence of trauma on the right side of the skull. Decomposition matched the date she went missing. She probably died the night of June sixth.”
“And Ursa showed up in my front yard on June seventh,” Jo said.
Lenora nodded. “And a week ago you stopped in Effingham for dinner and noticed Ursa seemed afraid of a man. Possibly that man called two men who followed you home. You told the police Ursa said They’ll kill you, too just before the men started shooting.”
“Those men murdered Portia,” Gabe said.
“Probably,” Lenora said, “and we think Ursa saw it happen.”
“Why is Ursa being guarded if the presumed murderers are dead?” Jo asked.
“Who knows if only those two were involved? Maybe the man on the phone at the restaurant took part in the murder. We think Ursa knows who that man is and what happened the night her mother died.” Lenora leaned toward Jo. “To get that story, we need your help.”
“When?”
“Today. Her safety is up to you, Joanna. You have to make her talk.”
33
The ICU gatekeepers opened their doors to the two rogues in their waiting room. But there were rules. They couldn’t discuss what happened the night Ursa’s mother died until Detective Kellen and Deputy McNabb arrived. Ursa’s statement had to be witnessed by law enforcement to make sure she wasn’t coerced. And Jo and Gabe couldn’t tell Ursa they knew anything about her background. Most importantly, they couldn’t reveal that her mother’s body had been found. Lenora said knowing that might alter how Ursa told her story.
As Jo approached the ICU central desk on her crutches, a silvery balloon caught her eye. It was tied to a stuffed tabby kitten. Jo veered away from Lenora Rhodes and Gabe.
“Jo, what are you doing?” Gabe said.
She had to go behind the desk to reach the gifts.
“You aren’t allowed back here,” a man said. “Ma’am . . .”
Jo rested one crutch on her body, grabbed the tabby kitten, and faced the indignant staff. “Why wasn’t this given to Ursa?”
No one answered.
“Do you see this note? It clearly says her name. This would have meant a lot to her, and it’s been sitting out here for a week.” Jo looked around at them. “Why would you keep this from a sick little girl who needs it?”