by Billie Reece
I’m just not sure in which direction.
“I need copies of this,” I say.
“On it.” Ignacio walks off.
Sharon comes down the hall. Where I’m still covered in dirt, she’s cleaned and put back together. Even her flat-ironed red hair lays smooth and in place.
“Sharon, go get Mrs. Stevens. Keep it low key. We need to ask a few questions. Make sure Mr. Stevens doesn’t come with her.”
“Got it.” She cuts a u-turn and on second thought, glances back. “Also, that journalist, Jamie Hearst is here. I put her in room two.”
Crap, I’d forgotten that I sent for her.
But that’s okay. Let Fred Xanders stew for a bit. Time to question the local reporter that somehow knows about the “care package”.
Jaime Hearst jumps when I open the door to room two. Then she gasps when she takes me in. From my tangled kinky blonde hair to the bruise on my cheek, down across my dirty clothes, to the hole I just now realize I tore in my pants.
I’d gasp too if I saw myself.
Now that I’m looking at her, I do recall her face from earlier when I visited Mr. and Mrs. Stevens’s home. A tall and slender woman with shoulder-length light brown hair and blue eyes that bulge. Usually, eyes like that indicate a thyroid problem.
“Why am I here?” She nearly starts crying. “What did I do wrong?”
Leaving the door open, I offer a smile. “Relax. You’re okay. I need to ask a few questions, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders ease.
I don’t sit down. I don’t plan on being in here long enough to sit. “It’s about Lawrence Inglebird.”
Jaime frowns. “The old man reporter?”
“Looks like Colonel Sanders,” I offer, and she laughs.
“What about him?”
“Lawrence said that you were the one who told him about the ‘care package’ that was delivered to Danielle Stevens’s home.”
“Yes.” Jaime shifts anxiously in her chair. “I stopped into the 7-Eleven down the road from the townhome community where Danielle Stevens lives. Everyone was talking about it. I heard there was a ransom note. Is that true?”
“I’m the one asking questions, not you.”
She blushes in embarrassment. “Sorry.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, I told Lawrence about it. Except…”
“What?”
Jaime shrugs. “I don’t know. He didn’t seem too surprised. That’s all. I think he already knew. Or, I don’t know. I don’t want to get anybody in trouble.”
“You’re not.” I open the door wider. “Thank you for your time. You may go.”
Her body sags with relief. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Her chair scrapes over the tile floor as she stands up.
“One last thing,” I say. “Where were you on Friday around three in the afternoon?”
Her bulging blue eyes widen. “That’s when Danielle was abducted.”
“I know. Just for our records. Please answer the question.”
“Um…um…” Her gaze flits around the room. “Um…oh my God!” She smiles, clearly relieved to have an alibi. “I was doing an interview. Noah something or other. I can’t recall his last name. His cats keep turning up missing.”
I frown. “What?”
“He has a ton of cats and they keep disappearing. He’s old. Like ninety or something. He’s had five go missing. No three. No…four—”
“It’s fine.” I wave it off. “This can be verified?”
“Sure.” Her head bobs. “I can get you Noah’s last name and number. I don’t have it on me. But I can get it.”
“You do that.” I motion her out. “Just call the station when you get the information.”
Back out in the hall, Ignacio offers me a folder. “The photo you requested.”
“Thanks.” I take it and nod to Jaime. “Will you see her out?”
“Sure.”
Ignacio walks Jaime down the hall and I open the folder. Two familiar faces gaze up, both with smiles.
I turn back toward the room where Fred Xanders is. “Now, let’s see what this is all about.”
Twenty-One
She strained to listen but heard nothing beyond the closet door. How long ago had it been since they opened it? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t know if it was morning or night. She didn’t know how long she’d been in here. All she knew was that it was cold and dark.
And she wanted to go home.
Her legs were asleep but she didn’t dare risk moving. Her throat felt raw from swallowing her sobs. Her mouth ached with dryness from the gag. She wanted desperately to drink water. To move her body. To let out a cry.
She did, a small one. It came muffled around the gag, slicing through the dark. The sound startled her. No, she had to keep quiet. What if they heard? What if they came back? What if they hurt her?
The thought of them hurting her made another cry come, this one louder.
She knew what they were capable of. She saw what they did to the cat. Or rather, what was left of it. It looked like a car had hit it, but she knew they had killed it. Not a car.
The girl had brought it in, laid out on a serving tray. She stared in horror at the flesh and bone, the fur and meat. The rotting smell had surrounded her, clogging her nose and making her gag.
She’d almost thrown up when the cat moved. It was still alive. The head twitched. It had moaned in agony. The girl laughed and laughed.
Then the girl took the cat, shut the closet door, and skipped away.
That had been hours ago now. She prayed the cat had died.
She prayed she wasn’t next.
Twenty-Two
When I walk back in Fred Xanders’s room, his head is tilted back. With his mouth open, he stares at the ceiling. I glance at the ceiling, too, before bringing my attention down to the ingrown hairs dotting his neck.
“You ready to talk?” I ask, shutting the door.
Still looking at the ceiling, he sighs. “I don’t know where—”
“Danielle is. Right. Got it.” I sit down, chancing a quick look at Caroline.
She shakes her head. I’m not sure if that means no, he hasn’t said a word or no, I don’t have a read on him yet. Either way, shit’s about to hit.
I lay the closed folder on top of the table. “Tell me how you know the Stevens family.”
Fred brings his head back up normal. He glances at the folder. He swallows. “I live next door. That’s how I know the Stevens family.”
“Any other way?” I link fingers on top of the table. “Ever met them before moving in next door?”
His gaze flicks from the folder to my eyes, back to the folder. He shifts. “No.”
Unlinking my fingers, I place my hands palm down. I tap my index finger in a slow metronome ticking rhythm. “Really think hard. Dig deep. Did you meet Mr. or Mrs. Stevens prior to moving in next door to them?”
Fred opens his mouth. He closes it. He opens it again.
I keep my gaze fixed on his face but my finger maintains the tap-tap-tapping rhythm.
“No?” His brows go up.
“Sounds like a question, not a statement.”
Another clearing of the throat. “No.”
“Huh.” Opening the folder, I take out an eight-by-ten color print. I rotate it and slide it across the table so it sits front and center with Fred. I take a smaller one out and hand it to Caroline.
“That’s you in the photo,” I say.
Fred doesn’t respond. He simply stares at it.
Reaching across the table, I tap the smiling face of the woman seated next to Fred. His arm is around her shoulders and she’s leaning in. Their heads are tilted toward each other, not quite touching but almost there.
“That’s Mrs. Donna Stevens,” I say.
The young lawyer still sitting beside Fred leans in to look. He cringes. He should probably practice his poker face if he’s going to make a run at this lawyer thing.
> I turn the picture around, giving it a good study. “You look better without the beard if you don’t mind me saying. I’m guessing this was taken about eight or nine years ago. You look pretty comfy cozy, you two.”
Fred’s jaw grinds.
“Eight or nine years ago.” I glower at Fred. “That’s the perfect amount of time for you to be Danielle’s dad.” I narrow my glower. “Is that it, Fred? Is that why you were researching DNA? Do you think you’re Danielle’s father?”
“No!” He shakes his head. “No.”
“Is that why you took Danielle?”
“No!”
“Really? Then why don’t you explain things? Because right now it makes way too much sense. You took Danielle and then you covered it up by making it seem like The Lullaby Man. That’s pretty low leaving that ‘care package’ for Danielle’s parents.”
Something changes in Fred. His breathing slows. His gaze becomes focused. He turns to the public defender. In a calm voice he says, “You are fired. I want a real lawyer.”
Then he looks across the table at me. “I do not know where Danielle is. But whoever has her needs to be found. Stop questioning me and go find the real person. Time is running out.”
I stand. “You want a ‘real’ lawyer? Fine. Then you can wait in a cell until one arrives.” I pick up the photo and place it back inside the folder. “In the meantime, I have Mrs. Donna Stevens waiting on me. Let’s see what she has to say.”
Twenty-Three
Out in the hall I turn to Caroline. “Well?”
“He’s lying about his relationship with Donna Stevens but he’s not lying about Danielle. He didn’t take her. He may be her biological father, but he didn’t take her.”
I don’t bother hiding my irritation.
Mrs. Donna Stevens looks tired and drawn when I walk in the interrogation room. Her nervous energy from before is completely gone, to be replaced by gray skin and limp hair. Grief has completely set in.
She glances up. Turmoil wrestles on her face in equal parts acceptance and refusal. She looks from me to Caroline and back to me. “You found her, didn’t you?” she blurts.
I take the seat across from her and Caroline sits in the one beside me. “No,” I say. “That’s not why you’re here. We didn’t bring you in to deliver bad news. To the best of our knowledge, Danielle is still alive. It is our sole focus to bring her back safely.”
Donna Stevens collapses in on herself. She buries her face in her hands and sobs.
In my years of experience, various things bring on sobs. Fear, as evidence by earlier with Fred Xanders. Guilt. Grief. Relief.
Donna’s sob is one of relief that her child is still alive. Partly. The other note to the sob is one of fear for her daughter’s life. Fear of where she is. Of what’s happening to her. Is she being tortured? Is she calling out for her mom and dad? What will she be like if she returns?
If.
Such a simple, yet powerful word.
To Caroline, I say, “Will you go get us all something to drink? Water, tea, coffee, anything.” My stomach grumbles, reminding me I never ate the Chinese food that I ordered. “See if you can find something for us to eat, too.”
With a nod, Caroline leaves the room.
From her front pants pocket, Donna pulls out a wad of tissues. She blows her nose and wipes her eyes.
“Thank you,” she quietly says with no emotion to her voice.
I lay the folder with the photograph on top of the table. I’ve seen this before—the roller coaster of emotion. Nervous energy to hysterics to in control. Whatever it takes to manage the moment.
“How are you and your husband doing?” I ask though I hate that question. Of course, they’re doing horrible.
“About as good as we can, I guess.” She sniffs. “My husband is blaming himself. I keep telling him that it’s not his fault but somewhere deep down I think it is.”
“It isn’t. The only person at blame is the one who took Danielle.”
Donna nods, but I can tell she doesn’t mean the nod. It’s a gesture done more to let me know she’s listening.
“Did you follow up on the cabbage patch doll? You thought you had some in storage.”
“I had two in storage and they are both still there.” With the heel of her hand, she rubs at her chest. “God, sometimes I feel as if my heart is going to give out.”
“Just take some breaths.”
She does, closing her eyes and breathing in and out.
The door opens back up and Caroline comes in with a tray. On top sits three mugs with herbal tea bags, a little box with sugar and cream packages, and a plate with chocolate chip cookies and beef jerky.
Not the best combination, but what can be expected at a police station?
She sets the tray down, distributes the mugs, and then lays out the rest. I skip the tea and go right to the beef jerky. My stomach growls again as I rip open the plastic packaging and take a bite. I take another, and another. Then I eat a cookie.
Finally, I sip my peppermint herbal tea and glance up to see Donna staring at me. I suppose I should’ve offered her something first. “Sorry,” I say. “I haven’t eaten since around noon or so.”
She offers a tiny smile and wraps her hands around the mug.
Caroline chooses to sit beside Donna instead of me. That’s good. It gives more of a comforting feel versus us interrogating her.
Another sip of tea for me and I set it aside. “Mrs. Stevens, I want to first tell you that you are not in trouble. At least not at the moment. That’s not why I brought you in here.”
She frowns. “Trouble? Why would I be in trouble?”
“What can you tell us about Fred Xanders?” I ask.
“Fred Xanders?” She blinks. Her bloodshot eyes go over to Caroline. “It wasn’t him. I promise.”
I open the folder and take out the eight-by-ten photo. I lay it down on the table. It had been taken outside at a park. Fred and Donna sit on one side of a picnic table with food wrappers in front of them. They’re both smiling but Fred looks a touch more relaxed than Donna.
Studying her face, I slide the photo across the table to her. A fond smile curves her lips when she sees it. It isn’t what I expect.
“I’ve never seen that photo. It came out well. That was taken in Gatlinburg about nine years ago. We agreed to meet.” She taps the photo. “If you look real close you’ll see I’m pregnant with Danielle. Fred and I were meeting up every so often. Getting to know each other and all that. Then one afternoon he didn’t show. I found out later he was back in prison.”
I nod. “Is Fred Xanders Danielle’s father?”
“What?” Donna gasps. “Oh my God, no! Is that what you think? Oh my God!”
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, Mrs. Stevens. But, have you and Fred slept together?”
Donna’s bottom jaw falls open. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”
I hold my hands up. “Please answer the question.”
“He’s not Danielle’s father.” Donna surges to her feet. “He’s mine!”
Twenty-Four
I stand watching Sharon lead Mrs. Stevens from the station. Caroline is right beside me and I say, “How did you not see that?”
She laughs and I find the sound comforting. If I had endured what she had during childhood, I certainly wouldn’t be laughing. I’d be an angry bitch twenty-four-seven. I’d never get over it.
“It’s not like I have magical powers,” she says.
“I know that.” I sigh. “On the trail at the abduction sight, you sensed there wasn’t a struggle.”
She nods. “Leaning toward the hypothesis that Danielle knows the abductor.”
“Perhaps,” I agree. “Then when Lawrence Inglebird was in here, you sensed he was keeping a secret.” I turn now, looking at Caroline. “We should see if Danielle Stevens and Lawrence Inglebird have ever interacted.”
With another nod, Caroline waves toward the door Mrs. Stevens just left through. “That all makes sense
now. Raised by her mom. She didn’t know her dad. Later finds out he’s been in and out of prison. On a stint out of prison some nine years ago, he reaches out to her. They meet up a few times. Then suddenly he stops all contact. Eight years later he shows up, turns out he was in prison again. To her surprise, he buys the place next door with money he inherited from a recently deceased aunt. Mrs. Stevens is about to tell her husband the whole thing when Danielle turns up missing.”
Yep, those are the facts, all of which can be verified. “You’ve got a long time boyfriend, right?”
“Yes, his name is Fallon.”
“Would you keep something like that from him?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Fallon and I have both kept secrets from each other. There are a lot of reasons why people keep them. Donna Stevens grew up hating her dad via her mom. Then her dad makes contact and she’s trying to feel things out. She doesn’t want to get hurt. She doesn’t want her husband or her mother to get hurt.”
My ex and I had a lot of issues, but secrecy was never one of them. However, I recognize the fact not everyone is as forthcoming as I am. “But Fred Xanders did not take Danielle.”
“No, I do not think Fred Xanders abducted his granddaughter.”
“That puts us back at square one.” A yawn works its way up and out. I glance at the clock hanging on the station wall. After one in the morning. Jesus. When did that happen?
“Fred may not have abducted Danielle but he is an idiot.” I touch my cheek, wincing a little. I should probably ice it.
I walk back toward the conference room. “Why don’t we all get a few hours of sleep. Start fresh at daybreak. Do you have a hotel?”
“I do.”
I veer off toward the workroom. “I’m going to sleep here. I’ll see you in the morning.”
With a nod, Caroline walks off. I find Lieutenant Gordon at the conference table. “Forensics back on Fred’s house and the RV?”
