I called Schmitty on my drive back to the office. Adrenaline pumped. I was getting closer, and I had to work to keep my voice steady, staying professional.
“Hey, this is Glass.” I told him Isaac Turner’s story, trying to include every detail. “One of the few cases that we actually have with a solid date of disappearance. The other ones are a total guess. Might give you something to work on with Poles, see if you can figure out where he was on the date Isaac’s brother disappeared. See if he’s got an alibi.”
“Might be a break,” Schmitty said, then sighed. “Wish it wasn’t an inside job.”
“Well,” I said, “that ain’t exactly my problem.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
After a moderately successful morning as a lawyer, I ate lunch at the Northside Roastery and then drove down North Grand and over to the Juvenile Justice Center. The JJC was tucked behind Saint Louis University’s ever-expanding sprawl. On one side, pristine athletic fields. On the other, vacant lots and barbed wire.
From the outside it looked like a worn-down 1970s school, featuring light-tan brick and futuristic curves. The arches were likely intended to mirror the famous Gateway Arch, but these arches weren’t dramatic. They were squat, resulting in a building that looked like it was frowning at you.
Inside, it wasn’t much better. The lighting was dim. The linoleum tiles were chipped at the edges, and everything smelled like cleaning antiseptic.
I went through the metal detectors. As I walked through the security gauntlet, the machine beeped loudly. A beefy private security guard pulled me aside and wanded me. The scanner didn’t like my belt or my shoes, but the security guard didn’t seem to mind.
He patted me on my back. “Good to go.”
The security was lax, but I was wearing a suit and tie, after all.
Judge Danny Bryce’s chambers were on the third floor. I found the elevator with a young mom and kid. She got off on the second floor, and then after another jerk upward, I got off at my stop.
To my left were two courtrooms and four small conference rooms. The hallway expanded into a waiting area, which held a smattering of parents and their delinquent kids.
A sign pointed me in the other direction, and I followed it to a thick wooden door with a series of buttons on the side.
I pressed the button labeled “Hon. Bryce” and waited.
A voice came through the speaker, clouded by static. “Chambers.”
I leaned over. “This is Justin Glass. Here to see Judge Bryce.”
“Yes. Come back.” There was a loud buzz, and then the magnetic locks released the door.
Judge Bryce’s chambers didn’t look like any judicial chambers that I’d ever seen before. There was no ego wall filled with awards, degrees, and certificates. There also weren’t any law books that I could see. Instead, the shelves were filled with children’s toys. Some of them were old, probably played with by the judge himself when he was a kid. Others were new.
By the door, there was a bulletin board filled with the pictures of kids and notes from grateful parents. The rest of the walls were covered with children’s artwork from floor to ceiling. None of it was in a frame. It was hung on the wall with Scotch tape. There was no order. Wherever there was an empty space, a picture covered it.
Judge Bryce smiled. “Like it?”
“I do.” I walked over to the empty chair in front of his desk. “Ever rotate them?”
Bryce nodded. “In the summer, the humidity causes the tape to lose its stickiness.” Judge Bryce looked over at one of the pictures that was crooked and partially folded over. “Like that one.” He pointed. “When it falls, I’ll throw it away and then put a new one up in its place.”
“Ever keep any?”
“I used to keep the ones if they got sent to prison. Thought that somebody had to remember these kids, and it might as well be me.” Judge Bryce’s voice trailed off, and then his face tightened. “But then the stack got too big. Better just to throw them away.”
We worked our way through the juvenile courthouse, starting at the top. Each floor had the same plan. There were two courtrooms per floor, conference rooms, and a secure area for the judges and their chambers. In the far corner of each floor somebody had built bookshelves and filled them with used books in various stages of neglect.
On the main level, Judge Bryce took me toward the back of the building. There was a woman behind a window made of bulletproof glass. He smiled and waved at her. She smiled back.
Then Judge Bryce leaned closer and spoke to her through a small opening. “My friend needs to sign in.”
I signed the clipboard, and a light above a steel door turned on. Judge Bryce opened the door. We walked into a small entryway, and then he let the steel door close behind us. Once it was closed, another light came on above another door, and we were allowed to enter the secure area where juveniles were held while waiting for an initial appearance, trial, or placement out of the home.
“I want to welcome you all to one of ‘America’s Top Ten Places to Work.’” A large, grinning correctional officer approached us with his hands held out wide. “Who’s the Honorable Danny Bryce brought to us today?”
Judge Bryce shook the man’s hand. “This here is Justin Glass. He’s an attorney, and you’ve probably heard of his dad.”
“Of course.” The correctional officer held out his hand, and we greeted each other. Then he gestured to the hallway behind him. “Let me show you around.”
He turned, and we started walking down a hallway with a half dozen doors. “This is our administrative area. We don’t ever have any kids on this floor. All staff. Sometimes a visitor will come through here or a parent visiting their kid. We greet them out here and take them where they’re supposed to go.”
He then walked us to the elevator, continuing to explain the mechanics of housing juvenile delinquents. “One floor down, we got a visiting area for attorneys or family that want to talk with the kids. Above us, we got a floor that has a place for medical, cafeteria, as well as a school and gym. The top two floors contain the pods. Our capacity is about one hundred twenty, but since JDAI, the numbers are way down.”
“JDAI?”
“Juvenile Detention Alternatives Initiative.” Judge Bryce laughed. “One of those wonky programs that we do.”
“But this one actually works, as Judge Bryce is quick to tell anybody who will listen.” The correctional officer put his hands on his hips, goading Judge Bryce to elaborate. “Correct, Your Honor?”
“Correct.” Then Judge Bryce turned to me. “In the past, we were convinced that the Scared Straight approach worked. So we were locking kids up for all sorts of stuff, even a truancy or a petty theft. Then it turned out that Scared Straight was causing serious problems, and the outcomes for kids who spent just one night in jail were horrible. Criminality is like a contagious disease. After JDAI, we don’t do the shock incarcerations any more. Now instead of one hundred twenty kids we have about forty-five on any given day.”