Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Better Days

Reston, VA - Sunnyvale Recreation Park – Soccer Field

Tuesday, 15 March – 09:16 AM

FBI Special Agent Charley Faraday steered her black Yukon Denali into the Sunnyvale parking lot adjacent to the swimming pool and parked.

The ignition keys snug in her pocket she gripped the steering wheel and pressed her body into the seat, closing her eyes. A resigned breath escaped her mouth. She removed her tablet from the buckskin satchel tossed on the passenger side.

With her free hand, she tapped an icon to open the initial crime report. Outside the driver’s window, investigators and forensics technicians scurried about prepping the cordoned area. A large, white protective tent obscured the body of Robin Senters and sealed the crime scene radius. The view of the pool through the windshield unnerved Charley, sending tingles up her spine. An eight-foot chain-link fence surrounded the compound, butting against each side of the bathhouse. A slight breeze swirled brittle leaves across the tarp-covered pool toward a padlocked gate.

Charley returned her attention to the screen. Robin Senters, age ten, abducted from Laurel View Elementary School the evening of Tuesday, March 1st while at play rehearsal.
I was in Colorado.
The victim asked for permission to use the restroom. She never returned. After a frantic search, the girl’s aunt, Emma Gibson, present at the school, notified police and called Robin’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Senters were at an area hospital, where Bonnie, Robin’s mother, was in labor with her second child.

Her attention returned to the diving board, talking to herself to place everything into perspective. “The victim left no trace? Children are packrats. They stuff crap in their pockets. I did. Still do.”

One hundred and fifty yards away, in the midst of the busy scene, she spotted Doobie standing beside a tall, dark-haired man. She canted her head, the bridge of her nose crinkled.
Cameras
.
Schools have twenty-four-hour feeds.
Her finger swiped the screen to the next page of the report to find the answer.
Disconnected the week of Robin’s kidnapping due to a security system upgrade. Hmm. Anybody could’ve entered the building during rehearsal.
“That isn’t helpful.” Charley swiped the screen again to continue her search. Justin Wilkerson, a sixth grader, discovered the body while walking to school around seven-thirty in the morning. She twiddled her fingers on the screen.
I want to talk to him. Poor kid, he has to be terrified. I must talk to him. Won’t be easy. Kids are… unique, tough to interview.

Charley slipped the tablet into the side pocket of her black cargo pants. She opened the vehicle door, hopped out, and closed it. Two hours had passed since—. Charley placed her hands over her ears to drown out the fluster in her head.
Stop
. Her eyes watered, blurring the scene before her. After wiping them with her fingers, she spotted Supervisory Special Agent Simon ‘Doobie’ Dubuclet conversing with the unfamiliar man across from the mobile forensics lab.

A Louisiana native of Cajun decent, Doobie, oxen strong, had the heart of an angel. Appointed the director of a specialized team of agents from the Criminal Investigative Division, he handpicked them to join him at a satellite facility in Arlington. Fair and straightforward, he accepted no nonsense from anyone, with one exception, Charley.

She tilted her head. The unknown man in a charcoal suit stood over six feet tall with broad shoulders. She trekked behind them and tapped Doobie’s shoulder. “What’s the lowdown?”

Doobie spun around and faced her. “Glad you’re back, Char. Your profiling—”

“Behavioral Analysis,” she corrected.

“Eh… skills will be necessary on this one. It’s all kinds of weird.” Doobie flipped his hand. “Old school, my dear.”

Charley grinned.

The dark-haired man turned around, glanced at her, switching his gaze to Doobie. “Hmm.”

Charley’s eyes widened, fixing on a pair of familiar azure eyes.

“Uh, sorry.” Doobie pointed at the man beside him. “This is Agent Sean Murphy. New to the FBI and my team. He joins us from—”

Charley held her palm to Doobie’s face, maintaining her steely glare at Murphy. “We’ve met.”

“When?”

“Later.” Charley flicked her hand. “Let’s grab the protective gear and enter the tent.”

Once inside the enclosure Charley glanced at the sheeted body.

Doobie fiddled with his FBI badge attached to his waistband. “The evening she disappeared the school went into immediate lockdown.”

Charley circled the body. “What did the witnesses say?”

“No one saw the victim after she left the auditorium to use the restroom.”

“Were all the doors secure during rehearsal?”

“Anyone can leave the school from any exit, but the main door is accessible.” Doobie pointed towards the elementary school, two hundred yards to the west. “During school hours visitors must be buzzed in from the admin office. The night the victim went missing a doorstop kept the lobby door ajar.”

“Is that common during night activities?”

“Yep.”

The forensic technicians’ activity increased around the victim, gathering physical evidence. Several pieces of equipment, including trace and blood collection kits, sat on the dormant grass. Charley scouted for blood, finding none. “The little boy who found the body, Justin Wilkerson. Where is he?”

“He’s with the guidance counselor. Poor kid’s traumatized.”

“Has anyone talked to him?”

Doobie shook his head. “We’re waiting for his parents to arrive.”

“Who’ll question him?”

“Agents Gallaher and Steiner.”

Concern flooded Charley’s face. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s twelve, Doobie. My guess, he’s in shock. He found a dead body of a little girl who might be a friend. You’re putting two male Feds on him. Let’s not intimidate him.”

Doobie shuffled his foot. “You’re right. I’ll recall Gallaher and Steiner. You interview him.”

“Thanks.” Charley nodded. “Appreciate it. Have the victim’s parents been notified their daughter has been found?”

“Yes.”

“Good. What’s the guidance counselor’s name?”

Doobie tapped his forehead with his fingers. “Damn.” He dug into his suitcoat pocket and removed his trusty mini-notepad. “Uhm, Jessica Cooper.”

“When will Justin’s parents arrive?”

“An hour or so.”

Charley shifted her attention to Murphy. “Who called the authorities?”

He pointed to his chest. “Are you asking me?”

“No, I’m talking to the ghost standing next to you.”

“The principal, Thomas Thurgood.”

“Char, take Murphy with you when you speak to the Wilkerson kid.”

Charley crossed her arms, browsing Murphy head to toe. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Murphy leaned into the conversation. “Yeah, why not?”

“You’re a mammoth. You may frighten him. You’re tall and… and… physically intimidating.”

Murphy stood firm. “If both of us go, he’ll trust you, because you’re a woman, and he’ll assume I’ll protect him. It’s all in the way I present myself. I’ll make sure he feels safe.”

“Have you interviewed children in the past?”

He crammed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”

Charley gazed at the body. “I want to review the crime scene first.”

“Better not.” Doobie crossed his arms over his chest. “Carmichael will blow a gasket if he suspects any tampering.”

Charley shrugged. “I’ll look, not touch.”

“It’s your head.”

“Carmichael likes my noggin.” She twirled her finger at the corpse. “Doobie, what are the things circling the victim beneath the sheet?”

“Candles.” Alerted by a rumbling voice outside the tent, Doobie leaned toward the flap.

A short, pudgy man dressed in black coveralls stood before them. Medical Examiner Dr. Ansel Carmichael stepped to the side of the victim. Dark, caterpillar eyebrows topped his Ben Franklin eyeglasses. With a deep sigh, he ran his hand over his mouth. He stooped, placing the examiner’s bag on the ground. A mane of thick, white, wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail draped over his shoulder. “Good morning, Dr. Faraday.”

Dimples appeared with Charley’s warm smile. “Good morning, Ansel.”

After he studied the white sheet, Carmichael shifted back, pursing his mouth, and gazed at Murphy. “Who are you?”

Murphy extended his hand. “I’m Special Agent Sean Murphy. I’m new to Agent Dubuclet’s staff.”

Carmichael accepted the handshake. “I heard a green beanie would join us soon. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Murphy said.

As the technicians stepped towards Carmichael, he pointed towards the victim. “Remove the sheet. Let’s see what’s here.”

They lifted the sheet upward careful not to disturb the evidence surrounding the victim, stepped away, and folded it.

The victim’s copper curls shrouded her narrow shoulders. Freckles sprinkled her cheeks. Above her left ear, a velvet daffodil-yellow bow. Under her head, a pillow made from dried leaves clung to her hair. Clothed in a knee-length blue dress, gathered at the waist, the frock had a starched white pilgrim’s collar. White ankle socks and sneakers with blue silk ribbon covered her feet.

“Oh, man.” Charley’s face animated with interest. “Is this sacrificial symbolism or what?”

“You tell us.” Doobie’s inquiring eyes pled for help. “You’re the expert profiler.”

Charley squinted. “Behavioral analyst.”

Carmichael pushed his eyeglasses to the bridge of his nose. “Elaborate. We need to remove the candles so we can examine the body.”

Charley bent over, taking a candle embedded in the ground. “Hang on, I want to check them. Nine, the number means something to the perpetrator.” Careful to avoid contamination, she wafted her hand to direct the scent towards her nose. “Pungent, yet a rich, woody odor.”

“That matters because?” Murphy stepped next to her to catch the fragrance.

Charley lifted the candle to Murphy’s nose. “Patchouli, reduces anxiety and emotional stress. They’re white signifying health, purity, truth, and cleansing.”

Carmichael extracted the remaining candles, placing them inside individual evidence bags. Peering at Charley, he said, “What do you make of them?”

“I’m not sure. The candles are identifiers. He’s honoring something. Maybe the victim. What else comes to mind? What’s here? What does it tell us?”

“Where he abducted her and left her are within two hundred yards of each other.” Murphy tapped his upper lip. “He brought her home.”

“Humph, he brought her home.” Charley nodded. “I like that. How’s this? He wanted her found fast. He didn’t want her laying out here for days, so he dumps her in the path of children walking to school. This isn’t a crime laced with hate. The motive is beyond her.”

“Degenerate. Leave this poor baby out here for other kiddos to find. I hope he ends up on my autopsy slab real soon.” Carmichael gritted his teeth.

Charley nodded. “I’ll see if I can make your dream come true.”

Murphy eased forward. “My 870 will do the trick. This piece of garbage wanted her found by her friends. That’s cruel.”

“I didn’t say he’s a sweetheart.”

“What else?” Doobie said.

Charley scanned the group. “Anyone have a ruler?”

Carmichael removed a ruler from the medical bag and handed it to her. Charley placed it next to the candle. “Ten inches.” She returned it and the candle to Carmichael.

“They burned for two to three hours. He spent time with her after placement.” Charley chewed her lip. “A sacrament, liturgy. Possible religious undertones.”

Murphy tilted his head. “How do you know how long they burned?”

“I worked at a candle store during high school. Spend enough time with something, you know. The candles placed around the body are about ten inches long. Before burning, they were twelve-inch tapers. The burn rate is a little more than an inch per hour, depending on the quality of the wax.”

Murphy followed along beside Charley as she circled the body.

Doobie presented his hands. “So, the victim’s placement is symbolic?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s wrap this up, so I can get her to the morgue.” Carmichael knelt next to the body as Charley and Murphy took their places on the opposite side. “Rigor tells me she’s been dead less than twelve hours. Let’s narrow it down.” He retrieved a thermometer from his black bag and determined the body core temperature. “She left this world around ten hours ago.” The thermometer returned to the bag he shook his head. “Wasn’t it precious of the asshole to place her on a flannel blanket? It’s even green.”

Murphy glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s eleven-thirty, so she died around one-thirty this morning.”

Carmichael pinned his hands under the victim to turn her onto her side.

“Ansel, wait. Roll her back towards you.” From under the folds of the dress, Charley made a discovery. “Look at this.” She indicated a dried marigold. Further inspection revealed debris on the dress and the victim’s palm.