Shaking her head, she moved over to the refrigerator and grumbled as she pulled open the door. There was still a third of a bottle of the three-dollar chardonnay, sitting on the shelf in the door next to a bottle of ketchup and four cans of vegetable juice. It was sour, and she really hadn’t liked it upon her first sip, but she’d take what she could get. There was no glassware in the apartment, and she really didn’t care to pour it into a plastic cup, so Maureen simply took a sip of the offending white wine from the bottle and sauntered back toward the pale glow of the bathroom.
She knew she had about thirty to forty-five minutes before the combination of the wine and the pill would let her fall back asleep, and now that she was aware of her own body again, she felt dirty. Upon reaching the bathroom again, she went straight to the claw-footed tub and cranked the hot water knob as far to the left as she could.
Leaving the water running and setting the wine bottle next to the tub, Maureen returned to the mirror to scrutinize her reflection. The redness of the vessels in her eye had spread further into the white part, causing it to go completely pink. She frowned at herself and tugged the lower lid down to see how far the pink spread. To her surprise, there was still a bit of white visible, so hopefully there would be no concern at the bar that she had pink eye or something else that would force Mr. Anderson to send her home. She needed the shifts and the tips if she was going to be able to move on from Sycamore Hills within three months like she had always planned. After tonight, though, she might have to accelerate those plans. The wandering had become her safety net. Never staying in one place for too long had always been the best protection from the nightmares. But still, no matter how far she ran, or how many different people she became, they eventually found her, often forcing her to move on ahead of schedule.
She sighed and turned back to the bathtub and stuck her hand under the running water. It felt warm enough, so she plugged the stopper into the drain and allowed the tub to fill. She yanked off her T-shirt, pulled off her underwear, and turned again to look in the mirror. She frowned again as she stared at herself. Were her breasts starting to sag? Was that some new belly fat there? She turned around and took a quick look over her shoulder to examine her backside, sliding her hands down, grabbing and lifting up each cheek and letting go. They bounced once and settled back into place. Maureen allowed herself a quick half-smile. At least that’s all still in the right place. Must be the running, she mused to herself.
Maureen did not allow her gaze to continue any further up though and quickly swung herself back around. She knew if she let her eyes wander, they would come to rest on the pale white scars that formed the innumerable Xs across her back. They were nearly invisible to most people’s indifferent glances. In fact, no man she’d ever been with had mentioned them, even though she knew that they could be felt if he was paying attention and running his fingers over her back in a delicate way. She’d never been with a man who took the time to do that, as far as she could remember, and even if she had, she just assumed that no one cared.
Maureen pulled herself away from the mirror and returned to the tub. It was nearly half full, so she stepped in and lowered herself into the water, grabbing the bottle of wine as she did so. She propped herself up into a sitting position, with her legs straight, her back against the side of the tub, and her arms and head resting on the rim. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was the only way to get her entire body in the tub and not risk falling asleep. She took a sip and, now that the water had risen to a couple of inches shy of the rim, she lifted her foot to turn off the water. She quickly slid her toes back below the surface of the water; she hated to look at her feet. The big toes on each had never healed properly and were set at an unnatural angle. More battle scars to match those on her back.
Maureen pushed aside those memories and closed her eyes but still remained aware. The medication hadn’t quite kicked in yet, and even the dim light of the bathroom intensified the pulsing behind her eyes. She balanced the wine bottle on her chest, not caring if the bath water warmed its contents, and sipped down another mouthful every few minutes. The stuff tasted the same warm or cold.
Eventually, her muscles relaxed, and she was able to focus on the warmth of the bath as her headache finally began to retreat. She set the now empty bottle beside the tub and slowly plunged her head below the surface. Sputtering slightly as she came up, she gathered her hair behind her neck and rubbed the water away from her eyes. Maureen let out a heavy sigh; the weight of her self-medication was beginning to press down on her shoulders. She unplugged the stopper and got out of the tub as the water began to swirl down the drain. Reaching over to the towel bar, Maureen grabbed the coarse, brown piece of cloth that usually served as her hand towel and began to pat herself dry. The fabric scratched at her skin, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to get dry and sink back into sleep without being harassed by more nightmares.
Maureen left the towel on the ground and picked up her clothes. She clicked the light off as she exited the bathroom, crossed the floor, and tossed the clothes onto the bed before moving to her dresser and putting on the first T-shirt and panties her hands could find. She looked back at the clock and found it was almost four. She reached down to make sure her alarm was set and added an extra hour. She didn’t have to be at work until three in the afternoon and didn’t see the point of waking up at an hour that was followed by am, especially when she had a ten-hour shift to look forward to. Yawning, and not wanting to lie back down in her sweat-covered bed, she crossed the room over to the old, brown sofa, which she had found on a curb by the local community college on her second day in town. She had paid a couple of young men twenty bucks to bring it over and place it under the window, creating a living room of sorts.
She opened the curtains, flopped down, and peered through the window. From her angle, not much could be seen, only what few stars had dodged both the cloud cover and ambient light of the town, and then her eyelids fell. Had she adjusted her gaze slightly, though, Maureen may have seen the thin column of smoke beginning to rise in the northern sky.
FOUR
Manny pulled up to the pale gray colonial home, slammed his truck into park, and jumped out, pulling his sport coat on and tightening his tie. The call from the station had woken him up just before six, and he had hurried over as quickly as he could. His morning stubble itched his face, and he had to pop in two pieces of gum to cover up for not brushing his teeth. The sun was low on this usually quiet subdivision street, and the houses cast long shadows over the swarm of squad cars, fire trucks, and neighbors who had spilled from their homes. Hanson, Yancy, and Collins, he noted. Everyone on the force was there besides Wentworth and his gang. Figures, thought Manny. Must be sleeping off last night. Not that their absence mattered much to whatever was going on. Several of the deputies from County and the four fireman from Station One had swelled the ranks so that the Sycamore Hills Police Department only seemed to serve in the role of crowd control.
From what dispatch had told him, there had been a pretty significant fire spotted in the Parkside Ridge subdivision at a little after four in the morning, and the fire department had been dispatched to the scene. It was they who initiated the emergency tree out to the rest of law enforcement after discovering the body. The information had been hurriedly given to him, so, while he had a vague idea of what he might be walking into, he knew that much of details surrounding the previous night’s occurrence would need to be gleaned from the firemen on scene and from the county crime scene investigator, who he was sure was called in before him. He was already scanning the crowd for Stacey. He’d never met her but, considering that she was likely going to be the only woman on the scene, he was certain he would spot her.
Manny caught the eye of Yancy as he weaved through the crowd and nodded to him. Yancy received it with a nod of his own and waved Manny over, lifting up the police tape to allow him through.
“Morning, Benitez,” Yancy greeted
him in his usual laconic way. Carl was one of those by-the-book officers, more interested in getting the job done than being likable. That wasn’t to say he was outright hostile to others. He simply had a knack for keeping the personal out of the professional, used as few words as would do the trick, and was interested only in facts.
“Yancy,” he returned, “what’s the story on the ground?”
“Just like you see it. I’ve been here a little less than an hour. Arrived about the same time as County. The boys from the firehouse say they had the blaze out for only about twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, by the time we got here. CSI went in right away, and the boys from the sheriff’s department had us all come out front so she could work.”
Manny glanced up at the front of the house. “Doesn’t look like there was really any damage out here,” he said. “Was the fire in the back part of the house?”
“They didn’t tell you?” Yancy seemed surprised. “The fire wasn’t in the house period. Word is, it was a big blaze in the backyard. I didn’t get a good look.” Yancy turned for a moment to remind the crowd trying to press in for a closer look to remain back.
Manny glanced back at the house then around at the crowd that continued to swell in numbers on the street. “No idea about the body then?” he said, turning back to Yancy.
“That’s your job, pal,” Yancy returned, stiffly, his eyes still trained on the crowd.
“You’re a picture of professionalism, Carl.” Manny snatched a notepad out of his pocket and left Yancy to deal with the crowd. For some reason, he felt compelled to walk through the house and into the backyard rather than head around the outside. He pushed through the red door and into the front foyer. The walls were lined with at least a dozen and a half framed pictures. His eyes held one longer than the others: an 8” x 10” family portrait. Mother, father, a boy of about eight or nine, and a girl at least three years younger were posed under a large tree. Their smiles spilled out of the two dimensions of the photograph. They seemed truly happy. A woman’s loud sob shook him from his spell and told Manny that the happiness of that day would be difficult for this family to ever remember again.
He followed the hallway back until the house opened up into a family room and kitchen. The family from the picture sat upon a white sofa, flanked on either side by two deputies from the sheriff’s department. Most of the family members were there; the boy was absent from the gathering. A deep stab hit him in the pit of his stomach as he began to assume what the family already suspected. The body that he would soon face was their son’s. The woman held a tissue to her nose and spoke through it, nodding occasionally to the questions one of the deputies posed to her. The daughter laid her head on her mother’s lap, clearly confused by everything that was happening, while the husband sat with his arm around his wife, staring blankly and not speaking. Manny watched them for a moment and then caught the attention of the second deputy standing by and waved him over.
“Detective Manny Benitez, Sycamore Hills PD,” he introduced himself quietly as the taller man came over. He offered his hand.
“Deputy Martin,” he responded, grasping Manny’s hand and giving it a quick shake. Whatever was being said over at the couch was clearly occupying his thoughts.
“Why don’t we step into the kitchen for a second, and you can fill me in, Deputy,” Manny suggested, moving away from the living room. They walked a few steps together before he turned around to face the man again. Manny lowered his voice. “Could you fill me in on the family, Deputy?” he said, flipping his notebook to a blank page. “Please,” he added.
“Deputy Hargrove over there has been handling most of the questioning, but it seems that the husband, Tom Lowes, woke up a little before four this morning and went down to the kitchen for a drink of water. He spotted the blaze and called 9-1-1 immediately before going back upstairs to wake his wife and kids and get them somewhere safe, in case the fire spread to the house. That’s when he noticed their son, Jacob, was missing from his bed. We just informed them of the body that was discovered in the fire. I only got a quick look at it, but Hargrove got a better one. It sure looks like a small child to us. Obviously, the parents believe it’s their son. Hargrove is trying to assure them that we haven’t confirmed that yet, so there’s hope, but let’s be real, right?” Martin shook his head. “It’s a real son-of-a-bitch we got here, Detective.”
“Clearly,” Manny said, finishing his last note and looking up at the deputy. He was a few years older than Manny, but his eyes betrayed the fact that he hadn’t seen much like this in his career. Likely enough, law enforcement hadn’t been his original career choice. “Lowes,” he thought out loud. “Why does the name Tom Lowes ring a bell?”
“Maybe you’ve seen him on those billboards just outside of town?” offered Martin.
“That’s it. He owns that real estate brokerage. Supposed to be one of the best around.”
“Yeah, he’s all over. Helped my sister and brother-in-law with their home last fall,” Martin said. “Funny thing is, I was thinking about calling him up and seeing about buying a home myself. Supposed to be a good time.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Manny. “What about the wife? Any idea what she does?”
“Consultant of some kind? She didn’t really describe it. All I know is she mostly works from home so she can be around the kids. Do you think that’s important?”
“You never know what might turn out to be important in an investigation like this,” said Manny, placing a hand on the deputy’s shoulder. “I like having all the details. Thanks for the information. I think I’ll head out to the back and check in with the CSI. When you guys are done, though, I’d like to have a few words with the family myself, if that’s all right.”
“I’m sure Hargrove can get you a copy of his notes just as easily,” replied Martin, “but if you want to make them go and repeat everything, I guess I can’t stop you.” He shrugged and nodded to Manny as he turned and headed back into the living room.
Manny nodded to the deputy’s back and turned to the sliding glass door that led out to the backyard. Two more deputies from the sheriff’s department were standing on either side of a large pile of burnt wood, behind which a slight, dark-haired woman crouched, gently picking through the debris with a pair of long tweezers. He pulled out his badge to show one of the deputies that he did indeed belong on site, but was waved in almost before he had opened it. They had obviously been expecting him.
“You must be Stacey,” he said as he circled around the woodpile and stood behind her. He could just make out the blackened skull of the victim grinning at him over her right shoulder. The rest was obscured by her back. She didn’t turn around and continued her work as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about your work,” he continued awkwardly. “I’m Manny, Detective Manny Benitez, Sycamore Hills PD.”
“You can call me Dr. Winherst,” she said pointedly, without getting up, “and if you’d like to make small talk, at least make yourself useful and help me bag some of these samples. There’s a box of gloves on the ground in front of you. Please use them.”
“Why don’t you take me through what you’ve found so far, before I step over there and mess up your process.” Manny tried to sound as authoritative as possible in order to gain some semblance of control over the situation.
“Very well, Detective.” He thought he caught a hint of sarcasm put on the last word and was almost positive he caught a roll of the eyes and a smirk as she rose to her feet. Despite the fact that she had to raise her head to a great degree to look into his eyes, Manny felt as if she were towering over him as she spoke. Her reputation for intensity had not been oversold.
“Your boys at the fire department did a satisfactory job putting out the blaze carefully, once they realized what they had, so I was able to get plenty of samples and get a good look at the body without having to move it. Early indications show a pre-pub
escent male, maybe nine or ten years old.”
“So you’re thinking it’s the Lowes’ son?”
“Don’t interrupt me, Detective! There isn’t any scientific evidence to make that conclusion right now.”
“It’s called an intuitive leap, Doctor,” he replied. “The family can’t find their son, and we have a body that matches his in their own backyard. The facts fit the theory. But you’re right, please continue.”
She glared at him for a second and then resumed her professional tone. “It would seem that he was dead before the burning, as indicated by the lack of contortion of the body. There appears to be some salvageable lung tissue. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get anything definitive out of it, but I’ll be able to analyze it better back at the county lab, and maybe at least confirm the lack of smoke inhalation. The fire obscured some evidence, but it seems pretty clear to me that the most likely cause of death was severe blood loss.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?” asked Manny.
“The firefighters stated that when they arrived, the burning woodpile had the appearance of a three-foot-high log cabin. They had just tamed down the flames to a manageable height when they noticed the body lying on top of the structure. So at that point, they set to work spreading the coals underneath and trying to preserve as much as they could. They did a decent enough job to where, even though the structure eventually collapsed down on itself, some of the larger pieces nearer to the body stayed relatively whole, if charred.” She looked down at the pile.
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