“Ah, yes. Now I remember those two, Pryce and Adelia,” Murphy admitted. “Pryce made his money in San Francisco real estate. He was looking to buy land with an ocean view. That’s how they ended up here. Land was less expensive here than in the Bay Area. But the wife didn’t like the idea that, economically, things here looked bleak. She didn’t want to shell out a bundle on building a house that wouldn’t hold its value.”
Hannah and Caleb could hear the discussion as soon as they stepped inside the police station. Brent’s office was full of so many people, they could see the overflow had spilled out into the hallway.
At the sound of the door opening, Eastlyn backed out of the room, greeting them in the reception area. “Hey, what are you guys doing here?”
“I need to see Brent,” Hannah said, her face showing distress.
“He’s a little busy right now trying to work out a few of the background details on the Bradford property.”
Caleb cleared his throat. “I think he’ll want to hear what Hannah has to say.”
Eastlyn lifted a brow in curiosity. “Okay. Take a seat and I’ll see if I can pull him away from the group.”
They watched as Eastlyn burrowed her way through the throng until she reached Brent’s desk, where she leaned over and whispered something in the chief’s ear.
A few seconds later, Brent emerged from the room. “What’s this about? I’m kind of in the middle of something. If it can wait—”
“It can’t. I need to talk to you,” Hannah began. “It’s about those remains. I might know who they belong to.”
Creases formed on Brent’s forehead as he eyed Hannah’s agitated state. “Oh, really? Then let’s head down the hallway where we can talk.”
He led them to what looked like a small interrogation room. It was barely big enough for three people. “Have a seat.”
Nervous, Hannah shook her head. “No thanks. I do my best talking on my feet.” She went into the backstory about Micah and what had happened so long ago in Turlock to her entire family.
The information took Brent so much by surprise that he wasn’t sure what to ask first. He scrubbed his hands over his face and quickly regained his composure. His years of police training kicked in. “Ah. That’s what brought you here. You came to town to locate your brother?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you’d come to me for help when you first arrived.”
“I’m sorry. It never even crossed my mind to ask for help.”
Brent leaned back in his chair. “Tell me something. Did you ever add your DNA to a national registry for missing people, a database specifically used by law enforcement that looks to match relatives with bones, in hopes of getting a match to your brother?”
She met the chief’s eyes. “Yes. I did. As soon as I learned about its existence, I added my DNA hoping it would never apply to Micah.”
“Well, before you leave I’ll need another sample to check for a familial match.”
“Anything you need. I want answers, too.”
“Eastlyn!” Brent called out. “I need a DNA test kit back here.” He turned back to Hannah and motioned for her to sit down. “You like needles?”
“Not particularly.”
Hannah looked so tense he tried for a bit of humor. “Then get off your feet. You don’t want Eastlyn drawing blood while you’re standing up.” He held up his hands. “I’m trying to lighten the mood here. Taking DNA these days means a swab to the mouth, nothing more.”
Hannah gave him a half smile. “I knew that.”
“What do you want to bet Eastlyn has trouble finding the kits? That woman’s always organizing and rearranging a cabinet or a storage closet. She’s a real go-getter, but there are days she drives me nuts.”
After a few minutes ticked by, Eastlyn appeared in the doorway holding the plastic baggie with everything needed for collection. She looked from Caleb to Hannah. “Which one of you gets swabbed?”
Hannah sent the cop a wave. “That would be me.”
“Want me to do it?” Eastlyn asked Brent, even though she’d already started snapping on latex gloves.
“Be my guest,” Brent said, shifting in his chair toward Hannah. “You understand the medical examiner may have a long list of questions for you. At the top of that, will be whatever you can tell him about your brother, what hospital he was born in, date of birth, things of that nature. IDing the remains is priority one. The results of your swab should come back within the week. If it’s a match, we have a definite kidnapping in play that resulted in death. That falls within an FBI investigation, which means you’ll likely have to start from square one, repeating your story for their benefit. Prepare for a media blitz. They love spewing this kind of story out for breakfast.”
Hannah had been holding her breath while Eastlyn swabbed the insides of her mouth. She waited until the cop had stepped back before adding, “Sounds like a long nasty ordeal ahead. Will the FBI really need to get involved?”
“It depends on whether the remains belong to Micah Lambert. If it’s a match to you, the feds will likely drive over here from the Santa Cruz office, more for show than to actually work a case.”
“It doesn’t sound like you care too much for the feds,” Caleb surmised.
“I’ve dealt with them before. I’d rather not have them on my turf. It’s my case,” Brent pressed. “I don’t need the FBI poking their noses into a local homicide. But, I will cooperate with them if they come knocking.”
Eastlyn finished capping the tube and placed the swab inside an evidence bag. She looked at her boss. “Want me to drive this to the lab now, put a rush on it, and let the coroner know it could assist him in the identification process? I’m happy to do it.”
“See what I mean? A real go-getter. Sure. It’d save me a lot of leg work. I’ll call and tell him you’re on the way.” Brent swiveled in his chair to face Hannah. “Something else you need to know. When it’s a child’s death like this, the medical examiner will step up his game to find out how this baby died. And that could be tricky with such old bones. As of this moment, I’ll shift my focus to doing research and learning the details of your case. It’ll likely mean contacting the sheriff in Stanislaus County to see what he can share with me. All this will no doubt dredge up old memories for you. And like I said before, when the press gets wind of it…”
Patient up to this point, Caleb stood up. “When it comes to finding Micah, Hannah’s already done quite a bit of research on her own. She’s been searching years for answers.”
Brent eyed Caleb and then Hannah. “I’m curious as to what brought you here specifically. What did you think you’d find in Pelican Pointe? Why here of all places?” When Hannah just sat there without saying anything, Brent went on, “How did you come by the information that was good enough of a lead to think you’d find Micah here?”
Hannah cut Brent a look before glancing up at Caleb and then back across the desk at Brent. “If I tell you, it’s likely I’ll be admitting to an embarrassing situation. If you insist though, I suppose I’d describe how I got the information…as…something…not quite in the realm of your usual leads, not entirely within normal investigative methods.”
Fascinated, Brent sat up straighter in his chair. “You’re telling me you broke the law?”
“Um, no.”
“Okay.” Then it hit him. “How out of the realm are we talking about? Like paranormal out of the realm stuff?”
“I got a tip from someone,” Hannah finally blurted out. “Someone that seemed determined to get me here. I took it as a sign that karma or whatever it was had finally cooperated and pointed me in the right direction. I had hope.”
“Ah.” Brent bobbed his head. “By any chance would that have come from Scott Phillips?”
“Cut the BS, Brent?” Caleb snapped. “You know damn well how Scott likes to dabble in other people’s lives. He did it with Hannah back in San Mateo. One day she’s there living her life and then Scott enters the picture and dangles th
e possibility that she’d find Micah here. She packed up and here we are. Of course, Scott left out a crucial detail. He failed to mention that Micah would already be dead and buried at Bradford House.”
Brent pointed a finger at Caleb. “But we don’t know that for certain, do we? It is interesting though because Scott rarely interferes by dropping all those hints only to end up wrong. I have to consider Micah’s abduction a viable change of direction.”
“But you’re missing the mystery here,” Hannah stressed. “How did baby Micah get from Turlock to here?”
“Oh, I’m not missing a thing about the mystery. I get it,” Brent insisted. “I’m aware there’s still a lot of legwork yet to be done to find out how that baby came to be buried at Bradford House. You’re staying put here in town, right?”
“I’m not going anywhere until I find out what happened to my brother,” Hannah snapped.
“Good. Because I’m sure I’ll have more questions. In fact, I want you to go home and write this all out. I want you to share what you’ve discovered in your research over the years. Whatever it might be, no matter how trivial or unimportant you think it is. Was your investigation done through a private investigator or on your own?”
“I did it all myself, using a few leads from what I remembered at six, and going back to the day it happened. Since I didn’t have the money to hire a proper investigator, everything I know came from a lot of hard work and Internet searches.” Hannah got to her feet on shaky knees. “Before I go, I want you to promise me that you’ll keep me in the loop, no matter what.”
Brent bobbed his head in agreement. “I don’t have a problem with that. If it were me, I’d feel the same way.”
Hannah blew out a breath. “Could it be this simple? Micah’s been in that hole for decades? Could that poor little baby have been snatched out of his crib that day by a psychopath only to wind up buried in the ground? It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me.”
“Psychopaths don’t have to make sense,” Brent concluded.
“That’s the scariest thing. But he was just a little baby, unable to fight back, unable to hurt anyone. There was no need to kill him.”
Brent got to his feet as well. “I agree with that. Look, I don’t want you leaving here rushing headlong into a preconceived notion. I admit it sounds very much like we’ve already solved this thing. But years as a police officer has taught me one thing. Jumping to conclusions will get you off track, get you wearing blinders. No good cop should ever put on those blinders. I caution you not to make that leap until we get the DNA back. Once that happens and it’s a match, then we’ll start working backward twenty years.”
Hannah nodded. “Okay. I’m a little numb. I still need to process all this anyway. And you gave me homework. If not for Caleb I wouldn’t have come in here today.”
“But I’m glad you did. It was the right thing to do. It gives me another angle to look it and saves weeks of guesswork.”
“If it is Micah I want him buried next to my parents back in Turlock.”
Caleb stretched his arm around her waist. “Let’s take one step at a time for now. We have to get through this next week first.”
“There is one more thing you should know,” Hannah added. “I’m not convinced that my father is the one who shot my mother. I don’t think he took his own life that day. Which means it wasn’t a murder/suicide at all. I don’t think my father shot anyone.”
“Yeah,” Brent said with a nod. “I’d already thought of that possibility. How else was this woman planning to get her hands on the baby?”
“There’s just one problem with that theory,” Hannah said. “I’ve never been able to figure out the one missing ingredient about that day. If she was already in the house, if this woman had just murdered my mom and dad, then why did she pretend to be a social worker? Wouldn’t she have fled the scene with the baby and drove off? She didn’t need to pretend anything if she already had the baby.”
Brent sat back down. “Not necessarily.”
Hannah sat back down as well. “You want to explain that?”
“It’s a possibility the cops showed up before she could get out of the house with your brother. You see where I’m going with this?”
“Not really.”
“Off the top of my head, let’s take it from the little you’ve told me so far. Let’s say, this woman is brazen enough to commit a double homicide to get a baby. After all, we think that’s the sole reason she’s picked your family. She’s determined, maybe a little off her rocker and she knows what she wants, even if it means eliminating your parents to get it done. Somehow, she gains access into the house. Maybe she pretends to be a door to door salesperson or a survey taker. Whatever it is, it gets her inside the living room and your mother asks her if she’d like something to drink. She waits until your mom turns her back to head into the kitchen, and then takes out the weapon. She pulls the trigger.”
Getting caught up in setting the stage, Hannah licked her lips and provided the tidbits she’d learned over the years. “They were shot with a 9-millimeter. The gun was left at the scene right next to my father, hence the murder/suicide angle.”
“You’ve seen the police report?”
“I have copies of it. I believe my dad had been asleep in the bedroom but came out to the living room for some reason. That’s where the police found both bodies. Because the gun was there I guess they assumed they’d gotten into a fierce argument and my dad shot my mom. He saw what he’d done and then turned the gun on himself.”
“Okay, let’s go with where the bodies and gun were found minus the suicide. For this scenario, your dad is sound asleep in the bedroom. He hears what he thinks is a gunshot. He responds by getting out of bed and hurrying into the living room. Our perp fires again. She drops the gun near your dad. The neighbors, who heard the first shot minutes earlier, have already dialed 911. It’s the middle of the day, a slack time for the police. Maybe there’s already a uniform cruising the neighborhood, maybe he’s sitting around the corner for whatever reason and responds immediately to the call over his radio. The perp’s just murdered two people in cold blood. She looks out the window and sees the cop car pulling up to the curb before she even has time to jerk the baby out of his crib. She panics. She runs out the back. At some point, she realizes she didn’t get what she came for. She’s stewing about it, thinking long and hard about how to remedy that. She wanted that baby more than anything else in the world, enough to commit double murder, so she comes up with what she believes is a bold, daring move. She circles the block, maybe a couple of times, then she turns down your street to assess the situation. She pulls up behind a cruiser, puts the car in park and sits there to take in the scene. She realizes the police presence is growing with ever tick of the clock. But it’s a chaotic mess. First responders are inside walking the crime scene already. Baby Micah is wailing in the background, screaming his lungs out. The perp can hear him from her spot at the curb. You can bet there’s a police officer on scene charged to care for the infant, but he can’t calm the baby down. No matter what he does the kid keeps wailing. Our perpetrator simply walks in the door, claims to be the social worker who’s gonna take baby Micah off the guy’s hands. Believe me, in that situation any uniform will tell you they’re relieved when child services show up. The uniform gladly relinquishes the baby to the first person who offers. That’s our perp. He hands the baby over without a squabble. She walks out of the house, gets back to her car, and takes off. By the time anyone figures out that she isn’t who she claims to be, it’s too late.”
Hannah exchanged looks with Caleb before staring into Brent’s face. “Wow. You’ve figured out what I was never able to in less than five minutes. Why aren’t you kicking ass in some huge police department somewhere else?”
He gave her a smile. “I don’t want to live somewhere else. Did I get close?”
“Incredibly close. Your version of events solves the gaping hole in my theory. By any chance did you ever work homi
cide?”
Brent’s lips curved wider. “A time or two. So that fits more in line with what you already know?”
“Yes. There’s another issue that’s bothered me for years. If you get in touch with the sheriff up in Stanislaus County, ask him why no one ever bothered to check to see if the murder weapon actually belonged to my dad. I don’t think it did. I might be wrong about this since I was just a little kid, but the type of gun I remember my dad owning was more like a .22 rifle, a long gun. It wasn’t a short weapon. The first time I read the report it mentioned a 9-millimeter. I started looking through scads of pictures on the Internet. At the time, I didn’t know anything about guns, but I do know one thing. The weapon my dad owned didn’t look anything like an automatic handgun, not even close. Try comparing a rifle to a handgun. A child knows there’s a difference.”
“Okay, that’s good information. It’ll make me sound like I know something about the case that maybe he doesn’t. Have you ever spoken to a member of law enforcement face to face about the murders other than obtaining a copy of the police report?”
“A couple of times when I was in college I contacted the sheriff’s department, but they never called me back. So, one day I drove there, had to sit in the lobby for the better part of an afternoon before a detective came out to talk to me. His name was Morrissey, Jeb Morrissey. I’m pretty sure he retired last summer. He’s the one who felt sorry for me and got me a copy of the autopsies and the police report. But that was the only time I sat down with anyone…official.”
Brent stood up, offering his hand. “Hannah, you’ve done an amazing job to get this far. It’s okay to let me handle the rest.”
“I don’t know if I can let go. Cops usually have so much on their plates. They don’t have time to go back and revisit a case like mine, a case where I’m trying to find my only brother but also trying to prove my father wasn’t a murderer. This case is my life, finding the truth is all I’ve ever truly wanted.”
Beneath Winter Sand Page 9
