38- Vanishing Vagrant.

"This is Harlowe," he said in his typical gruff way as he answered his phone.

"Harlowe, it's Jathem. The vagrant you've been looking for, he's here."

"Dammit, of all the worst times," he grumbled, checking his blind-spot before changing lanes. "I'm about ten minutes out. Do you mind sitting on him until I get there?"

"Will do," Jathem replied before hanging up.

"Change of plans," Harlowe remarked to his passenger, "The clerks going to have to wait. We need to make a stop before this vagrant I've been trying to find slips away again."

"What's his connection to this case?" Folsten asked, now just as curious about what she had heard, as she was about the position, she had found herself in.

"Back when we found that group of five victims, one of them was holding on to pictures of the clerk we were heading to see. It so happened, she was working alone that night, and was the potential witness I sent Mazurka to question. He's had a strange fascination with her ever since an old pal of his, Dylan Kirkwood, showed up. I'm not in the habit of doubting my partner, but I think he's distracted lately and has made connections that aren't there. I want to pick this vagrant up and see for myself who the hell he actually is, and what he's doing at that camp."

"Reasonable enough," she replied as she leaned back in the passenger seat. "Regardless of who he is, being a vagrant would have fit the original profile."

"He's also in his early thirties, male, white, and experienced a life altering event when his fiancée, Francesca Nàdasay, died in a car accident, that despite what the official records say, was entirely his fault."

"Nàdasay; aren't they connected to the Patadime-Chacat family?"

"Yeah, they're one of the older branch families from what I remember. That's why the official records read the way they do. Just another coverup to protect the families good name," he remarked with a sarcastic tone, the entire method of covering up crimes for the sake of maintaining a false sense of prestige, infuriated him at his very core. "The Kirkwood's aren't any better either. The whole lot of them are corrupt in one way or the other. If this really is Dylan, then no one from his family has even filed a missing person report. It all just seems too coincidental. He has money, power, family connections, but he's slumming it at a homeless camp and making friends with a convenience store clerk with a mangled face, instead? He's either hiding from something or someone, or he has completely lost his mind and the families trying to keep it quiet."

"Or this vagrant isn't Dylan Kirkwood at all. He could be a look-a-like, taking on the persona others have given him. When was the last time Mazurka saw him?"

"Nearly a decade from what I understood. Mazurka said something about them losing touch after he joined the academy."

"Then it's possible Mazurka's mistaken about the man's identity. I have a hard time believing that Dylan's family wouldn't know exactly where he is and who he's seeing. Despite how nice this clerk might be, she's from the wrong side of the city for a family like the Kirkwood's to tolerate her having a relationship with their son."

"Ah, can't rationalize the fairytale of the lovestruck couple, where the guy's a spoiled-rich brat of the cities upper echelon and the girl's a suffering damsel, struggling to make ends meet?"

"Hardly. I'm not saying that it can't happen, but I'm saying that it's highly unlikely. At the very least both of the people in your story would have to have a reason to cross paths. In this city, it's nearly impossible for that to happen. No one comes to the Downs without a reason, and usually it's because there's nowhere else for them to go. You have to make a wrong turn or take the wrong exit to end up here. There's no direct route between the new downtown and the Downs because of the river. It's a place you have to get lost to find."

"If you aren't born here, it's the place you come to die," Harlow harrumphed. "My old man used to tell me that, but he hated this whole damned city, so what did he know."

"What about you; do you hate this whole damn city?" Folsten asked with a wistful smile as she stared out the window watching the scenery pass by.

"I don't. I can't figure out how to hate the bricks and mortar, the old-world architecture, the patches of nature, or the pavement beneath my boots. No, I don't hate this city at all. The people in it? That's a different story."

"I'd like to hear that story sometime."

"Of course, you would."

A few minutes later Harlow pulled up behind the black car of Officer Bill Jathem on the side of the street across from the entry into the Caldwell Street Camp. Before he could even unfasten his seatbelt, Folsten was rolling down her window for a concerned looking man.

"Hey, I'm Bill Jathem."

"Detective Hayden Folsten," she replied as he knelt down and looked across to Harlowe.

"I'm glad you made it. Something's going on in there, but I can't tell you what."

"Where is the guy I'm looking for?" Harlowe asked as he looked towards the homeless camp unable to see anything but a small crowd of people from where he was parked.

"He's on the other side of that crowd. He was sitting with Frank and Willy Scarlet, not more than ten minutes ago when the rest started gathering around them. I suspect he's still in there telling stories or something because he hasn't come out yet. Now, I don't want to scare them, so we should walk in casually."

"Actually, it may be best if you let me go in ahead of you," Folsten spoke up as she unfastened her seatbelt. "A female presence is generally perceived as less threatening. If your vagrant does bolt, is there anywhere else he could run besides this way?"

"Out into the yard, but the properties entirely fenced in. He wouldn't be able to climb out before we could reach him. But I would like to avoid that if possible. It's taken me years to get the trust of this community. I'd appreciate it if you didn't ruin it over this one guy when you can't prove he's guilty of anything," Jathem stated as he backed away from the car as Folsten opened the door to get out.

"We'll be as gentle as we can. I promise," Harlowe said with a snicker as he exited the car and headed across the street with Folsten and Jathem jogging behind him.

"Harlowe, wait!" Folsten strained her voice, not wanting to alert anyone to their arrival as she grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. "Look, I know you're in charge, but right now, I need you to listen to me. Rushing in there like an angry bull is going to cause panic. Even if no one's done anything wrong, you're going to terrify them. Now wait here until after I get their attention. Then, follow Jathem's lead. He knows this community and is your best chance to get the answers you want."

"Fine, we'll do this your way," Harlowe reluctantly agreed and watched as Folsten straightened out her jacket and headed towards the crowd who seemed to be talking quietly amongst themselves.

"Excuse me," she said causing those closest to turn in her direction, the rest of the people falling silent.

"It's alright everyone," Frank spoke up, the crowd parting before him. "Let's welcome our guests. Officer Jathem, Detective Harlowe, come and join us, and introduce us to your new comrade."

"Hello again, Frank," Jathem replied with a wave as he and Harlowe stepped up behind Folsten. "This is Detective Hayden Folsten."

"It's nice to meet you," she said with a bow.

"I apologize if we're interrupting, but I happened to spot the young man we were asking about the other day come this way and we we're hoping to have a word with him."

"I see," Frank remarked in a smug fashion as he sat down on the couch and the crowd began to reposition themselves around the camp. "Come, sit, enjoy the fire."

"Where's the kid?" Harlowe questioned abruptly as he looked around not spotting anyone fitting the vagrant's description.

"Really now. Here I am offering you our hospitality and you respond with demands?" Frank shook his head. "I'm afraid Towel isn't here. I delivered your message to him, but he said that if you wanted to speak with him to ask a Detective Yechiel Mazurka to arrange it. And now I have delivered his message to you."

"Where did he go Frank? I saw him here just a few minutes ago."

"I'm sorry Officer Jathem, but he left before you even got out of your car. Had you acted as a friend you may have had the opportunity to speak with him. However, he won't be coming back here anymore. He has found another place to call home."

"Where?" Harlowe questioned, agitated by Frank's easy-going demeanor.

"All he said is that it was a place not far from here."

"Dammit! That little shit's guilty of something, I know it! And when I catch him, you better pray that I don't come back here and nail you with conspiracy for protecting him!" Harlowe shouted as he turned around and marched away. "Folsten, hurry up! He couldn't have gotten far!"

"I'm sorry for the intrusion," Folsten remarked before turning and running to catch up with Harlowe.

Harlowe didn't care about the position he had left Jathem in as he pulled out his keys and unlocked his car, Folsten running past him. Jumping in, he started the engine, made sure the way was clear and spun the car around.

"Dammit! Dammit! That bastard! He has to be around here somewhere! Keep your eyes open. He's a tall, lean looking fellow. Likes to wear a black hoodie," he relayed as he drove down the street and turned onto Caldwell.

"How did he even manage to slip away from here? This place is completely surrounded," Folsten said as she observed the high fences that had been erected around the property of the abandoned school.

"There's probably a back way to slip out, and that crowd was there to block the view of him leaving. Jathem wasn't exactly inconspicuous when he parked directly in front of the open gate!"

"Any idea where he might go?"

"Liebman's is nearby. He had chocolate bar wrappers and packs of mints in his box. Given what Frank said, this has got to be the guy Mazurka said is Kirkwood. He's probably staying with that clerk, Quayleigh… something…" he paused as he tried to remember her name when his phone began to ring. "What do you want Mazurka?!"

"I want you to come back to the station. There's something on the footage from the Schneider crime scene you are going to want to see," Mazurka's voice echoed through the speakers.

Harlowe sneered and gripped his steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. "If it isn't the killer, it can wait!"

"Then, Harlowe, this can't wait!"