by D. A. Brown
This was who he was and he was uninterested in changing anything about his life. He didn’t care about a single solitary soul. He didn’t want help. If he could stay out of jail, he’d take every ounce of scorn he’d get if the rest of world knew his secret. If he could get away with murder, if it wasn’t so messy and time consuming, he’d choose that path. He was a psychopath in love with his pathology.
Eldon hesitated before entering the encrypted playground, changing his avatar from Gregor, a swarthy, thin man with the devil’s goatee and horns, to a pale, blond eight-year old boy named Justin. His heart raced as he manipulated the keyboard and guided his playmate through the gate.
He felt it in his bones. His fingers trembled and his eyes widened.
He was going to get another chance to see the new little girl, the real life angel contained in a fully rendered interactive character.
CHAPTER THREE
The red message light on Sophia’s desk phone blinked slowly. She punched in her password. The voice on the other end was professional and detached. It was Grace’s father, Stewart Halifax, saying that he and his wife would be available later in the day to discuss the situation with his daughter. He paused awkwardly on the word ‘situation’ as though he was trying to find another descriptor. Sophia decided not to return his call, knowing people often excused their way out of hard conversations. She’d cold call them, show up at their house unannounced.
“I’m going to run by the victim’s home and see if mom or dad will talk to me.” Sophia was doing her best to not let Tommy get to her.
Stinson sighed. “I’m not in the best of moods. Can you do it alone or take Jess or Paulson?” He was packing up his desk, ready to call it a day before noon.
“That’s why I used the pronoun ‘I’.”
“Jesus, Soph.”
“I think I can handle it without you.” Sophia brushed past Tommy before he could stand up. She grabbed the unit car keys and headed out to the parking deck.
Within a few minutes, Sophia was a stone’s throw from Volunteer Park, land purchased by the city in 1876 for a cemetery and officially commissioned a park in 1901. It was a beautiful piece of land in the middle of the city.
But at night, the park and its dark corners became a notorious cruising spot.When Sophia had worked nights on third watch as a new officer in the East precinct, she often found herself driving through the park long after it had closed, painting the stands of Douglas Firs with her spotlight, looking for men crouching in the shadows or darting away.
She’d developed a bit of a reputation on the watch for sweeping the park after closing, leading some to accuse her of being obsessed with that peculiar set of humans who sought out anonymous sexual encounters. It had also garnered her more than a few complaints of harassment from members of the gay community.
“Why do you give a shit, Benedetti? They want to kill themselves, let ‘em.” It was not an uncommon refrain from her co-workers who had become resigned to looking the other way. They were ‘damned if they did, and damned if they didn’t’ when it came to enforcing laws against lewd conduct in the park.
But for Sophia, it was personal.
Three years earlier, her oldest brother Matthew had been murdered in Buena Vista park in San Francisco. Although the crime remained unsolved, police believed he was one of several men targeted by a serial killer as they cruised for sex. Matty had kept his life separate from her and her other two brothers, Anthony and Michael. Her parents had no clue that their first born was living a life of duplicity, dating women until midnight and then cruising the park after hours.
Her last conversation with Matty was the night before he was killed. He’d called to say he had met someone special and was going to come up to Seattle for a quick visit in a month or two. He sounded happier than she’d remembered in years.
For Sophia, driving through the park shining her light on anything that moved wasn’t harassment. She couldn’t protect Matty. Maybe she could save someone else’s brother.
Sophia drove slowly north down Federal Ave on what a Seattle Times reporter once called ‘one of Seattle’s most stylish streets.’ Framed with Dutch and New England Colonials, English Tudors and Norman French manors, it was old money mixed with a side of diversity.
Sophia spotted the Halifax house on the corner of the intersection. It was a brick Georgian colonial, set back high on the property. Impeccably groomed shrubbery ringed the front yard, sitting atop a boulder barrier to the street. She imagined the house decorated during the holidays with tasteful lights and handmade ornaments, a Noble fir laden with Christmas decorations in the living room window.
Sophia pressed the doorbell and from inside came the opening bars to ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus.’
Sophia stepped back as the door opened and a small boy appeared on the threshold.
“Hi.” The child revealed several missing teeth.
“I’m Detective Benedetti. Is your mom or dad home?”
“My mom is. My dad’s not here.” The boy looked over his shoulder and then back at Sophia. “You’re here about my sister?”
“I’m here to talk to your parents. Can you let your mom know I’m here, please?” The child was probably eight years old, but even after two years of working child abuse cases, Sophia still was a bad judge of age when it came to kids.
“George, who is it?” The sharp sound of heels clicked against a hardwood floor.
“Yes, may I help you?” The woman pulled the door open and lightly pushed George behind her. She wore a light blue cashmere sweater and black pants. A petite strand of pearls hung around her neck.
“I’m Sophia Benedetti, the detective on your daughter’s case. Your husband left a message on my phone this morning.” She glanced behind the woman at George, who leaned against the wall in the hallway.
“That’s strange. My husband didn’t say anything to me before he left for work. That’s par for the course, but still…” The woman looked at her watch. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll see if I can reach him. Perhaps he was planning on coming back to the house to meet you.”
She held open the door and put out her hand. “I’m Ginny Halifax, Grace’s mother.” Sophia shook the woman’s hand. It was soft and buttery.
George extended his hand to Sophia’s holster, touching the top of her Glock. “That’s a gun.”
Ginny slapped his arm.
“Ouch,” George cried.
Ginny glanced sheepishly at Sophia. “He’s a curious kid. It’ll get him in trouble one day, I swear.”
Sophia squatted until she was eye to eye with George. “It’s never a good idea to grab a police officer’s weapon. Maybe someday you’ll get to hold a gun but you’re a little young now.”
“Don’t tell his father that,“ Ginny said. “If he had his way, Georgie would be packing a revolver to t-ball practice.” She grabbed a cell phone from a table on the hallway. “Do you mind waiting here for a moment?”
George followed his mother, both disappearing around a corner before Sophia could respond.
Sophia stood in the entry way. It was formal but homey, decorated with handwoven baskets, a low bookcase full of children’s books and a few framed photos of old Seattle. It led straight ahead to a long hallway that appeared to branch in two directions at the end. A tall and narrow window at the end of the hall opened to a view of the backyard. Sophia guessed the kitchen was to the right of the window. To her left was the living room, filled with white leather furniture and an ultra modern glass coffee table. The room was sparsely furnished and looked as though it belonged in a New York loft, not a Northwest home. Nobody lives in that room. Why would you ever have white furniture with kids?
Sophia glanced down the hallway and then quickly stepped into the living room. It felt as though her presence might cast a black mark on the pristine whiteness of it all. It reminded her of a hospital clinic. This was all for show.
“Ms. Benedetti?”
Sophia stepped back into the hallwa
y. “It’s Detective Benedetti, ma’am. Nice living room.”
“We rarely use it. My husband insisted on having a formal living room for entertaining, which we never do.” Ginny leaned over and picked up a pine needle that Sophia had tracked into the house. “Detective. Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Where is your husband, Mrs. Halifax?”
“He’s tied up at work. He’s a doctor. It’s not uncommon for him to not make it to appointments. We’ll have to reschedule, I guess.” Ginny walked toward the door. Sophia didn’t move.
“Mrs. Halifax, this is not some student-parent meeting. Those pictures of your daughter…” Sophia hated having these conversations with parents. It was only slightly less painful than making middle of the night death notifications when she was in patrol. She looked over Ginny’s shoulder and caught sight of George.
Ginny stiffened. “We need to reschedule, Detective. Besides, George is home sick today. I don’t want to have this conversation in front of him.” She walked to the front door and reached for the handle.
“We need to do this as soon as possible, Mrs. Halifax. And we have to get Grace in for a forensic interview at the prosecutor’s office and she needs to be evaluated by a doctor, preferably a specialist. Is there a reason you and your husband didn’t take her in right away?”
“We wanted to wait for a specific specialist — a friend of the family — and he wasn’t available. We have an appointment next week.”
“What day?”
“I’d have to look at my calendar. I don’t know off the top of my head.”
“Do you know the name of the doctor?” Sophia pulled out a small notebook and pen.
“I don’t.” Ginny ran her hand though her hair, pinning back her long bangs. Her eyes darted between Sophia and the door.
“Mrs. Halifax, you just told me the doctor was a friend of the family, now you don’t recall his name?”
“Frankly, I’m trying to wrap my head around this whole thing. I’m relying on Stewart to take the lead on this. I’m not good with this kind of…” Her voice trailed off and she stared at the floor.
“No one expects you to be good at this.” Sophia pulled a business card from her pocket.
“Call me as soon as you hear from your husband. I need to interview the two of you and your son, Barrett. If he’s not comfortable talking to a woman, he can talk to my partner Detective Tom Stinson.”
“Barrett’s very upset about this whole thing. He’s not able to concentrate in school and he really can’t afford to drop any grades. He barely eked his way into Stanford. Stewart would be devastated if they pushed him out at this late date.”
“Of course he’s upset, Mrs. Halifax, but we really need to talk to him.”
“Oh, my husband talked to him at length. And of course that very nice police officer who came to the house and took a report. He talked to Barrett, too. I don’t know that he can add anything more.” Ginny opened the front door. “He’s such a sensitive young man. I hope this experience doesn’t change him. Thankfully, we have such a strong faith.”
“Children are very resilient. You’d be surprised what they can overcome.” Sophia stopped and turned back to face Ginny. “I can expect to hear from you or your husband by the end of the day?”
“One of us will call you. I promise.”
Back in the car, Sophia stared at the Halifax home. There was nothing but perfection about the place. A horseshoe of rhododendrons huddled near the driveway, poised to outshine the rest of the garden with their bombastic flowers. To the south, a line of cedars marked the end of the finely manicured lawn. It looked like a castle from a fairy tale. Something unsettling had just transpired between her and Ginny Halifax. Sophia couldn’t put her finger on it but it was there – something malignant and ugly.
Sophia came around the corner of the cubicle she shared with Stinson, fully expecting, and secretly hoping his chair would be empty. He was studiously typing at his computer. He nodded his head silently in her direction but didn’t take his eyes of the monitor screen.
“I thought you were taking off.” Sophia dropped her bag and wiggled the computer mouse.
“I changed my mind.” Stinson was still in a mood.
“Well, you didn’t miss anything. The girl’s parents basically blew me off.“
He glanced over his shoulder. “How’s that?”
“The wife was there. Her husband was ‘too busy’ to come and talk to me.” She bent over her fingers in an air quote. “I have a really bad feeling about this whole thing. About this family, actually.”
Sophia leaned back in her chair. “I’ll bet you a paycheck they try and bug out. I think they’re far more concerned about their reputation and their son, Barrett.”
“Really? More than the five year-old?” Stinson returned to his computer.
“What are you working on?”
“I thought I’d wrap up a few loose ends on some old files.”
Sophia had acquired a bad habit of half listening to her partner. She glanced at her computer and saw a phone message sitting in her inbox. It was from Victoria Tilden.
“Looks like that victim from yesterday called. Victoria Tilden. Your new girlfriend.”
“Well, I didn’t see that coming. She sure didn’t seem to give a shit when we left.” Stinson grabbed his gun from his top drawer, holstered it, and locked his computer screen. “I gotta do some PB. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“What kind of PB?” Sophia was used to getting ditched by Stinson so he could conduct personal business on-duty and she had long suspected it involved meeting his girlfriend on the side.
“The none-of-your-business kind of PB.”
As he rounded the corner, she heard him say, “Looking good, Julie,” to the admin specialist.
“Frickin’ shameless,” Sophia thought. She glanced at her watch. It was already two pm. He wasn’t coming back.
She didn’t recognize the number Victoria left. It didn’t belong to the women’s shelter. Voicemail picked up after one ring. It was a male voice that sounded drunk. Sophia feared it was the voice of Victoria’s rapist. Hanging up, she walked out to Julie.
“Did you take that message from Victoria Tilden?”
“The British chick? She wasn’t very pleasant.”
“Is this the number?” She showed Julie the scrap of paper with the number scribbled on it.
“If that’s a ‘7’, then yes. There was a lot of noise in the background. I had to ask her to repeat herself four times. If I didn’t know better, it sounded like she was calling from the jail. You know, it was all echoey, like she was in a tin can.”
Sophia walked back to her desk. Was it possible Victoria was calling from the suspect’s phone? Wouldn’t have been the first time, but she knew Bug was still in custody. Sophia had one more day to file the case or cut him loose. It was too late to go across the street and try to talk to him at the jail, and she wouldn’t go by herself, anyway. Despite the fact that he was probably an old drunk with one foot in the grave, it never paid to interview a suspect alone at the jail. Even the most feeble dirt bag could turn ugly and physical if provoked. Some guys looked forward to a fight, even in the jail, where the consequences for an inmate was always guaranteed to be brutal. Her one and only fight with an inmate provided her with a deep cut to her hand and a long internal investigation by the Office of Professional Accountability.
Sophia grabbed her bag and pushed her chair under her desk. Stinson’s cubicle was freakishly clean. She pawed through a couple of files on his desk, self-conscious and slightly guilty over her curiosity at his sudden interest in giving a shit about his case backlog. Something in his scribbled handwriting caught her eye — it was the number to human resources, a note about retirement and a reminder to set a date for early next year.
“The bastard’s really going to cut the cord.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Sophia pulled into her garage, careful to leave plenty of distance between the Jeep and her Moto Guzzi that wa
s tucked into the corner and protected by a heavy duty cover. It’d been months since she’d ridden, and the old itch was starting to beg for a scratch. She peaked under the cover and ran her hand under the bike’s engine. It was dry and free from oil. Her last repair must have taken care of the leak. Carefully tucking the cover back around the cowling, she shut the garage door and locked it.
Between the muffled barks and the chaotic tap dance of her nails on the hardwood floor, Bodhi’s favorite person in the world was home. Sophia bent down and let the dog wash her with wet kisses from her chin to her hairline.
“Okay, okay. Even I’m getting a little disgusted, girl.” Sophia stood up and wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.
She dropped her bag in the hallway, placed her gun and holster on top of the only antique she owned — a beautiful oak bookcase — and peered into the living room.
“Well, I see you made yourself at home.” She scratched the top of Bodhi’s head.
Pillows lay in a haphazard half-circle in front of the couch. A pile of books leaned precariously next to her reading chair. It was her last big group purchase of hardbacks before swearing off bookstores for a while. Bodhi had left a blonde trail of hair across the expanse of the couch after carefully pulling off the old blanket meant to protect the fabric.
“Jesus, Bodhi.” Sophia threw the blanket back on the couch and tossed the pillows behind it.
After a quick change into tights, a Nike tee shirt with matching hoodie, and a pair of Adidas Supernovas, she leashed up Bodhi and headed out the door.
It wasn’t quite summer yet, and the early evening, once the sun was low in the sky, could cut a brisk spell, especially near the Puget Sound. Sophia found her rhythm quickly, heading west on Admiral Way toward the beach. It was downhill for fifteen minutes, flat for twenty and then hellishly steep back to the house. The metronomic slap, slap, slap of her footsteps on the pavement reminded her more than once that she’d forgotten her iPod. Nothing silenced the rough edges of her breath.
