SK01 - Waist Deep by Frank Zafiro Page A

But she was still a sixteen - year - old girl out at—
    My finger traced the typed entry and found the time.
    0213 hrs.
    Jesus. How do you not do something about a sixteen -y ear - old girl out on East Sprague at two in the morning?
    I turned to the next page and saw that Katie had pulled a copy of the FI. I read through it.
     
Subject contacted Sprague/ Smith with known prost itute (street name Rhonda, see other FI) . Dressed provocatively . Claimed to be waiting for bus , but busses no longer running. Offered her a ride home or to safe location. Subject refused. Denied being engaged in prostitution. Name check clear . Known pimp, R olo, spotted one block away, across the street.
     
    How many FI’s had I written just like that when I was on the job ? All it really told me was that she was there and when it had been. And that she appeared to be working as a prostitute. The excuses she had used were amateur and time worn.
    I found the name at the bottom of the page. Officer Paul Hiero.
    I closed my eyes briefly and tried to recall Paul. I remembered that we used to kid him a little about his last name, but that was about all.
    I flipped the FI over and read through the biographical data on Kris Sinderling. She’d given him 329 Poplar in Cheney for an address and a telephone number that wasn’t a Cheney number. All Cheney numbers begin with the prefix 235. I guessed the number she gave to be a cell number. Or one she made up.
    Hiero described her clothing in detail. Short denim skirt. T-shirt tied off and exposing the midriff. Matching black stilettos . Small gold hoop earrings. My eyes flitted over to the MARKINGS/SCAR/TATTOO box and saw it had been filled in.
    “Oh, great,” I muttered again.
    Hiero had drawn a crude North Star compass in the small block and written, “LU thigh, partially obscured.” Kris had a tattoo on her left upper thigh that was only partially visible, even though she wore a short skirt.
    In Washington State, it used to be the law that no minor could be tattooed without parental consent. Body piercings a nd tattoos were rampant among kids today and unscrupulous businesses took advantage of that.
    I drank my coffee and shook my head. What had happened to her?
    Hiero had let a sixteen - year - old girl stay out on the streets. What was he thinking? On top of that, some maggot tattoo hack had been more than happy to tattoo her upper thigh.
    My stomach churned. I pushed the coffee away.
    The last piece of paper was a square yellow post-it note. Kat i e had written, “Check her DOB?” on it.
    I flipped back to the computer entry and read Kris’s date of birth.
    January 18, 1987.
    I checked Hiero’s FI. The same birth date was listed there.
    I sat back in my booth seat.
    She’d lied.
    That was no big surprise, I realized. She had only changed the year of birth by one and had made herself seventeen. Seventeen is a magical age, even for cops. People don’t expect the same level of adult responsibility as an eighteen year old on some things, but on others, we figure it’s close enough. A seventeen year old out at two in the morning is not going to get hauled in, not if there isn’t anything else to hold her on. And based on Hiero’s FI, there wasn’t. Just his suspicions. I’m sure he told her to get lost or he’d arrest her, and she probably believed him and left for the night. He probably didn’t want to get hung up dealing with a juvenile for several hours. Especially not a seventeen year old who was practically an adult.
    And Kris Sinderling…well, she had something about her, didn’t she? Something that would say, “Hey Mr. Policeman, I know I’m only seventeen, but I look twenty-three, don’t I? You don’t need to worry about me. I can definitely take care of myself. And maybe take care of you…?”
    I forced the image from my mind and slammed the thin file shut.
    “You okay, hon?”
    Phyllis stood next to my table, a pot of coffee in her hand. Genuine concern was on her