Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1) (26 page)

Lucas laughed. “Dad was the CEO, he retired a few years ago. He turned the ice cream business over to us.”

“Us?” Murphy said.

“Me and my wife.”

“Her name?”

“Before we married her name was Jeannie Ainsler,” Lucas said, eyeing Charley.

Charley’s mouth opened with a huge smile. “Jeannie Ainsler?”

“The one and only.” Lucas grinned. “We married when we were twenty.” His eyes darted to Murphy. “Jeannie was cheerleading captain. Who would’ve dreamed I’d end up with her?”

“Jeannie was so pretty, long dark hair to her waist, beautiful blue eyes. Smart too. We had honors classes together.”

“Yeah, but, Charley, none of the gals were ever you.”

Murphy leaned in a little closer. “I gotta hear this.”

Lucas wagged his finger at Charley. “This little lady, the prettiest gal in the school. All of us guys had the super hots for her.”

“Really?” Murphy said.

Charley’s cheeks blazed. “How is Jeannie? I’d love to see her.”

“Man, did I get lucky. Even though we married and had our first child darn quick, she still finished med school at Georgetown.”

“What area of medicine does she practice?”

“She’s a trauma surgeon. Fancy term for she works in the emergency room.”

“I don’t doubt she flew through med school. She was brilliant.”

“I’m proud of her. There’s few who could juggle her responsibilities and still meet all her goals.”

“Please say hello for me.”

“I will.”

“We’re done here. I’ll have Agent Dubuclet contact you to arrange for the investigators to talk with your employees.”

“Hey, whatever you cops need. If I or any of my employees can help, we’re there.”

“We appreciate it.” Murphy gave Charley the side eye.

On his way out the door, Lucas turned and said, “Oh, Charley, how’s your aunt?”

Charley rubbed her mouth with her fingers. “Aunt Bev died a few years ago. Thanks for asking.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I managed.”

Lucas left the interrogation room while Murphy and Charley remained.

“Aunt?” Murphy said.

“Yes”.

“You’ve never mentioned an aunt.”

Charley shrugged.

“That’s my cue to back off, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Class clown, eh? Hard to believe.”

“I was a kid once.”

“What changed?”

“Reality.”

Chapter 30

Quasipsuedo

Burke, VA - Grant Home

Wednesday, 15 June – 4:08 PM

Joseph Grant led Charley and Murphy into a large living room with tan walls and beige Berber carpet. The large bay window emulated a framed painting, showing a perfect view of Rensselaer Park. Children scurried around, playing on the swings, and dipping their toes into the fountain as the water sprayed over them. Charley and Murphy stared out the window, then at each other.

“Yesterday…” Charley shook her head.

“Yeah,” Murphy said.

“Like it never happened.”

To the rear of the home, the large kitchen/dining room featured double French doors to the backyard. On the counter were several prescription bottles.

Two sofas faced one another in the open design living room Charley and Murphy sat across from the Grants. Mrs. Grant clung to her husband, while he caressed her hand. This natural reaction expected, but a recent event proved comfort evolved into a fistfight. Charley and Murphy braced themselves for the possibility of grief-stricken parents turning into pugilists.

“Mr. and Mrs. Grant, Agent Faraday and I thank you for speaking with us. Do either of you object to recording this interview?”

“Please, Agent Murphy, call me Joe.” Mr. Grant placed his arm around his wife, resting his forehead on her hair. “This is my wife, Karen.” His watery red eyes diverted back to them. “Do what you have to do.”

Karen’s soft gray eyes pooled.

“It’s our understanding, Annabelle is a talented pianist?” Charley said.

“She’s a natural,” Joe said, staring at the floor.

Charley leaned forward. “How old was Annabelle when she began her music training?”

“Four.” Karen sniffed, wiping her nose with a tissue. “She played before she could read.”

“At first it was hard. We couldn’t afford a piano, but the neighbor had one. She let Annabelle practice every day, sometimes for hours,” Joe looked left, wiping his eyes.

“A generous neighbor,” Murphy said with an approving smile.

“She was. Mrs. Connors played for her church for over sixty years. One of the last things she did before she died was gift Annabelle her upright piano.” Joe pointed at the Steinway vintage piano.

Charley looked over her right shoulder. “What a fine piece. Those were the warhorses of pianos. 1915?”

“Yes.” Karen said. “You play, Agent Faraday?”

“I don’t have your daughter’s talent,” Charley said, careful to speak of Annabelle in the present tense, not only was it considerate, but it eased emotional trauma and stress.

Karen focused on the piano, and whispered, “Thank you for asking, no one else bothered.”

“You’re welcome.”

Murphy noted Karen appeared distracted. “Some of the questions may seem repetitive, but it gives the two of us a different perspective which can be beneficial.”

“We don’t mind. Ask us anything,” Joe said.

“The two of you were sitting on your front porch while Annabelle played across the street in the park?”

“She went into the grove after the ball for the other children, but she never came out. At first, we weren’t alarmed, but when the ball flew out of the trees, we knew something was wrong. There’s no way she could kick or throw a ball that hard.”

“What did you do next?”

“We dashed over there. Called her name many times, so did everyone else. That’s when panic hit. I called the police,” Karen said.

“How long was it from the time Annabelle went into the trees until you called the police?”

Joe wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Less than five minutes.”

“She loves the gazebo. It’s been there about three months.” Karen wiped the corners of her eyes.

Charley laid her hand on Murphy’s forearm, her cue. “The two of you seem calm.”

The parents regarded each other and gestured in agreement. “Our doctors medicated us to ease our anxiety. Neither of us was doing well.” Joe hugged his wife. “He hospitalized Karen overnight. We arrived home this morning.”

Charley patted Murphy’s forearm once, the signal to continue.

“We should’ve been with her. We knew about the other girls, but as you’ve heard before, we never thought it would happen to Annabelle. She’s such an unassuming child.” Karen lowered her head and whimpered.

“What do you mean unassuming?” Murphy said.

“She’s a quiet, easy going. Annabelle is adopted.”

This detail wasn’t in the case report.

Murphy smiled. “When she was a baby?”

“We adopted her from the state when she was four,” Joe said.

“She was a foster child?”

“Yes, and in the worst way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Annabelle experienced severe physical abuse as a child, sexually molested by her birth mother’s boyfriend. It was horrible. If you want to contact child services, they’ll give you the full story. If you don’t mind, I prefer to not say much more, it hurts too much.” Karen grasped the button-line of her shirt.

Charley covered her mouth swallowing hard as she and Murphy studied Annabelle’s school portraits hanging on the wall.

“I love my little girl.” Tears soaked Joe’s cheeks. “She’s my baby. I look at her and my heart, well, I’m not sure how to explain it. As the old saying goes, my baby girl is the apple of my eye.”

“Good to hear,” Charley said.

“How would Annabelle respond to strangers?” Murphy said.

“She’s leery, due to her history. She has trust issues with adults,” Karen said.

“What about persons of authority?”

“Annabelle wouldn’t fear police officers, firemen, teachers, people she knows,” Joe said.

“How about an ice cream man she doesn’t know?” Murphy said.

Karen shook her head. “She wouldn’t go with anyone she doesn’t know.”

“To clarify, you noticed no one suspicious or didn’t belong in your neighborhood?”

“No. We talked about it a lot and nothing was outta place.”

“May we visit Annabelle’s room? We want to find out who your little girl is and what she loves,” Charley said.

“I can tell you, she loves her daddy.” Karen smiled at Joe. “You’re welcome to visit her room. It’s the second door on the right, past the bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Charley said as she and Murphy stood. “Karen, Joe, you’re welcome to come along.”

“No,” Karen said with a rush of tears. “We don’t want to interfere.”

“If you change your mind, it’s okay,” Murphy said as the two of them sauntered towards the rear of the house.

The first room contained a full bath. Charley stepped inside. She crunched her hands under her chin, scrunching her shoulders. “Look at this, it’s so adorable. The border and curtains have teddy bears. That’s so precious.”

“Char, sometimes I do not understand you.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You walk into a child’s bathroom and gush, and yet you don’t want children.”

“So?”

“I dunno, it seems… well you’d be a great mom. As good as mine.”

“Your mom is awesome.”

“Yes she is.”

“So is your dad, even though it’s like looking into the future.”

“What?”

“You’re so much like him. Everything about you two. Same hair, same eyes, and those eyebrows. You’re a cookie cutter of your dad. The right side of his upper lip curls same as yours when he smiles. I love it.”

Murphy covered his mouth hiding the upturn of his lip.

Charley moved his hand away from his mouth. “Don’t. It’s endearing. It means you’re happy.”

“You like it?”

“Yes, I like it, now stop hiding it.” She dusted his shoulder with her hand. “C’mon, let’s go to Annabelle’s room.”

The young girl’s room was conventional, clean, and neat with stuffed animals covering her canopy bed. Decorated in yellow, Annabelle’s favorite color, it was bright and feminine. Handmade, yellow gingham curtains with tiebacks covered two large windows overlooking the back lawn. On the walls, posters of famous composers, Mozart, Chopin, and Bach, while on the dresser were busts of Beethoven and Tchaikovsky.

“I love this little girl, no Beebs.” Murphy laughed, putting on vinyl gloves. “She’s tops in my book.”

“Tell me about it,” Charley said, doing the same. “She loves her music.”

Murphy pulled the knob on the center desk drawer.

“Stop. We can look, not search.”

His piercing eyes targeted her. “This, coming from the one who lifted hair samples from the Senters’ bathroom.”

Charley flitted her hand into the air. “That was different. The Grants may not mind, but let’s not.”

Karen walked into the room, holding two glasses of iced tea. “Here, I brought this for you.”

“Thanks,” Murphy said.

“Thank you.” Charley took a sip. “This is delicious.”

“I put a tad of raspberry flavoring in my tea. Glad you like it. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You’ve done enough,” Charley said.

“I’ll take my leave. Search her room if you wish.”

“Thank you,” they said as Karen left.

Charley clicked her mouth. “I need some of those drugs they’re taking.”

Murphy grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “I have permission.” He plundered the drawers of Annabelle’s desk, each one offering little, containing nothing but school supplies and many photographs of her playing a piano. Under some graded school papers, all with excellent marks, he found a yellow folder. Murphy opened it, in the pocket an unfinished musical score written by Annabelle. “Wow, she composed her own songs.”

Charley nudged by him. “Wow, is right. She knows more about music theory than I do.” Charley slid a handwritten music piece from the folder. Her eyes running across the quavers and crochets, she hummed the notes.

Murphy stood back, mesmerized by the bob of her head, her hand conducting, as she hummed the harmony. Her soft tone laced with elegance, she presented the delicate tune. She glanced at him and smiled. “What?”

He could do nothing but stare. His mouth opened and closed. “Would you play your piano for me someday?”

She returned the sheet music to the binder.

Murphy placed the folder into the desk. One more file drawer to inspect, he pulled the handle. Resistance. He yanked it several times without success. With a tight grip on the handle, he pulled hard. It released with a
whomp
, sending Murphy tumbling backwards onto his butt.

Charley laughed.

On his back, with the drawer on his stomach, he latched onto her eyes with a smile. She leaned over him grinning. He raised the drawer. “Got it.”

“Sometimes, you’re too cute.” She put her hand on her hip. “Nothing there except blank sheet music. If the drawer is difficult to open, how did she do it?”

Murphy tapped his finger on the opposite side of the drawer. “Child safety latch.”

“Interesting.”

Murphy’s chin pressed his chest. He smiled and pointed to the interior of the desk. He rose and placed the drawer to the side as he put his arm through the opening. “What do we have here?”

Attached to the back panel, he spied a shallow tray, inside… a book. He removed it. Plopped on his butt, he crossed his legs, placing the yellow gingham decorated book across his lap. He motioned for Charley to join him. She huddled next to him and peeked inside the opening. “Annabelle is one smart little girl.”

“Yes, she is.”

“It’s a journal.” Charley scratched her forehead. “This is so wrong, but we have to read it.”

“Let’s hope there’s a clue. It may tell us whom she talked to, confided in. Someone who wanted information about her and her habits.”

“Go back three months.”

Murphy did as she asked. His finger jabbed at a page. “Right here, no name, but she talked to someone about having nightmares.”

“Someone at school?”

“No name.”

“How about a gender?”

“No, she refers to this person as Star.”

Charley craned her neck to view the journal. “What else does it say?”

“A week ago, she talked to Star. This person asked her lots of questions about what she likes to do.”

“Star may be a child, a girl. Does she say if this person is an adult or a child?”

“No.”

“The investigators need to check the school class rolls for a person with the name Star. It could be a first or a last name, a teacher, or nickname. Anything else interesting?”

“No. Television shows, books, movies she likes. Generic kid stuff.”

“Put it inside the drawer. I’ll notify forensics to retrieve it.”

“Will do.”

Charley stood. “Don’t forget your tea. Let’s drink it before we leave the room.”

Murphy pushed himself from the floor. “Consider it done.”

They left the bedroom, to the hallway where they found the Grants on the sofa. Joe had his wife in his arms, stroking her hair, singing into her ear.