Maggie had spent all of Monday dragging Zoe through mug shots from surrounding counties, and checking the whereabouts and alibis of a few locals who had, at some point, been arrested for or convicted of sexual assaults. She’d come up with nothing worthwhile and now, sitting at her desk on Tuesday afternoon, she was feeling the pressure of time between her shoulder blades.
It was looking less and less likely that they would have this guy in custody before Zoe and her aunt went back to their home today, and she hated it for the girl. It was very rare for a rapist to return to a victim, but that wouldn’t keep Zoe from expecting it every minute. In particular, every minute that she was home alone.
Maggie tapped her pen against the edge of her desk for a moment, then opened Zoe’s thin case file. After a moment, she found Dwight’s notes and located the name of the nurse who had taken care of Zoe before she’d sent her to live with Paulette Boatwright.
Maggie picked up her phone, hesitated long enough to decide she wasn’t really overstepping her bounds, and then dialed the number.
A woman who sounded middle-aged answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Lt. Maggie Redmond with the Franklin County Sheriff’s Office,” Maggie said. “Is this Gina Merritt?”
There was a moment’s hesitation on the other end of the line. “Yes? Is something wrong?”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m handling a matter that concerns Zoe Boatwright, and I just wanted to speak with you for a moment.”
“I don’t—” the woman started. “What about Zoe?”
“I understand that you were her mother’s caregiver during her illness,” Maggie said.
“Yes, just the last few months.”
“You’re a hospice nurse?”
“Yes,” the woman answered.
“That must be very difficult work,” Maggie said.
“Well, yes, but it’s very rewarding,” Gina said.
“I’m sure it is,” Maggie said. “I understand that Zoe stayed with you for a while after her mother’s death.”
Gina Merritt took a moment to answer. “Yes, her mother and I had discussed it. She was estranged from her family, you know. Because of her husband.”
“Yes. How long did Zoe stay with you?”
“She was here for almost three months.”
“Ma’am, Zoe is in kind of a tough situation right now—“
“Is she in trouble?” Gina asked. “She’s a very good girl!”
“No, ma’am, she hasn’t done anything wrong,” Maggie said. “But she could use a change of scenery, a little break. I haven’t spoken to her or her aunt about it, but I was wondering if maybe you would be open to her visiting you for a short time?”
“Oh.” The woman sounded relieved. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”
“I see,” Maggie said, though she didn’t. “That’s all right. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you decide not to keep Zoe?”
“Well, my son graduated from college, over at University of Florida, and he needed a place to stay,” the woman said. “This is just a little two bedroom, you know. He slept on the couch for a couple of weeks, but it just wasn’t going to work.”
“I see,” Maggie said. “You must be very proud of your son.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, and Maggie noticed she didn’t agree.
“Well, I appreciate your time, ma’am, and please don’t feel badly,” Maggie said. “Like I said, it was just an idea, and Zoe doesn’t know I’m calling you.”
“Well, I do hope everything’s okay,” Gina said.
“Everything’s fine, ma’am,” Maggie said. “You have a good day.”
Maggie disconnected the call and chewed at the corner of her lip, then scrolled through her contacts and dialed another number.
“Port St. Joe Police Department,” a young man’s voice answered. “This is Officer Landry; how can I help you?”
“Hey, this is Lt. Maggie Redmond in Franklin County,” Maggie said.
“Hey, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”
“I need to get some information on one of your locals,” Maggie said.
“Hold on a sec, and I’ll see who’s available,” the man said.
Maggie waited a moment, tapping her pen. After a moment, the line was picked up.
“This is Evan Caldwell,” said a man’s deep, smooth voice. “Can I help you?”
Maggie started for a moment. “Evan Caldwell? We met last month. I work for Wyatt.”
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“Maggie Redmond.”
“Oh, sure,” Caldwell said. “I remember.”
Maggie had met Caldwell at a nursing facility outside Port St. Joe, while she and Wyatt were working on a case. Caldwell had worked with Wyatt at the Brevard County Sheriff’s Office before Wyatt moved to Apalach. Wyatt had been saddened to learn that Caldwell was visiting his wife at the facility. She was only in her thirties, but had fallen into a coma after a head injury.
“I’m sorry, I’m just a little taken aback,” Maggie said. “Are you working for the department now?”
“More or less. I’m sort of on loan,” he answered. “I needed to keep myself busy while I’m here.”
“How is your wife?”
“She’s the same,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” he answered politely. “What can I do for you?”
Maggie gathered her thoughts. “I have a rape case. A fourteen year-old girl. Her mother passed away in Mexico Beach several months ago, and the girl stayed for a while with the mother’s nurse. But then the nurse had the victim’s aunt bring her back here.”
“Okay,” Caldwell said.
“The nurse says she couldn’t keep Zoe because her son graduated from Gainesville and needed a place to stay,” Maggie said. “I’d like to check on the son.”
“Does he fit your description?”
“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “All we have is that he was a young white guy, slim build, about five-seven to five-nine, with brown eyes. This guy’s the right age, but I don’t know about anything else. I don’t even know his name. I was calling about something else and I didn’t want to spook her.”
“Sounds like you don’t have much work with,” Evan said, not unkindly.
“No.”
“What’s the mother’s name?”
“Gina Merritt. Hold on.” Maggie looked back at Dwight’s notes. “Lives at 434 Grant Street, in Port St. Joe.”
“Kind of a trek for a sexual assault, but not unmanageable.”
“No.”
“Yeah, sure. Give me a little bit and I’ll get back to you when I have something.”
Maggie gave him her cell number, thanked him, and hung up just as Wyatt walked through her open door with an obscenely large Mountain Dew in one hand and a copy of Zoe’s case file in the other.
“Hey,” he said, as he folded himself into the metal chair in front of her desk.
“Hey. Guess who I just talked to over at Port St. Joe PD?”
“Who?”
“Evan Caldwell.”
Wyatt’s brows knit together. “What’s Evan doing over there?”
“He says he’s keeping busy,” Maggie said.
“Huh,” Wyatt said. “Did he say anything about Hannah?”
“She’s the same.”
Wyatt was quiet for a moment, tapped at the lid of his Mountain Dew with one finger. “So why are you talking to Port St. Joe?” he asked finally.
“The nurse,” Maggie answered. “The one that Zoe stayed with when her mother died.”
“Okay.”
“She says she sent Zoe to live with her aunt because her son graduated college and needed to stay with her.”
Wyatt opened the Mountain Dew, placed the lid on her desk. “Right age.”
“Yes.”
“Priors?”
“That’s what Evan’s going to check out,” Maggie a
nswered.
“Okay. Meanwhile, I didn’t get a single hit on any cases involving… leaves. If this is a thing, it hasn’t been a thing around here.”
Maggie watched him as he took a long swallow of his soda. “What about any of the other details?”
“Oh, we’ve got roughly a million sexual assaults involving ski masks in the state this year, and so far several dozen involving an orange ski mask.” Wyatt wiped at the corner of his lower lip. “Where’d this son go to college?”
“Gainesville.”
“Orange and blue,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and he was on the UF Cross-Country Skiing team.” He set his soda down on Maggie’s desk and pulled a sheet of printer paper out of his case file. “How are you doing on the known scumbags list?”
“I’m about two-thirds through it. Nothing so far.”
“Let’s expand out of the county and add Gulf, Wakulla and Liberty counties. We can get Dwight to help us with it.”
“Okay,” Maggie said.
Wyatt took another drink, then studied Maggie a moment. “Have you talked to Zoe today?”
“A little while ago,” Maggie answered.
“How’s she holding up?”
Maggie shook her head slowly. “She’s a strong girl,” she said. “But she’s so alone.”
Wyatt dropped his chin onto his fist and looked at her hard. “Not entirely alone.”
“Alone enough,” Maggie countered. “I need to…I need to help her.”
“You gonna rescue her, Maggie?” Wyatt asked quietly.
Maggie looked at him and shrugged, unable to either deny or defend.
“She’s not Grace Cunningham,” he said.
“I know.”
“Your job is to catch the guy who did this to her. It’s not necessarily within your power to rescue her. And you can’t go back and rescue Grace.”
“I know,” Maggie said again. She lifted one shoulder weakly. “Maybe I’m just trying to go back and rescue myself.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Wyatt said. “I would, if I could.”
Maggie smiled at him gratefully. “I know.”
They stared at each other a moment, and Wyatt was just about to say something else when Glenn Rayfield, a portly officer in his late thirties with more hair on his hands than on his scalp, walked into the office with a pink slip of paper.
“Hey, Maggie. Hey, boss,” he said.
“Hey, Glenn,” Wyatt said.
Glenn handed the paper to Maggie. “Some psychiatrist or psychologist or whatever called you back, but you were in the facilities.”
“Thanks, Glenn,” Maggie said.
“How you liking day shift, Glenn?” Wyatt asked.
“Too much light,” Glenn answered gruffly, more backwoods twang in his voice than Maggie had. “On the positive side, I can go out for beers after work.”
“That is a plus,” Wyatt agreed.
“So when are we gonna find out who’s not taking your place?”
Wyatt shrugged. “You’ll know when I know.”
“Everybody’s pretty pissed, you know.”
“I appreciate that.”
Glenn looked over at Maggie. “No offense.”
“Okay,” she said.
Glenn looked back over at Wyatt. “I’m pretty aggravated with you myself,” he said. “You’ve pretty much screwed us single guys who depend on our uniforms to get us dates.”
“How’d I manage that?”
“Well, not that you weren’t a tough act to follow already, with your damn dimples and whatnot, but then you go get shot, and then you’re gonna be the damn liaison officer cause you wanna be with Maggie here?”
“I didn’t get shot just to piss you off,” Wyatt said.
“Whatever. All of a sudden you’re the…what…George Clooney of Franklin County”
“George Clooney?” Wyatt asked, grinning.
“Whoever. Some guy that makes it so nobody else can get a date.”
“When was the last time you went on a date, Glenn?”
“That’s my point. Now, pretty much all I got to look forward to is gator season, since I don’t feel like getting shot.”
“Are you still on shift?” Wyatt asked pointedly.
“More or less,” Glenn answered, and they watched him walk out of the office.
Maggie looked over at Wyatt and smiled reassuringly. “Are you embarrassed?”
“Why, because Glenn thinks I’m hot? No,” Wyatt answered. “But you’ve turned kind of watermelon-colored.”
“The inside or the outside?” Maggie asked. “Cause I feel like it could go either way.”
“I feel so proud when you make an honest effort to be witty,” Wyatt said. “What’s with the psychiatrist?”
Maggie picked up the slip and looked at it. “A therapist I know in Panama City,” she said. “I want to ask her about the leaves.”
“Yeah, somebody needs to dissect this guy’s crazy for us,” Wyatt said, standing and stretching his back. “I’m going to go expand our sexual assaults parameters, then I’m off to physical therapy.”
“When are you going to be done with that?”
“When one of us dies,” Wyatt said, walking out the door.
Maggie had drunk both cups of café con leche that she’d brought to work with her, so she was constrained to walk down the hall to the break room and pour a cup of coffee from what she considered the philistines’ machine.
Once she brought it back to her desk, she picked up the message from Dr. Irene Callahan and dialed her private number.
“This is Dr. Callahan,” a woman’s gentle voice said after the second ring.
“Dr. Callahan, this is Maggie Redmond,” Maggie said.
When the woman spoke again, there was a smile in her voice. “Hello, Maggie. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Maggie said. “How’ve you been?”
“Very well, thank you,” Dr. Callahan answered. “I’m sorry we kept missing each other. How can I help you?”
“I’m working a rape case, and there’s something here I haven’t dealt with before,” Maggie answered. “I’d like to ask you about it.”
“Well, criminal psychology isn’t really my area, but I can try,” Dr. Callahan said.
“Okay. Well, when we took her for her exam, the doctor treating her found that she was full of leaves,” Maggie said. “By that, I mean that he filled her…her vagina full of leaves.”
The other woman was quiet for a moment. “Hm.”
“Have you ever encountered anything like that?”
“Well, of course, the use of foreign objects is very common in a sexual assault,” Dr. Callahan said.
“But that’s not what it feels like,” Maggie said.
“No. This isn’t something that would signify or stand in for normal penetration,” the doctor said quietly. Maggie could almost see her thinking.
“No, and the leaves didn’t hurt her,” Maggie said. “If he was trying to punish or hurt her, wouldn’t he use something more appropriate?”
“That’s what you would expect,” Dr. Callahan said. She sounded distracted.
Maggie waited a moment, then grew impatient against her will. “It means something, and I feel like it doesn’t have anything to do with leaves. I feel like it’s about Zoe.”
“Does she know her attacker?” Callahan asked.
“She’s not sure, but she doesn’t think so,” Maggie said. “He was wearing a mask. So she might.”
“If it was someone close to her, my guess would be that it was almost an apology,” Callahan said. “Actually that’s not the word I mean. An attempt to undo the act.”
“Remorse?”
“Actually, rapists aren’t known for being remorseful,” Callahan said. “Rape is an act of arrogance, of entitlement. The fact that that arrogance hides a lack of self-worth doesn’t really matter. So, no, I wouldn’t say remorse exactly.”
Maggie thou
ght for a moment. “What about repair?”
“How do you mean?”
“She was a virgin,” Maggie said.
“Really,” Callahan said quietly. “Give me a moment.”
Maggie chewed the corner of her lip and let the woman think a moment.
“Her virginity could have meant something to him,” Callahan finally said. “Whether it surprised him or not. Yes, in a sense, he might have been trying to ‘put it back,’ for lack of a better term.”
“Have you ever dealt with that, or heard about that motivation before?”
“Well, like I said, it’s not my area. So, no, not personally, but it makes sense from a psychological standpoint.”
“Okay,” Maggie said, thinking.
“I don’t think I’ve helped you much,” Dr. Callahan said.
“You have. I’m just not sure how yet,” Maggie said.
“Well, I have a patient due any moment, but if you need anything else, let me know,” Dr. Callahan said.
“I will. Thank you.”
They hung up, and Maggie sat for a few minutes, staring at the small sable palm outside her window. Maggie felt disconnected from the world the palm inhabited. The windows in their building didn’t open; the palm’s fronds swayed silently in a wind that Maggie couldn’t hear or feel, like a movie with the sound turned off. She was inside, where terrible things were considered and pursued, and the tree was out in the right world, the one that wasn’t broken.
She tore her eyes from the window when her cell phone rang. She looked down and saw that it was Bennett Boudreaux’s number.
She’d never added his name to her list of contacts, despite the fact that they’d talked on the phone several times in the five months she’d known him. It had been a conscious decision. If Wyatt had ever looked over her shoulder and asked who was calling, she would have told him without hesitation. But having his name pop up seemed like it would make her and Boudreaux’s relationship more legitimate than it should be.
She was so distracted that she almost neglected to answer, and she hurriedly picked up the phone and connected before it went to voice mail.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello, Maggie,” Boudreaux said smoothly, and the familiar timber of his voice was somehow comforting. She realized that she’d missed him the last few weeks.
Awash (The Forgotten Coast Florida Suspense Series Book 6) Page 6
