“Do you know who killed him? Why?”
He shook his head. “There are a lot of unanswered questions here, Emily,” he said, “but the manhunt is over. The rest we have to leave up to autopsy and forensics. That’s partly you. Are you up for it?”
She glanced at the bloodied floor once again and nodded. “Sure. Send the stuff on over. I’m going to go back to the office.”
He stepped aside and allowed her to leave the room.
Emily climbed into her car, shut the door, and cried to her heart out.
Sam parked the car in front of a slightly less impressive residence just a few blocks from Melanie Bosch’s home. This was where Rachel Kennedy lived.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nate asked.
Sam nodded. “We have to find some connection. Did the guy know she’d be there, or was she a victim of convenience? We need to find this guy, Nate.”
Nate nodded. “Duly noted. Shall we?” he began to open his door.
Sam followed him and rang the doorbell. He almost dreaded this more than he dreaded talking to Melanie's parents.
A tall, thin woman with light brown hair opened the door.
“May I help you?” she asked with a smile.
“Mrs. Kennedy?” he asked.
“Ms., and yes.” she held her smile on her face, but her eyes began to look a bit worried.
Sam flashed his badge. “I’m agent Kent and this is agent Wesley. We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We need to speak with your daughter, if that’s possible.”
The woman took a step back, furrowed her brow, and invited them in.
“If I may ask,” she started as she led them to the living room. “What do you need to speak with my daughter about?”
Sam sighed. “It’s pertaining to a missing persons case, I can’t comment on it.”
The woman nodded. “This is about Melanie. Rachel is so distraught. I only hope you find her soon so I can have my beautiful little girl back.” She motioned to the living room doorway.
Sam smiled at her and entered the room. It was immaculately furnished, with comforting hues of blue and green.
“Rachel,” said Ms. Kennedy. “These men are from the FBI, and they want to ask you a few questions.” As was her right, she stayed in the room with them.
Sam looked around the room, not seeing anyone. Finally, after a few minutes, a head slowly appeared over the arm of the massive couch.
A girl with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very thin figure, stood to her feet.
“Are you here about Melanie?” she asked.
Sam smiled slightly. This girl could be Melanie’s twin. “Yes. We need to ask you a few things.”
She nodded and flopped onto the couch.
Sam sat in a chair across from her, noting where her mother took up a protective position in the room. She obviously didn’t trust the FBI with her daughter. Not that Sam could blame her.
“How old are you, Rachel?” Sam asked.
“Twelve,” she said softly.
“Rachel, do you remember what time Melanie left your house?” he asked softly.
Almost before he finished asking the question, she answered. “Three-fifty-two. On the dot. I left with her.”
All of a sudden, Sam wondered if this girl knew more than she was letting on.
“Where did you leave her?”
Rachel swiped a tear from her cheek. “Halfway to her house. I had to go to another friend’s house.”
Sam noted how she looked at the floor the whole time. “Rachel, why are you lying to us?”
She jerked her head up, and her chin began to quiver. “I...I didn’t want to say anything, because I was afraid he’d come after me too.”
Nate and Sam shared a knowing glance.
“You saw this man take her?” Sam asked.
Rachel nodded. “I was with her the whole time. I don’t know why he left me there, but he did. I tried to pretend like nothing happened, like it was all a dream, but it wasn’t. I was there when Melanie disappeared.”
Sam leaned forward. “Rachel, do you think you could describe this man to a sketch artist?”
She nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget what he looked like.”
Sam smiled. “Good,” he said. He stood to his feet and addressed Ms. Kennedy.
“Ma’am,” he said, “would you and your daughter accompany us to FBI headquarters? I would like for her to speak with a sketch artist. Let’s see if we can find this guy.”
Ms. Kennedy nodded, tears falling down her own cheeks. “Of course. We’ll follow you. Rachel, honey, go get your coat.”
Rachel scampered out of the room and returned a minute later with her jacket in hand.
Sam and Nate headed to their car and waited for Rachel and her mother to get into their small sedan.
Sam dialed Emily’s office number and listened to it ring.
“Hi, this is Emily Baker,” she said hurriedly. She sounded out of breath.
“Em, are you ok?”
“Yeah, fine. Just got into the office and had to rush to get to the phone. What do you need?”
“Just passing on some information. The girl that went missing the other day has a best friend named Rachel. They were together when she was taken. We’re heading in to talk to a sketch artist.”
“He made a mistake?” she asked almost gleefully.
Sam had to smile at her enthusiasm. Not many people would be so enthusiastic about a killer making a mistake, but those at the FBI knew how major that was.
“He made a mistake,” he assured her.
“I’ll meet you at your desk.” She hung up the phone.
“Bye to you, too,” he mumbled. He started the car and pulled away from the curb. This could be the break they had waited for. He hoped it was. This case was taking turns that were far too weird.
When they reached the FBI offices, Sam took their two visitors up to his desk to meet Emily and wait on the artist.
True to her word, Emily was sitting in his chair. She smiled when she saw him coming and extended her hand to Ms. Kennedy.
“Ms. Kennedy, I’m Emily. I’m the forensic scientist assigned to this case and I just wanted to meet your beautiful daughter.” She turned to Rachel. “I’m Emily Baker.”
Rachel shook Emily’s hand, and Sam smiled.
“You said that,” Rachel said with a smile. “You’re going to help get Melanie back, right?”
Emily nodded. “If it’s within my power. I know what losing your family feels like, and I’m sure that Melanie is like family to you.”
Rachel nodded. “She is.”
Ms. Kennedy pursed her lips. “You know nothing about losing family. You don’t know what it feels like to have your child’s father run out on you two weeks before she’s born. And you certainly don’t know what it’s like to make your own way in the world, without a family to lean on.”
Sam winced. Now Ms. Kennedy had done it. She had pushed Emily too far.
Emily, thankfully, took it graciously. “Actually, my parents divorced when I was eleven. My little sister was murdered when she was nine, and I don’t remember my mom ever telling me that she loved me.” She turned back to Rachel. “You’re so fortunate to have a mom as great as yours.”
Rachel smiled again. “Yeah, I kind of knew that.”
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, Emily had learned how to handle these situations. He was no longer the peacemaker. He raised his head slightly to thank God for grace and the ability to learn how to deal with people.
As he brought his head back down, he spotted the artist coming through the door with a box of pencils and a notebook. Evan, the artist, liked to do things the old-fashioned way. He hated using the “new-fangled” computer programs.
“Rachel, why don’t you sit in my chair and I’ll introduce you to Evan. He’s a great guy, I’m sure you’ll love him.”
After making introductions and seeing that Nate had the family under control, Sam pulled Emi
ly to the door.
“Thanks for being someone Rachel could relate to,” he said sincerely.
Emily just nodded, staring into space.
“What’s grating on you, Em?” he asked.
Emily bit her lip and wrung her hands. “Lester’s dead. And I don’t know what to tell my mother.”
Sam put his hands on her shoulders. “The truth would be a great place to start.” He kissed her forehead. “Go. Call her now. The sooner the better.”
Emily smiled and turned to leave.
Sam watched her go and smiled to himself. It came so easy, the comforting and the love. He somehow knew that this was how love was supposed to be for everyone.
FIFTEEN
Emily weighed her cell phone in her hand and debated how to break the news to her mother.
Hey, mom, don’t worry about Lester, he’s dead. No, that was way too insensitive.
I’m so sorry that your husband died, but it was kind of ironic? Still too insensitive. She really needed help when it came to conversations with her mother. Finally, she just dialed the number and waited for her mother to pick up. Whatever happened would happen. It was as simple as that.
“Hello?” her mother answered. She sounded like she had just woken up.
“I’ve got some bad news, mom,” Emily said as slowly and sensitively as possible.
“They found him?” Fran asked. It was more of a statement than a question, and it made Emily wonder how her mother knew.
“Yeah,” she said softly. So softly, in fact, that she barely heard herself.
“Is he dead?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Emily said.
“You don’t sound happy about it,” her mother said coolly.
“I’m not,” Emily forced herself to admit. And to think she had wished death on the man for years.
“I thought you would be overjoyed. You always hated the man.”
“I learned better,” she sufficed to say.
Her mother was silent for a long moment. Then, with a quiver in her voice, she spoke.
“How, Emily? How did you learn?”
Emily swallowed a sob. “I found Jesus, mom. He taught me about forgiveness and grace.” Something inside her wanted to add, do you know what those are?, but she quieted the voice.
“I’m sorry, Emily,” Fran said, so softly that Emily thought she was imagining it.
“What?” she asked. Had her mother really just apologized? That wasn't like Fran at all. Emily had always been sure that Fran had a heart of stone.
“I said I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I ruined your childhood, I’m sorry that I ran away, and I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother. I really do love you.”
Emily could feel her bruised and beaten heart begin to mend. How long had she waited and longed for her mother to say that? How long had it been since she had felt the joy of having a loving mother?
“I love you, too,” she said, still crying. “I guess I always have. I mean, you are my mother, after all.”
Fran let out a giggle. “Wow, that Jesus fellow must have worked wonders on you.”
“He has, mom,” Emily assured her. “Forgiveness and grace take more courage than hatred and revenge. I’m a new creation. You could be, too.”
“Oh, pshaw! He doesn’t want me. I’m just someone’s leftover white trash. But you’ve always been different. Better, even.”
The statement stung. Was that really how her mother saw herself? As white trash? Even when Emily didn’t like her, she had never thought of her as white trash. She was a hardened woman with a generous heart. Never white trash.
“Mom, He doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve done. He loves you just as you are.”
“No one ever loved me just as I am,” Fran said bitterly.
“I did. Dad does. Sure, you broke his heart when you cheated on him, but he still holds out hope that you’ll come back. He still loves you.”
“Do you love me just as I am now? As a worthless piece of someone else’s used goods?”
Emily swallowed. That was a delicate situation. A fragile question that called for a deep and thoughtful answer. She silently asked God for wisdom.
“Mom,” she said seriously, “when you left us, I still loved you. When Lani was killed, I wondered why you hadn’t done anything to help her, but I still loved you. I’ll admit lately I haven’t been too keen on you, but I do love you.”
Her mother began to cry again. “I tried to help Lani,” she wailed. “I tried CPR and I asked the hospital to pump my blood into her. I couldn’t do anything.”
“I kind of meant before that. When she was being abused.” Emily squeezed her eyes shut to block out the memories of black eyes, split lips, even purple-and-blue arms and legs.
“I tried then, too,” Fran admitted. “I wanted to give sole custody to your father, but Lester kept talking me out of it. Lani wasn’t the only one he abused. In his twisted mind, Lani was the only happiness I had besides him, so he wanted me to keep her. I always did. And I’ve always regretted it.”
Emily sank into a chair. Her mother had been abused too? How had she never known that? Why had she never thought of that? Suddenly, her office was far too stuffy. She needed to work from home. She began to pack up her things.
“He abused you?” she asked.
Fran sighed. “I didn’t think it would be wise to tell you at age eleven. You might have done something drastic.”
“It doesn’t even matter anymore, mom. God can heal those wounds.”
“Can He take away the scars? Can He refasten the broken bones?”
It was Emily’s turn to sigh. “It starts with the emotional, but if you pray for it and believe you’ll get it, then yeah, he’ll heal you.”
Fran began to cry again. “Emily, I don’t want to fight with you anymore. I want to meet this Jesus.”
“Ok. Come on over to my place, and we’ll talk. I’ll even show you some scripture to back up the faith thing.” She gave her the address and said goodbye. Her mother should cover the bases when it came to protection, so she didn’t bother to tell Sam where she was going, or that she was leaving at all. He would get over it.
She slipped out of the FBI offices and into her car. She was glad to finally be free of her watchdog. It felt good.
After doing a once-around at her house, she settled onto the couch and waited for her mother.
Fran showed up less than five minutes later, with an overnight bag.
Emily glanced at her mother, to the bag, and back to her mother. “Why?” she asked.
Fran shrugged. “Your father said that you had a stalker. I am going to spend the night with you. No one is going to get past me, and you know it.” She stalked into the living room and sat down on the couch.
“Mom, he hasn’t even left anything in nearly a week.” she knew she was exaggerating, but maybe her mother would believe it.
“That means nothing to me, Emily. Nothing at all.” she dropped the overnight bag forcefully onto the floor.
“That means he’s done bothering me.” Now Emily was just beginning to be perturbed. Could no one leave her alone anymore?
“Don’t sweat it, Emily. I have to leave at four tomorrow morning. I’m going on a business trip.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Ok. But just this once. I’m tired of always being watched.”
Fran smiled in triumph. She patted the seat beside her. “Let’s talk about what I really came here for, ok?”
Emily sat down. “Ok. What do you want to know?”
“Why does he want me? God, that is. Why would he love me?”
Emily pulled her Bible off the coffee table. “There’s really no exact reason written down in the Bible, God just does. He made us, mom. Of course he loves us.”
Fran nodded. “Something about no greater love.”
“‘A man has no greater love than this, that he lay down his life for his friend’,” Emily quoted. “Yeah, it’s in there. God sent his only son.”
Fran nodde
d. “Why don’t you go ahead to bed? I’m going to think about this overnight.”
Emily nodded, startled at the abrupt end to the conversation and afraid her mother had changed her mind. She walked solemnly to bed, fervently praying that God would open her mother’s eyes. She fell asleep with prayers on her lips.
She awoke with a start at four-thirty and glanced at her window. She saw a shadow move across it and screamed. Something was out there. Some one was out there.
She grabbed her phone and an iron, just waiting for whoever it was to come in. It took a full ten minutes for her to realize that it was just a tree branch, knocking against the window.
She shakily lowered the iron and replaced her phone to the nightstand. She then closed her eyes and willed morning to come. Suddenly paranoia was taking hold.
SIXTEEN
Sam couldn’t believe that Emily had been so foolish the night before. She had gone home alone. She hadn’t even had anyone to stay with her. If he weren’t so hard at work, he would go confront her right now. She was being irrational. Didn’t she realize everything he did was for her own good?
He took a deep breath and pulled up his calendar. He was going out with his mother later, and he wanted to make sure he had the right time in his head. He checked and double-checked it. Seven PM was the set time. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had enough time to go home and get changed, then confront Emily, before he left for dinner.
He glanced across the room at Nate and tried to think of how to politely ask him to stop whistling. Sure, whistling was a great stress reliever, but it was also annoying.
“Shut up, Nate,” he finally said.
Nate made a face, but stopped whistling.
“Someone is highly irritable today,” Nate sing-songed. He slammed a file onto his desk and flipped it open noisily.
Sam rolled his eyes. Just because he was slightly irritated at Emily didn’t mean he was being irritable. Except for the fact that it was true. He huffed and went back to his report and research. He still wondered how the mystery man didn’t have any prints in any system. It was weird. So. Very. Weird.
“How’s the work going?” Nate asked with a smile. He continued to flip pages noisily. Sam was pretty sure that Nate wasn't even reading them anymore, he was just doing so to annoy him.
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