The Little Grave

by Carolyn Arnold

  Amanda scanned down further and plucked out tidbits such as no ransom demands were made and that it was like little Phoebe had just disappeared into thin air.

  She went on to wade through several other articles and none came out with suspects, but there was an opinion piece written about Osborne.

  She was new to the family, only working with them for a couple of months before Phoebe went missing, but she came with good, solid references. Police say they’ve investigated Osborne but have cleared her of involvement in the abduction.

  Amanda scribbled Osborne’s name on a notepad and scratched a circle around it.

  She pulled a brief background on Osborne and found she didn’t have a criminal record. Conveniently if Amanda wanted to speak with her—and she did—her current address was in Woodbridge. But she’d prefer to start by speaking with the Baldwins. She wanted to know what they had to say about Osborne firsthand. While some of the articles had alluded to a man passing through having taken the girl, the Baldwins may have their own opinion on what had happened to their daughter.

  A quick search told her the Baldwins were still married and living in Williamsburg. It was a two-hour drive and she was certain would be well worth her time. Her dad had drilled into her that solving cases often required starting at the beginning. While Phoebe might not have been the first victim of the ring, she could get Amanda closer to Phoebe’s and Webb’s killer.

  She shut her computer down and grabbed her jacket. The clock on the wall told her it was 3:45 PM. If she left now, she’d be at Williamsburg about six.

  Forty

  Amanda had forgotten to account for traffic when she was thinking about the straight run from Woodbridge to Williamsburg as two hours. Before running out, she’d updated Malone on her findings, and he’d approved her travel to see the Baldwins and Osborne. He suggested that she take someone else from the unit with her, but that’s all she viewed it as: a suggestion.

  She’d called Patty on her way and told her to flag “Colonial” as a priority in tracking down who’d purchased her. Thinking of a person being bought and sold was outside the realm of humanity and tread upon the path of demons as far as Amanda was concerned.

  She pulled into the Baldwins’ driveway closer to seven thirty and found the house was lit like a showpiece. A Jaguar and a BMW were parked in the triple-wide lane. She had called Wes and Tanya before leaving—that was an order from Malone—so they were expecting her arrival.

  The front door opened before she reached it and she was greeted by a handsome couple in their late fifties.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin?” Amanda said.

  “We are. Detective Steele?” Wes studied her and his gaze settled momentarily on her badge, which was clipped to her waistband.

  “Yes. You can call me Amanda.”

  Wes’s lips twitched in an attempted smile. “How about Ms. Steele instead?”

  Very formal but… “Sure.” She smiled at him, and let the expression carry for Tanya.

  “Please come in,” Tanya said. Her voice was high-pitched, but her demeanor pleasant and slightly more casual than her husband’s, which was surprising as she was the aristocrat and he went to work.

  The home was a showy display full of centuries-old charm, but it also held a modern, updated feel. It had clearly been renovated properly and in accordance with heritage guidelines.

  The Baldwins saw her to a parlor, and Amanda sat on a salmon-pink sofa while the couple perched in wingback chairs.

  Shortly after everyone was seated, a woman in a black-and-white maid’s uniform entered the room with a silver tray, holding a tea set and milk and sugar.

  “I hope that I was not presumptuous, Detective,” Tanya said, “to assume that you might be interested in a spot of tea.”

  “Sounds lovely.” Amanda would do whatever necessary to set the Baldwins at ease. She couldn’t help but feel a knot in the pit of her stomach whenever she really looked at their faces. She couldn’t begin to imagine the horror of what they faced every day.

  The maid prepared the tea to order and, once the cups were distributed, she left the room.

  Tanya lifted her teacup, her pinkie pointed out, and took a generous draw. “Oh, I should tell you that it’s a perfect drinking temperature.”

  Amanda took a drink of her tea and set the cup down. She didn’t handle the china anywhere near as delicately as Mrs. Baldwin—and she wasn’t much of a tea drinker.

  “We were pleased to have you reach out to us, Ms. Steele,” Wes began. “Do you have information about our daughter?”

  Hope marked his voice and it sliced Amanda’s heart. Malone had ordered her to keep quiet about the murder until she had absolute proof that Casey-Anne Ritter was the couple’s Phoebe. She’d argued him on that point because the Baldwins deserved to know, but he hadn’t budged on his decision. Not even after showing him the photos and the striking similarity between them. He was looking for forensics or other indisputable evidence. Maybe, if she could get a hairbrush or toothbrush—something with DNA. The investigating detectives should have collected such things and/or Phoebe’s prints, but if so, they hadn’t sparked a match when Casey-Anne was murdered.

  “I do have some questions,” Amanda put it out there tenderly, then sat back and crossed her legs. She suddenly felt somewhat self-conscious in this formal house in her jeans and sweater.

  “Ask us whatever you would like,” Tanya encouraged, “if it brings our little Phoebe back. Though, she will be twenty-four next month.”

  Tanya still referred to her daughter in the present tense after all these years, but Amanda could understand her desire to hold out hope.

  “I’m sorry for all that you have suffered these years,” Amanda offered.

  “It’s our Phoebe we think about,” Wes said firmly. “Just getting some kind of closure would be better than not knowing.”

  Curse Malone and his directive to hold back on Phoebe’s fate. It was obvious the Baldwins relived their daughter’s abduction every day. Instead of it tearing them apart though, it seemed to bond them with a purpose. By letting them know Phoebe was dead, it might be the worst thing for their marriage. She’d seen and heard of couples divorcing after the death of a child.

  “As I told you on the phone, I’m from the Prince William County Police Department, and during the course of an investigation I was made aware of your daughter’s disappearance.” Amanda felt phrasing it as an abduction might disclose too much.

  “And you work with what unit?” Wes asked.

  “Homicide.”

  Tanya gasped and covered her mouth.

  “I apologize for my wife, Detective.”

  Amanda noted how she’d gone from Ms. Steele to Detective now that murder had come up.

  Wes stiffened and stretched his neck. “How did you come to find out exactly?”

  “Before I get into that, I have some questions for you, as I mentioned on the phone.” Amanda put it as delicately as possible, but it still had Wes scowling and his wife frowning. She couldn’t say she blamed them. If she were in their position and some detective from out of town showed up wanting answers and avoided hers, it would be grating, but she’d endure if there was any chance it could bring her daughter back.

  Tanya said, “Please go ahead.”

  “How well did you know Rhonda Osborne?”

  Tanya glanced at her husband and proceeded to answer. “She came with good references. I called all of them myself. She really seemed to love Phoebe, and Phoebe took a shine to her.”

  “I understand she only worked with you for a couple of months before Phoebe’s disappearance,” Amanda said.

  “That’s right,” Wes interjected. “We hired her because caring for a young child day to day became too much for my wife.”

  Tanya’s gaze went into her teacup.

  “Not that I’m implying that Phoebe’s not being here is in any way my wife’s fault.” Wes looked apologetically to Tanya, who ended up nodding acceptance. “But Rhonda did seem goo
d with Phoebe, as my wife said.”

  “And did Rhonda have a lot of friends in the area?” Amanda might have gotten some of this from the detective investigating Phoebe’s disappearance, but that would have meant more sitting around.

  “She had one lady she seemed to be good friends with. I know police spoke to her about Rhonda when she was suspected of being involved. But there were no ransom demands. We waited for one, certain it would come.” Tanya took another drink of her tea.

  “What was this friend’s name?”

  “Elise Pierce,” Tanya told her. “I probably have a picture of her around here somewhere. Rhonda left some photos in a drawer in her room.”

  Tanya set off and returned not long later. She handed a small stack of pictures to Amanda and leaned over her shoulder as she shuffled through them.

  “There!” Tanya pointed at a snapshot of Phoebe with two women and a man and proceeded to indicate who was Rhonda Osborne and who was Elise Pierce.

  “And the man?”

  “I don’t know who he is. Probably either Rhonda’s or Elise’s boyfriend. I’m just guessing.”

  “Could I take this one with me?”

  “Sure, if you think it would help.”

  “Thanks.” Amanda tucked it into her coat pocket, not sure if it would or not. She was going to add Elise Pierce to her list of people to visit though. She might have information on Rhonda Osborne and know who the man was. She was aware that police had cleared Osborne of suspicion, and she hoped there had been a solid reason for it, but sometimes after time passes, things that were buried resurfaced. Osborne could have been involved and good at covering her tracks, and, if so, she might have grown lazy and careless over the years. It was also possible that more memories would shake loose that might lead to the identity of Phoebe’s abductor. Amanda would also like to see a background on Elise.

  “What’s always eaten away at me,” Tanya began, “is that Rhonda took Phoebe to a different park than she normally did that day.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “Just that she wanted to give Phoebe a change of scenery.”

  It was something Amanda probably didn’t have to tell Tanya, but an eight-year-old wasn’t so interested in the scenery as she was the play equipment.

  “Now, this might be a hard question to answer, especially after all this time,” Amanda started, “but what do you think took place that day?”

  “I think it was the wrong time, wrong place,” Wes said. “Someone from out of town probably took her. We see lots of tourists all year.”

  “And you, Mrs. Baldwin?”

  Tanya trembled and hugged herself. She met Amanda’s eyes. “I have nightmares. Not as bad in recent years, but I still get them from time to time. I think that she’s… dead.” Her chin quivered, and her gaze shot to her husband. “I think she’s been dead for several years. I think that some pervert scooped her from that park and did—” She gasped and covered her mouth as tears fell down her cheeks.

  Amanda’s chest pinched and she swallowed her own tears. Wes was staring blankly at his wife, but it was probably something he’d heard her say many times.

  “What happened to our girl, Detective?” Wes asked, and it had his wife sniffling and her sobs taking pause.

  Malone had told her not to tell them, but what was she supposed to do? Just leave without giving them any indication as to what she was certain had happened?

  “I can’t say just yet.” She put it out there firmly.

  “But you know something.” Tanya perked up.

  “I may, but it might help if there was any way I could get a sample of her DNA.”

  The Baldwins paled and matched gazes and nodded in unison as if some greater being had pulled a string and made them do so.

  “We haven’t touched her room since that day,” Tanya eventually said, and invited Amanda to follow her through the house and up the stairs.

  Forty-One

  Phoebe’s bedroom would have been any little girl’s dream. The walls were pink, the bedding was pink, some of the furniture was pink. Any adult and antique pieces that were spread about the rest of the house had no place within these four walls. This space had unmistakably belonged to a princess.

  Amanda would have loved to ask if she could be left there alone for a few minutes, especially after her gaze settled on the doll—the one in the photograph. It was sitting on a bench beneath the window next to a bookcase full of children’s books. She walked over but didn’t touch the doll, though she desperately wanted to do just that. She looked outside to the beautiful backyard. Only illuminated by the moon, she could see it would be an absolute retreat in the summer with its gardens, stone statues, and tiered fountain.

  She tried to keep her mind outside, off the effects in the room, off the fact that it had all belonged to a little girl who’d lived a horrible life at the hands of evil, perverted men and how she’d met her end with a bullet to her head.

  Amanda pinched her eyes shut. Yes, there might be worse evils than death.

  Tanya walked up behind her and stood next to her at the window. “We set up a memorial for her out there, not really a grave, but someplace to visit and think of her.”

  She stopped talking, as if she expected Amanda to speak, but she was having a hard time not falling apart.

  Tanya went on. “Phoebe loved it when we’d sit here, and I’d read to her.”

  She looked over at Amanda and Amanda forced herself to look at the grieving mother.

  “I’d just gotten so busy with setting up fundraisers… I missed out a lot on my daughter’s last couple of years with us. Do you have children?”

  “Yeah.” Amanda wasn’t getting into the fact that both were dead—one before she’d even got to know them.

  “How nice? What are their names?”

  “Lindsey and Nathan.” She’d named her unborn baby after her father despite not knowing its sex. “Lindsey had—has—a doll just like that one.” She gulped roughly when she realized her slip and then her awkward correction.

  “Is your daughter…”

  She looked back out the window as she answered, “Five and a half years ago.”

  Tanya put a hand on Amanda’s shoulder and squeezed. No words were spoken, but none were needed. In that moment there was an unmistakable bond between the two women made of pain that no one should ever need endure.

  “Ah, I guess I should be hitting the road,” Amanda said and turned.

  “You were looking for a brush or something that might have Phoebe’s DNA,” Tanya reminded her.

  “Right.” Amanda smiled at her. “It’s been a long day.”

  Tanya didn’t speak, though her eyes seemed to say that it had been a long fifteen and a half years.

  “I can get you her toothbrush.” Tanya disappeared for a few seconds and returned. “I can put it into a plastic bag for you.”

  “That would work. Thank you.” Amanda’s heart ached that Tanya still had her daughter’s toothbrush after all these years. She went to leave the room and spotted a framed casting. She stopped in front of it.

  “That’s Phoebe’s toes and fingers.” Tanya’s voice took on a wistful tone, as if she’d been transported back to pleasanter times when there was still excitement for the future.

  “Could I take it too?” Amanda asked. Sometimes DNA degraded and wasn’t viable, so having her prints could help. She was surprised that the detectives investigating Phoebe’s disappearance hadn’t taken it with them.

  “Sure.” Tanya took it off the wall and said, “I’ll put it into a bag too. But please be careful with it. I’d like to get it back.”

  “I understand.”

  Tanya dipped her head and blinked softly. Again, no words were needed.

  Amanda thanked the Baldwins for their time and promised them she’d pass on whatever information she could, when she could. They expressed their appreciation at her offering, but there was a darkness in their eyes that made her think they’d heard such assurances before to n
o real avail.

  She got in the department car and looked up Elise Pierce, Osborne’s friend. She figured if she was in Williamsburg, she’d just get a hotel room and pay her a visit in the morning, but it turned out Elise was in Woodbridge, just like Osborne.

  Were the friends still in touch and, regardless, what had brought them both to Prince William County?

  Forty-Two

  Even hours down the road when Amanda was taking the highway turn-off for Dumfries, she was thinking of the interactions she’d had with the Baldwins, and Tanya in particular. Also of the little girl who had been robbed of her innocence. In the days after she’d escaped her captors, Amanda hoped that Phoebe Baldwin had experienced the best time of her life. She didn’t want to dwell on the strong likelihood her horror had never been far from her mind. And how the life of a sex slave had her turning to stripping and using her body to earn money. Sadly, it was the only thing she’d known.

  She’d filled Malone in on the drive back as to how she’d made out with the Baldwins. Tomorrow, she’d pay Elise and Rhonda a visit.

  It was nearing midnight when Amanda got home, still in the department car, and she found a Mazda in her driveway, and someone was in the driver seat.

  What the hell?

  She pulled in next to the car and got out with her hand on her hip, ready to draw her service weapon if necessary. Her visitor got out of their car.

  “Steele, it’s Bishop.”

  She could see him now, at least enough between the moonlight and streetlights.

  “What are you doing here?” She relaxed a little, but she was still on high alert.

  “You have to stop looking into the cold cases. Just walk away.”

  Forget relaxing. Her body tensed. “Why would I do that?”

  They got to within five feet of each other, but neither of them made any move to get closer. Cud kept shifting his weight from his left to right, and he raked a hand through his hair. For the first time in her memory, he wasn’t chewing gum.