Mickey by Patty Panni

“Who did this to you, Mickey?” Detective Jennifer Ulmstead used her most soothing tone as she talked to the small boy. “Who hurt you?”

Mickey looked away. “I’m not ‘apposed to go in the kitchen at night.” He had a battery of bruising in various shades ranging from black to purple to green. Scars and burns provided a roadmap of injuries on his little body.

“Honey,” Jennifer crouched down, eye-to-eye with the little boy. “Nothing you did could ever warrant these injuries. Somebody’s been hurting you for a long time, haven’t they?” Her job as a child protective investigator was tough; it was always hard to see this kind of pain up close.

Mickey wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Jennifer tried a different tack. “Hey Mickey, are you hungry?” His eyes flashed on hers in response. She would’ve known anyway, because the child was obviously underfed. “How about I go find a snack for you?”

He nodded, and she left him with the nurse. The cafeteria was closed between lunch and dinner, so she was limited to vending machine offerings.

She chose a bag of chips, a candy bar, and a Coke. When she returned, Mickey’s eyes lit up at the snacks in her hands. “I get all of that?” he asked, breaking her heart even more.

“Of course. It’s all for you.”

The little boy tucked in and was munching away when a doctor appeared in the doorway.

“I’ll be right back, honey. I want to talk to the doctor for a minute.” Jennifer stepped outside the room.

The doctor consulted the papers in his hand. “X-rays revealed a history of fractures in his left wrist, right radius, and right cheek, as well as multiple burns in various stages of healing. His rape kit was negative for fluids, but there’s scarring to indicate long-term sexual abuse.”

“So, can you tell how the fractures occurred?”

“The wrist looks like an impact fracture, like he was thrown against something with his wrist taking the brunt of the impact. The radius fracture is a spiral-type break, from someone taking his forearm in both hands and twisting.” He made a wringing motion with his hands. “The cheek fracture is from something small making contact…maybe from someone wearing a ring. Also, I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a history of concussions, but we need imaging to confirm or rule that out.” The doctor ran a hand through his black hair. “Please tell me you’re going to catch the bastard responsible for this.”

“Tell me about the burns.”

“There are two sizes of round burns, most likely from a cigarette and something slightly bigger – maybe a cigar.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “This boy has been used as a punching bag for years. Has he told you who did this to him?”

“Not yet. He gave me his name, that’s it. The nurse said he was left outside the entrance?”

“Yeah, the security guard saw him and brought him inside.” He hesitated. “This little boy has a lot of healing to do…and not just in his body.” He turned to go.

“Doctor, one more question.”

“Yes?”

“How old would you say he is?”

“Best guess…maybe eight or nine.”

Jennifer was shocked. He looked much smaller.

“I know. He’s seriously malnourished.”

Once she finished with the doctor, Jennifer turned back to the boy. “Hey Mickey, who brought you here?”

Having finished the chips, the boy was working on the candy bar. He looked up at Jennifer as if he was considering whether to tell her anything. Apparently, being the bringer of food worked in her favor. He spoke through a mouthful of chocolate, “Unca Matt.”

“Your Uncle Matt brought you to the hospital?”

The boy nodded.

“Does Uncle Matt live with you?”

“Sometimes.”

“You and your mama?”

The boy nodded.

“And he’s the one who hurt you?”

Mickey nodded, this time emphatically.

“Okay, buddy.” Jennifer turned to the nurse who was standing nearby and spoke quietly. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, we’re finished.”

Jennifer helped the boy into clean clothes. The hospital social worker had furnished a new t-shirt, shorts, and undies. They were a little roomy on him, but it was a big improvement over the filthy clothes he’d been wearing. Those clothes were in an evidence bag.

Her captain had texted the name and address of the foster family who was going to take care of Mickey. As she drove, she couldn’t stop thinking about catching the person or persons responsible for this child’s injuries.

“Hey Mickey?”

He looked at her eyes, watching him in the rear view mirror. He was working on some bubble gum she’d given him when they got in the car.

“Where do you live?”

He chewed for a minute, considering the question. “We live over the store. Close to the trains. They sound like ‘WOOO WOOOOOOO’.”

Jennifer chuckled. “They sure do sound like that.” Good. It was something to go on.

The foster family – especially the mom – seemed happy to have Mickey. He settled right in with their son, playing with cars. Jennifer gave them the scant information she had, with a promise to provide more when she could. She left their house, feeling good that Mickey had a safe, caring environment, at least for the time being.

Jennifer drove to the area near the railroad tracks. There were several blocks in proximity to the tracks, some with businesses that looked like they could have living quarters above. She chose the street directly adjacent to the tracks and walked in the first store. She showed the man behind the counter a picture of Mickey and asked if he remembered seeing the boy. No.

She continued to the next business, then the next, with no luck. Then, stopping short, she saw the sign painted on the next window: Matt’s Smoke Shack. The store sold all manner of tobacco and vape products.

With the hair on the back of her neck prickling, she went around back. There were stairs leading up to a second floor door. She walked upstairs and knocked on the door. A very young woman with a black eye came to the door. She looked as though she’d been crying.

Jennifer identified herself and got the woman’s name – Ginger – then asked, “Are you alone? Is there anyone else in this house with you right now?”

“No. I’m alone.” Fresh tears sprung into Ginger’s eyes. “I’m not supposed to answer the door, but I thought maybe…” Her voice trailed off.

“Are you Mickey’s mother?”

Her blue eyes widened. “Yes! Do you have him? Is my boy okay?”

“He’s safe, with a foster family.”

“Thank God! I was so afraid...”

“You were afraid Matt killed him? He hurts you too?”

Ginger nodded and looked away, just like Mickey had done earlier.

“You need to come with me. Once you’re safe, the police will arrest Matt. If I have anything to say about it, he’s not going to be able to hurt you or your son ever again.”

“Thank you,” Ginger sobbed, as she shoved some of their clothes into a backpack. She followed Jennifer out to the car, the first steps into her – and soon, Mickey’s – new life.