《Through a Glass Darkly》 Prologue Prologue Robert Sandifer sprinted down the street, his face bloodied and bruised. Despite this, he wasn¡¯t concerned about his appearance. The only light source was the streetlights, which covered the boy¡¯s face with a yellow-orange glow. To any onlooker, he would appear to be a ghost or even a zombie. They still wouldn''t approach him if they knew what he had just done. He wasn¡¯t aware just how important the girl was. Robert thought it was a simple task only given to lowlife thugs. Scout the girl and reap the profit. How was he to know the damn bitch was the mayor¡¯s daughter. Robert should¡¯ve seen this coming. The whole thing had ¡®setup¡¯ all written over it. He wondered if his boss knew. Was Big Boi, as everyone called him, aware he was sending one of his underlings to the meatgrinder? Occasionally a curtain would open. House occupants would glare outside their window to see what the commotion was about. Realising it was some poor black kid from the ghetto, they quickly closed their curtains in disgust. Robert had already knocked on one door. It was an elderly white man who answered. Robert''s friend once told him you could tell a person¡¯s worth depending on what type of watch they wore. If they wore a Rolex, he remembered his friend saying, they probably are loaded. If they¡¯re wearing one of those cheap Casio watches, they¡¯re not worth the hustle. The man was wearing a polo shirt with his sleeves pulled down, so Robert couldn¡¯t tell if the man was wearing a watch or not. Robert assumed the elderly gentleman was retired. Robert rarely interacted with white folk, so he could only guesstimate. ¡°I¡¯m injured! Can you call 911?¡± the boy asked, somewhat demanding. Another tip his friend gave him was never to contact the cops. His friend would often remark the cops would cause more trouble than it would solve. But everyone was out to get him; Robert felt he had no choice. The man stared at the boy momentarily, probably trying to comprehend the boy¡¯s request. Instead of answering Robert¡¯s call for help, the man gave a scornful look before closing the door without saying a single word. Robert didn¡¯t bother knocking on any other doors. A rich neighbourhood probably wasn¡¯t the safest place for a black kid to be. Robert had heard all the stories. It wasn¡¯t just cops, but ordinary white citizens, that would shoot black kids ¨C it didn¡¯t matter if they were armed or unarmed. People like them saw kids like Robert as vermin. For a moment, Robert felt as if he was the baby Jesus, desperate to find shelter. He wanted to find somewhere to hide but felt rejected and alone. Except this wasn¡¯t Bethlehem, nor was Robert innocent. As Robert fled down the winding streets, he noticed a phone booth. Perhaps he could call a friend? ¡°Eh¡­ sup,¡± Robert spoke into the payphone. He leant up the phone booth¡¯s glass walls trying not to seem suspicious. ¡°Bro!¡± a voice boomed out ¨C this almost caused Robert to fall over. ¡°Where the fuck are you, Yummy?¡± Robert was unsure how to answer. He knew he couldn¡¯t exactly tell his friend where he was. He wasn¡¯t sure exactly who was trying to find him. He wasn¡¯t sure if he could trust his friend. After all, his friend was another gang member. ¡°I was coming back from Geeves,¡± Robert lied. Geeves lived on the other side of the city. It was unlikely anyone from the gang had contacted Geeves yet. ¡°Not been doing much.¡± ¡°Well, whatever the fuck you¡¯ve been, you need to get back here now!¡± his friend continued. ¡°Big Boi¡¯s been ranting about you for the past hour or so! Why did you go radio silent anyway.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Robert refused to answer. He felt a sickening feeling in his gut. They all knew. ¡°What¡¯s he saying?¡± ¡°Nothing good!¡± his friend¡¯s voice still booming. Robert wondered if there was something wrong with the phone. This is what happens when you use a public phone booth. ¡°He knows about the girl! And what you did!¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t me,¡± Robert pleaded. ¡°God dammit! How the fuck should I¡¯ve known she¡¯s the mayor¡¯s daughter?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter!¡± the voice spat out. ¡°The cops are on to all of us, because of what you did! We¡¯re all fucking dead!¡± Robert ended the call. He couldn¡¯t stomach listening to more of the conversation. There was no point contacting the police anymore, they were going to kill him on sight no matter what. Maybe it was the paranoia kicking in, but Robert didn¡¯t know who or where else to go. He had no one he could trust. Not even his family, who had ditched him after he was caught dealing drugs. ¡°I¡¯m dead!¡± Robert thought to himself. ¡°I am fucking dead!¡± If the police didn¡¯t catch him, his former friends would. There was someone else whom he feared, but he dared not say her name. Robert found an under-path, which crossed under the highway. Hopefully, he would be safe now, Robert thought. He stopped to get his breath back. His heart felt like it was beating at the speed of light. He crouched down a searched his backpack. The gun he had used was still there. He knew very well leaving a weapon at a crime scene was a big mistake, but now he didn¡¯t know how to get rid of the weapon. Perhaps dump it into a nearby lake or something. Surely the police wouldn¡¯t look there. He quickly found a bottle of water, which he opened and began drinking. The bottle was an old Coke bottle Robert had reused countless times ¨C homeless kids didn¡¯t have the luxury of having anything new and fancy. Most kids in his situation would prefer booze, but Robert knew he needed a clear head. As he was heavily breathing, Robert noticed a shadowy figure encroaching towards him. Robert puzzled. The figure seemed to appear out of thin air. It was a tall and skinny man, wearing an all-black coat, which went down to his feet. Robert glanced at the figure again. The figure¡¯s black coat seemed to wave around like shadowy curtains. The thing didn¡¯t seem to have feet. It simply glided as if the ground was like clouds. Robert noticed the weapon in the figure''s hand. It was something Robert had only seen in a children¡¯s book. A scythe? Robert had prayed to Bloody Mary before, but he never thought she would answer his prayer. Was this an angel of death arriving to save him? The figure was moving closer and closer towards him, so Robert stood up. The thing didn¡¯t seem to be preparing to attack. Whatever light entered the under-path suddenly disappeared, as a shadowy mist engulfed Robert. It was only him and the mysterious cloaked figure. ¡°You¡¯ve¡­ er¡­ come to save me?¡± the boy asked, now sounding timid. He tried to sound tough as he would usually do in front of another gang member. But Robert sensed an overwhelming feeling of dread. He could feel an indescribable evilness. Robert remembered his mother telling him how the wicked were punished, and how good people were rewarded. Robert used to scoff at this notion. There¡¯s no such thing as good and evil, he used to think, only human nature. He may have killed the mayor¡¯s daughter, but that wasn¡¯t necessarily evil. Robert was just doing as instructed. Besides a fallout with the law, Robert wouldn¡¯t suffer eternal damnation. The figure drew closer. Robert could now see in the hooded man¡¯s veil of darkness. To his surprise, Robert looked at the eyeless face of a human skull. The bone seemed brittle and pale. Robert might look like death, but this indeed was Death. ¡°You¡¯re here to rescue me, right?¡± The figure didn¡¯t respond. Robert¡¯s knees began shaking. He tried to remain on his feet, but eventually, the struggle was too unbearable. Robert collapsed to the ground, falling to his knees. The glass bottle he was holding dropped to the concrete, breaking into many jagged shards. He looked up at Death, his hand begging for forgiveness. ¡°Please¡­¡± he continued. ¡°Not now. Not today.¡± Surely Bloody Mary had sent him. If not her, who? Death lifted his scythe. He positioned it around Robert¡¯s head. For one moment, Robert''s entire life seemed to pass him. Every mistake he had made. All the regrets he held. If he had to relive this¡­ do this all over again¡­, would he make the same mistakes? Robert wished he hadn¡¯t fallen into the wrong crowd. With one sweep of the scythe, Death sliced the boy¡¯s head off cleanly. Robert only had a few seconds left to live. His head lying sideways on the hard concrete, Robert saw Death mount a pale horse, before riding into a shadowy nothing. Suddenly, all went dark. Chapter 1 Chapter 1 Travis Jackson was sharply awakened by the sound of the buzzing alarm. It was 3 am. He¡¯d never got used to being woken at such God-awful hours of the night. He initially stuffed his head face-first back into his pillow, hoping it was all a dream. The alarm kept buzzing. Travis was sure he¡¯d told his co-workers to only call him in the middle of the night if there was an emergency. This better be worth it. With a forceful thump, he hit the clock. Wiping his eyes, Travis got out of bed. He¡¯d only recently moved into the two-room apartment; one room for a kitchen and a couch, and another room for his bed. The divorce papers were yet to arrive, and Travis was unsure what his wife (or soon-to-be ex-wife) was planning to do with their old house. Travis had spent the past five years saving up for a house and to start a family, only for the person he thought was the love of his life to walk out on him. The situation was more like, she walked out on him and then returned home with a new boyfriend and kicked him to the curve. He kept asking himself what he did wrong. There were no answers. Travis quickly glanced at his pager. The message simply read: ¡°16-year-old male, decease. Possible homicide. Gunshot to the head.¡± ¡°Fuck¡­¡± Travis said, lingering. Gang warfare was a common occurrence. Politicians kept saying they were going to solve the problem, but nothing ever got done. It was people like Travis who had to clean the mess, and rarely did they catch the culprit. Some other kid pulling the trigger on a so-called friend, Travis presumed. That was how the story usually always ended. The killer would be sent to jail, only to be released a few months later, now more criminally minded. It was a never-ending cycle. Travis got himself cleaned up. He splashed some water over his face, and quickly put on his uniform. He hoped one day to reach a level in the force where he didn¡¯t have to wear a uniform ¨C an undercover cop or one of those fancy CIA detectives you see in those TV shows. Travis hated watching them ¨C they never showed the true unglamorous side of police work. ¡°I will be there soon,¡± Travis typed into his pager. ¡°Give me 10 minutes.¡± More like half an hour. Travis found himself in traffic. The cars lined up as far as the eye could see. Travis couldn¡¯t even use his siren (he kept his police car at the station and drove a beat-up car from the 90s). All he could do was wait and move a few inches per minute. What a fine way to start the day, Travis thought. At around 3.30 am, you¡¯d expect there to be no traffic. But in the Winter City, everything was moving 24/7. The price to pay for the modern world. Travis was surprised no one was ever driven insane while having to wait in a long car queue ¨C although having a cop on the field to sort out any potential homicide could help him get an advancement. Travis arrived at the station at around 4.10 am. Hopefully, the sergeant wouldn¡¯t give him an earworm for arriving late. Luckily his boss didn¡¯t give him a hard time. The sergeant had already heard about the pile-up. According to him, some drunk fool drove into one of the highway¡¯s railings, forcing all other cars to pass through a single lane like an hourglass. Travis didn¡¯t get to see the accident; he got off the highway before where the accident had occurred. After making a cup of coffee, Travis slumped down at his desk. The sergeant had already placed the case file on his desk. Travis carefully read the documents. ¡°Kid tried to kill the mayor¡¯s daughter?¡± Travis said to himself aloud. ¡°Why put an important case on me? Surely there¡¯s someone with more skill?¡± ¡°It¡¯s election year next year,¡± his friend and fellow cop Holden said. ¡°I think the mayor wants to keep this on the lowdown, so to speak. If people found out the mayor couldn¡¯t stop an attack on his own damn daughter, why the fuck would they vote for him again.¡± ¡°Good point,¡± Travis replied. ¡°So, get me right, this kid tried to shoot the mayor¡¯s daughter, and a few hours later was found dead under an underpass?¡± Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Yeah, talk about balls,¡± his friend continued. ¡°So, where¡¯s the body? I mean the kid,¡± Travis asked. ¡°The document doesn¡¯t seem to have the autopsy report yet.¡± ¡°Because it hasn¡¯t been done yet,¡± Holden answered. ¡°Ask the Serge. I think the body is currently in the morgue.¡± Damn! Travis thought. The morgue was on the other side of town. He wasn¡¯t too keen to drive there again. At least this time he could drive one of the police cars. If he came across any traffic, he could at least turn on the siren. Although they were only meant to do that in an emergency, it was a rule that was commonly discarded. ¡°I think I better go see the body,¡± Travis remarked ¡°Get a better picture.¡± ¡°As the Serge if is ok, first,¡± his friend advised. ¡°You know what he can be like.¡± ¡°Sure will.¡± Travis didn¡¯t arrive at the morgue until 5 am. He decided to use the back roads and avoided any arterial roads. Much to Travis¡¯s dismay, the morgue was near his apartment. Why couldn¡¯t they send him straight to the morgue, and not be forced to trek across the city? Travis pondered. Unlike the precept, the morgue was unassuming. It was in the basement of a tower block. Travis bet the tower¡¯s occupants were unaware that a dozen, or so, corpses were being stored underneath them at one given time. It was nothing that Travis would want to think about as he went to bed. No wonder the morgue was kept a secret. It mostly stored the bodies of the homeless, criminals, and the mentally disturbed ¨C sometimes all three at the same time. Travis made his way into a cold and clinical room, the air heavy with the scent of disinfectants. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered violently, casting stark shadows onto the stainless-steel autopsy tables. Travis could hear the constant hum of refrigeration units. Hopefully, they still had the body he was looking for. It was quite common for bodies, especially of poorer people, to disappear. There was an underground body harvesting industry that no one seemed to be bothered cracking down on. Every time Travis brought this issue up to his superiors, they would laugh it off. They would tell him there were bigger fish to fry. Distant echoes of footsteps reverberated down one of the morgue¡¯s hallways. A woman of no more than five feet approached the police officer. Kaley was Travis¡¯s neighbour. Although she didn¡¯t look like it, the older woman spent most of her time prodding corpses. The two never discussed their jobs when encountering each other outside of work. As a matter of fact, Travis barely talked to her at all. ¡°Robert Sandifer,¡± he said simply. Kaley simply nodded her head. ¡°The negro,¡± she replied. Despite being white, he hated hearing their word. Summarizing a person to the colour of their skin was degrading. Travis always told himself whenever he inspected a murder victim that the person was someone¡¯s son or daughter. No matter what caused a person to go down a dark path, someone still loved them. Or so he hoped so. Travis followed Kaley down another corridor. The cold greenish wall tiles seeming absorbed any hint of warmth. The Winter City was cold, but inside the morgue, it was even colder. They soon came to another room, containing several metal drawers stacked up against the wall, each drawer housing the remains of a once-living soul. Kaley directed Travis to the drawer near the end of the room. She opened the drawer ¨C the sound of metal wheels turning created a haunting creaking nose that surely would wake the dead. The body was of a 16-year-old boy. Short scruffy afro. The typical kid Travis would pass on the street and not give a second thought. Although the bodies were usually stripped of any clothing, the boy was still wearing the jacket and jeans he was murdered in. ¡°Shot to the head,¡± Kaley explained. ¡°Shot from the side, execution style. Nothing else to say about it. Victim of gang fighting.¡± Travis stared at the body. Something seemed off. Putting on some gloves, Travis carefully lifted the boy¡¯s chin. ¡°A cut to the throat," he remarked. "Are you sure he was killed by gunshot?" ¡°Positive,¡± Kaley replied. ¡°The killer even left the gun. Sadly, no fingerprints.¡± No fingerprints? Travis thought. ¡°Family come to claim him?¡± Travis asked. Kaley shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ve been told to cremate him tomorrow,¡± she said coldly. ¡°Dumb the ashes in the lake.¡± Quite cruel, Travis thought. He would have at least tried to get in contact with the family. Again, something didn¡¯t seem right. Travis was about to leave when he decided to check the boy¡¯s pocket. To his surprise, he found a letter. ¡°You didn¡¯t check his clothing?¡± he asked the woman. ¡°We¡¯re not some kind of funeral home.¡± Ignoring her remark, Travis open the letter and read it. It appeared to be some sort of suicide note. The note read ¡°Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary. Save me from the wretched world.¡± Travis checked at the bottom of the page. The address of a homeless shelter was printed at the bottom. The boy must have got the paper from there. ¡°I think I¡¯ve got a lead,¡± Travis remarked. ¡°Recognise this place.¡± ¡°Damn trouble I think,¡± Kaley responded. ¡°I¡¯m surprised the mayor hasn¡¯t shut down that place. Cause nothing but troubles. Full of hobos and negros.¡± There was that word again. Travis tried his best to keep his mouth shut. ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°I think I should give this place a visit.¡± Chapter 2 Chapter 2 The Winter City used to have ten homeless shelters, each catering to one of the city¡¯s ten districts. As climate change grew worse, and more people had to seek sanctuary in the cities, homeless shelters became a lifeline for those who couldn¡¯t afford their own accommodations. People of different races or genders would take refuge in the shelters, especially during the winter months when the icy breeze made it nearly impossible to sleep outside. From families to single people, those on the fringe of society flocked to the last glimmer of hope. Over time with budget cuts, and governmental desire to bring cost down, only two shelters remained, one in the city¡¯s northside, while the other was the city¡¯s southern edge. The mayor gave conflicting reasons for closing the shelters. He claimed the council could put the money into more worthy causes ¨C which usually ended up going to the already bloated police force. In another interview, the mayor said it was to tackle the drug epidemic, which he claimed was being fuelled by the presence of homeless shelters. Whilst it was true the shelter did allow drug addicts to sleep there, the shelters had a strict policy of no drugs. Drugs would occasionally be found from time to time, and the volunteers at the shelters were very good at detecting the drugs and confiscating them. Nonetheless, the mayor used this as an excuse to continue closing homeless shelters, forcing more people and families to brave the winter¡¯s frost. Travis knew the real reason for the shelter¡¯s closure. He remembered hearing one of his superiors discuss it once. They probably thought they weren¡¯t being overheard, so Travis guessed he would get in trouble if he mentioned it to anyone else. ¡°The mayor don¡¯t like black people,¡± Travis remembered his fellow police officer saying. ¡°It¡¯s simple as that.¡± ¡°Damn, that can¡¯t be the only reason,¡± the other officer was remembered saying. ¡°You¡¯re telling me the mayor¡¯s only doing this for racist reasons.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not the only reason,¡± the first officer said. ¡°The mayor thinks the budget can go to better things.¡± ¡°Hopefully a new HQ,¡± the other replied. It was true the homeless shelter did cater mainly for people of color, since black people were more likely to suffer from poverty, the shelter was known to have people of other races, including white. The mayor, however, was dead set on his way and didn¡¯t care about the white people he also hurt. To make matters worse, the white people will go along and vote for him for re-election. Travis hated the corruption and felt hopeless that he couldn¡¯t do anything about it. He joined the force to protect and serve, not cover up crimes and write reports. Travis knew his boss had given him the case because he knew Travis might not solve it. Travis was eager to prove his boss wrong. Travis parked his police car in a parking lot a few blocks away from the homeless shelter. Although he could park it out front, Travis had heard of gang members and hooligans purposely damaging police vehicles. At least in the parking lot, his car would be watched. Travis placed a few coins into the toll booth. That would give him at least an hour, Travis guessed. He wasn¡¯t too keen to stay here long. Entering the building it quickly became apparent just how dilapidated the rundown homeless shelter had become. The building¡¯s weathered fa?ade revealed exactly what people thought about the people clinging to the margins of society. The foyer¡¯s walls were once painted with hopeful hues and pastel yellow and blue. The wall¡¯s paint was peeling back revealing harsh cold bricks, revealing the building¡¯s former past as a storage house. The walls not made of brick were revealed to be decaying wood. Behind the front counter was a faded sign saying: ¡°ALL IS WELCOME!¡± The sign was wavering causing the rusted hinges to creak. Travis could feel a sense of despair and thoughtlessness, as a flickering fluorescent light cast uneven shadows on the battle-scarred linoleum floor. A woman sat at the receptionist¡¯s desk. If it wasn¡¯t for her uniform, Travis would have mistaken her for one of the many homeless occupants. Travis walked up to greet the woman, but she seemingly ignored him and instead was transfixed on the magazine she was reading. THE WOMAN¡¯S DAILY. Travis¡¯s wife used to read that. It mostly contained idle gossip about B-list celebrities. Mainly a distraction from our mundane lives, Travis thought. Travis noticed an old used hotel bell, its metal brass slowly fading away. He pressed the button hoping to get the woman¡¯s attention. The disjointed chime caused the woman to stir. She looked other to notice Travis. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Welcome to South District City Mission, how can I help you?¡± she said cheerfully and politely. Travis wondered if there was a tint of fear in her voice. Nothing usually good ever happens whenever the police officer visits a homeless shelter. Quite often it would end in an arrest, and it was common for the person being arrested to be innocent. Travis wished he was one of those detectives that could go undercover, and not wear a uniform ¨C that way people wouldn¡¯t judge him. ¡°I¡¯m working on a case,¡± he explained. ¡°Is it okay if I interview some of the occupants here?¡± The woman¡¯s demeanour quickly changed. ¡°You have a warrant?¡± she asked. ¡°No,¡± Travis replied. ¡°I¡¯m not going to arrest anyone. I¡¯m just here to ask questions.¡± ¡°Ask questions¡­ that¡¯s how it always starts,¡± the woman mumbled under her breath. Travis was unsure if he was meant to hear that or not. ¡°Go ahead. Not like I can stop you.¡± ¡°Did a kid named Robert Sandifer frequent this place?¡± Travis said, holding up the case photo. It was of the boy¡¯s corpse, but it was the best Travis could find. ¡°I assume this Robert here is dead,¡± she remarked. ¡°Sadly, he is,¡± Travis replied. ¡°I¡¯m investigating his murder.¡± The woman¡¯s demeanour changed yet again, probably sensing Travis''s determination for justice. ¡°Robert would occasionally come here, whenever he ran away from home.¡± ¡°Robert had a family?¡± Travis said perplexed. Nothing like that was mentioned in the case file. Travis assumed Robert was one of many orphans in Winter City. Travis wondered if he could track down the family. The reception¡¯s next remark quashed that notion. ¡°Father was gunned down a few years ago,¡± the woman explained. ¡°Last time I checked his mother was found OD¡¯d only a few blocks away from here.¡± ¡°Anyone else who was familiar with Robert?¡± ¡°There¡¯s Andre,¡± the woman said, ¡°but I doubt you¡¯ll get anything from him. The two used to hang out a lot.¡± ¡°Can I talk to Andre?¡± ¡°You can,¡± the woman replied. ¡°Just be gentle on him, okay? And no arrests.¡± ¡°I promise.¡± The woman led Travis down a corridor. He glanced into each room. Every room in the shelter seemed uniform: overcrowded dormitories consisting of old metal-frame bunk beds (at least ten per room ¨C Travis had counted), and storage containers (Travis wondered how safe it was to even keep anything in them). Each bunk bed contained incredibly thin mattresses and only the most meagre-tattered blankets. Entering one of the dormitories, Travis could sense the heaviness in the air. The room felt damp as if there was a leak coming from somewhere. There was a wet patch on the wall, so Travis guessed the dampness came from there. ¡°Andre, someone here wants to talk to you,¡± the woman said, sounding kindly. The Latino boy looked up. The moment he saw Travis he was about to flee. Travis carefully placed his hands on the boy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re not in trouble,¡± Travis tried to assure him. The boy still seemed restless. ¡°I¡¯m told you were friends with Robert.¡± The boy nodded. ¡°I knew him,¡± he replied. ¡°Helped me out, I guess, from time to time. What ¡®bout him?¡± It quickly dawned on Travis that the boy might not know about Robert¡¯s fate. Perhaps it was best not to mention this detail to the boy, Travis thought. ¡°What¡¯s your relationship with him,¡± Travis asked. ¡°Who else associated with him?¡± ¡°We weren¡¯t really friends,¡± the boy explained. ¡°Not like that close. I never met any of his friends. He was always, you know, by himself.¡± Travis wondered if this boy knew anything. He seemed to have only known Robert slightly. Travis was about to talk away when the boy said some peculiar. ¡°He talked about his boss,¡± the boy said, now mumbling more than talking. It appeared he didn¡¯t want to say anything but somehow blurted it out. ¡°La Llorona¡­ I remember him saying once.¡± La Llorona? That was a new name, Travis thought. ¡°Do you know who she is?¡± ¡°Everyone does,¡± the boy continued as if in a trance. ¡°She knows everybody. She has her fingers in everything. La Llorona seeks us kids to be slaves ¨C to join gangs and make us addicted to crack.¡± Everything? Travis had never heard of this woman before. Perhaps a lead, he wondered. The woman sounded like a drug dealer. Travis speculated whether there would be more information on the police¡¯s database. It was worth a check. ¡°Thanks for answering my questions,¡± he told the boy. ¡°I¡¯m not under arrest,¡± Andre seemed perplexed. ¡°I was never going to arrest you,¡± Travis again assured the boy. Feeling somewhat confused at the boy''s remark, Travis left the shelter. He finally had a lead, but he wondered if that was enough. It was time to check the database, Travis decided.