Sight Lines

by Michelle DiCeglio

  “She does. Her husband goes hunting all the time, so she and the kids come visit me when he’s away.” Bishop smiled to himself as he talked about Casey and her family.

  Once he was finished telling a few stories about Tara and Casey from their childhood, we said our goodbyes. Bishop watched us get into my car before he closed the front door. The sun had just started to set, and I was hypnotized by the soft pink color of the sky. As I pulled out of Bishop’s driveway, I put my right hand on Ali’s knee. Placing her hand over mine, we stayed that way until we got back to my house.

  As I watched her walk from the driveway to my front door, my appreciation for what she had done tonight really started to sink in. I unlocked the door to my house and let her go in first. I thought about what we could do for the rest of the evening. Because I wasn’t sure how long we’d be at Bishop’s, I didn’t bother coming up with any post-dinner plans. I also wasn’t sure if she would still want to see me after spending an evening with my ex-father-in-law.

  Ali excused herself to go to the bathroom, and I headed for my bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. As I walked down the hallway, I noticed that my office door, which I normally kept shut, was wide open. I didn’t remember going in there before Ali and I left for Bishop’s house. As I stood in the doorway, my jaw dropped.

  The desk, which was normally pushed against the left corner of the room, had been pulled out from the wall. All of the drawers were wide open, and it looked like someone had shuffled through their contents. The case files from the most recent murders had been dumped onto the floor into a pile of utter chaos. My timeline had been ripped off the wall, and the notes I had about each victim were lying on the floor in crumpled balls.

  I took a step back and turned to enter into my bedroom. That, too, was a confusing mess. The comforter and sheets had been pulled off the bed and thrown to the floor. The closet door was wide open, my clothes no longer neatly on their hangers. The dresser in the corner had been ransacked—with most of my clothes spilling out of their drawers, except for the ones I had left on my reading chair. But those clothes were now on the floor anyway because the chair had been flipped over.

  I lowered myself to my hands and knees to check under the bed. Shoeboxes full of keepsakes were no longer were. My lock box was missing too. Luckily, I’d taken my mm with me to Bishop’s, so I didn’t have to report the weapon as stolen.

  “Oh my god, what happened?” Ali said as she came out of the bathroom.

  “Someone broke in,” I said as I stood up. “Didn’t you notice that my bedroom was messier than usual?” I tried to joke.

  “No,” she said and shook her head. “This is serious, Lacey.”

  “You need to wait outside,” I said and led her out of my room. “I’m going to call the station and file a report.”

  “Are they still in here?” Ali asked as she looked up and down the hallway, as if expecting to see the person responsible for this.

  “I don’t think so.”

  As we made our way through the house toward the front door, I kept my eye out to see if anything looked out of place. With the exception of the items from my bedroom, nothing else appeared to be stolen, which was unusual for a break-in. If this had been done by someone looking to score a few dollars, my television and computer would have been taken. “Wait by my car,” I said once we were outside. I reached for my cell phone and called the station.

  With my gun drawn, I went back inside, though I knew I shouldn’t have. But if the person was still inside, I wanted to make sure he—or she—didn’t get away. Turning to the left from the living room, I walked into the kitchen toward the back door. The lock on the front door was still intact, and I hadn’t left any windows open, so the point of entry had to be the back door.

  As I turned the corner, I saw the back door wide open. The wood frame around the door had splintered where the deadbolt latched. I looked at the exterior part of the door and saw where it had been kicked in. A muddy shoe print was clearly dented into the door next to the handle.

  Turning out of the kitchen, I crossed through the living room again and back down the hallway toward my bedroom and office. Those were the only two rooms that appeared to have been violated. Walking into my office, I knelt down and started to read the papers that were lying on the top of the mess. I made a point to leave everything where it was so that the investigator could take accurate photos of the scene. But this wasn’t just a “scene”—it was my home. Someone had broken into my home.

  Had Ali and I been here at the time, who knows what could’ve happened.

  Lost in my own thoughts, I jumped when I heard a knock on the door behind me. I turned around and saw Braxton standing in the doorway. He and I had never had a problem with one another, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to see my bras and underwear flung around my bedroom. I motioned for him to come in.

  “Can you walk me through what happened?” Braxton asked as he started to look around the office.

  “I came home and this is what my office looked like. Bedroom too,” I replied. “All the files on the Vantage Woods murders were in that box.” I pointed to the empty box on my desk. “And I had a timeline of the murders with the victims’ information on this wall, but it’s been ripped down. Some of the notes are crumpled here on the floor.” I pointed to the sticky notes with my finger, making sure not to touch anything.

  “Point of entry?” Braxton asked as he pulled a pen and notepad from his jacket.

  “Back door, in the kitchen,” I said as I started to walk him that direction.

  “We can take it from here, Mills. Is there somewhere you can stay tonight? A friend’s house or a hotel?”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly, trying to read between the lines of his question. “But shouldn’t I stay here so I can answer questions?”

  “Sure, but it’s pretty obvious what happened,” Braxton said. “You said your bedroom was targeted too?”

  “Yes,” I sighed and led him back to my bedroom. I noticed Braxton looking at the décor in my house, as if eyeballing its value. “I keep a lock box under my bed. It’s missing—but I had the weapon on me tonight,” I said.

  “Lock box?” I could hear the judgment in Braxton’s tone. “Have you noticed anything missing? Jewelry, money, anything of value?”

  “No, just the files. And my drawers have been rifled through,” I answered.

  “Any idea who could have done this?” he asked as he walked around my room, surveying the clothing that had been tossed about.

  “Who would be interested in those files?” I asked rhetorically.

  “Half the town, Mills.”

  “Half the town isn’t responsible, Braxton.” We bantered like two teenaged siblings.

  “No, you’re right,” he said as he continued walking through my room. He traced his pen along my windowsill, checking for any broken glass. “Only one person is responsible,” he added. “We’re going to take some photos and do an inventory log. If you say nothing was stolen, then you don’t have to worry about calling your insurance company. You’ll want to get that door fixed as soon as possible though. And you’ll want to stay elsewhere tonight—for safety reasons,” he said, as if I hadn’t uttered those same words to burglary victims myself. “Whoever did this knew you weren’t home. This sort of thing takes time. I know it looks like everything was just dumped on the floor, but I’ll bet everything in here was reviewed with a fine-tooth comb. How long were you gone this evening?”

  “Only a few hours—two at the most,” I said. “We were at Bishop’s.”

  “Hm,” Braxton said, more to himself. “Who knew you were there?”

  “Just us and Bishop,” I shrugged.

  Braxton cocked his head to the side as he fell deep in thought. He gazed into thin air as if he was trying to put a puzzle together based on memory. “Well, don’t worry,” Braxton said when he came out of his trance. “I’m sure whoever did this won’t be back. I can recommend an alarm company if you’d like,” h
e offered.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Making my way back outside to meet up with Ali, I saw a crime-scene investigator pull his car onto the street in front of my house. He grabbed his camera bag and walked toward the front door without acknowledging my presence. I walked over to Ali, who was leaning against my car. She took a few steps toward me when she saw me.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” I forced a smile. “All things considered.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I can only imagine how you feel right now.”

  “I’m just glad we weren’t here,” I said. “Do you mind if we stay at your place tonight?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t offended that I had just invited myself over.

  “Sure, I figured we would,” she said. “I can drive if you want—unless you don’t trust me driving your car.”

  “No, that’s fine.” I tried to remain calm in front of Ali. I didn’t want her to know that I was actually really scared. “Once they’re finished in there, I’ll just grab some clothes and we can get going.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The officer called for backup as he swept the nearby area for clues. I was less than fifty yards from the brush where he was searching, so I started to walk over to him. Uniformed officers ran past me as they raced to be the first to respond to the call.

  I knew they were going to find something awful—which was partly the reason for my hesitancy to be the first one on the scene. I had the feeling I’d been here before. Maybe I had been. Trips to Vantage Woods were becoming a daily occurrence. But we weren’t in the heart of the park this time. Today, we were along the outermost part of the Villa, where the trees started to thicken.

  “Over here,” the officer shouted. It felt like he was speaking only to me.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out two latex gloves. Judging by the urgency in the officer’s tone, I could only assume there was a body beneath the brush. The closer I got, the more I recognized the area. I felt the air escape my lungs, and I struggled to catch my breath.

  The uniformed officers cleared a path as I made my way toward a tall bush with decaying mulch at its base. Looking at the ground, making sure not to step on anything that might be considered evidence, I saw the dirt-stained rubber sole of a sneaker. Attached to the shoe was a leg. The cuffs of the jeans were frayed and muddy. I had seen this leg before.

  Brushing back the leaves to uncover the victim, I began to recognize the clothing. Her gray sweatshirt was torn and hanging loosely off her body. I tried to turn away to keep from seeing the victim’s face, but I knew it was Tara lying there. Turning away wouldn’t change that.

  “Detective,” the officer said. “You have to look.”

  Feeling my neck stiffen, I turned to look at the body. I braced myself for Tara’s lifeless face. I knew her blue eyes would be wide open, with a thin trail of blood along her right temple.

  “I’m ready,” I said—but no words came out.

  As the officer pulled back more leaves to expose Tara’s face, I fell backward when I saw Ali lying there.

  “No,” I said—but, again, no sound escaped my lips. Not her, I thought.

  I looked up at the officers for help, but they faded away. Everyone was gone, even Ali.

  I was all alone in Vantage Woods.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked around Ali’s bedroom. Letting the terror of the dream fade from my mind, I lay there and stared at Ali’s pale walls, the sun casting its rays through the open curtains in front of me.

  I had never dreamt about Tara in that way. Even during the first few months, when we were still investigating her murder, I never dreamt about her death. This dream felt so vivid, so real. Sitting up in Ali’s bed, I looked down at her and smiled. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful. She possessed a kind of natural beauty that didn’t need the magic of makeup.

  Shaking off the rest of the dream, I quietly crept out of bed and got ready for work. Ali woke just as I getting ready to leave, and I told her goodbye. She smiled slowly and reached her hand from under the blanket and brushed the side of my leg with her fingertips. She wasn’t much of a morning person, but I appreciated her effort.

  It was a shorter commute to the station from Ali’s house than my own, so I was one of the first detectives to arrive. I saw a note from Bishop on my desk when I sat down. No matter how early I arrived at the station, Bishop was always there before me. At times I was convinced he slept there. He wanted to see me before I headed home for the day.

  So later that afternoon, I headed toward his office.

  “You wanted to see me?” I asked as I knocked on Bishop’s door.

  “Yeah,” he said, motioning for me to come in. “Close the door please.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked as I sat down.

  “We put a rush on this. Otherwise, it would have taken a month instead of a week to get the results from your break-in.” Bishop looked down at a file folder marked “CONFIDENTIAL” in red ink on the upper right-hand corner. “Has anything else happened?” he asked.

  “No,” I answered, but I couldn’t be completely certain.

  “Don’t think I don’t know where you’ve been staying all week,” Bishop said with a smile.

  “Yes, I’ve been staying at Ali’s since it happened. I haven’t even gone back to my place to clean up yet.”

  “Well, Braxton already gathered the rest of the files from your house and brought them back here,” he said.

  “I know. I saw them on his desk.”

  Bishop took a deep sigh. “I think Braxton should take over as lead on this case.”

  “What? Why?” I raised my voice.

  “For all we know, that maniac could have been inside your house when you got home,” Bishop said calmly. “Who knows what would have happened if you saw him?”

  “We don’t even know if it’s the person who’s committing the murders. It could have been one of the Villagers retaliating against T.J.’s arrest.” I knew it was a stretch, but I was desperately reaching for anything.

  “And if it wasn’t?”

  “I would have taken care of it, that’s what would have happened,” I snapped. It was apparent that our rocky work relationship was back. “What if the break-in had happened at Braxton’s house? Would you be pulling him off lead?” I shouted.

  “Yes,” Bishop quietly replied. “We don’t know who’s doing this. We haven’t got a clue. So until we do, we have to take every precaution. Nothing was stolen, so we have to assume it was someone looking for information, to see what we know—which, unfortunately, is not a lot.”

  “It could have been a reporter,” I suggested. I knew it was a long shot too, but I was willing to believe just about anything if it meant that I could stay on as lead.

  “I’m not in the mood to play games,” Bishop replied.

  “Let’s just wait and see what happens,” I pleaded. “Let me stay on lead for now. If something else happens, then Braxton can take over. I’ve worked too hard on this to have it taken away, Bishop. Please.”

  There was a long silence. I watched Bishop as he stared into the distance, likely contemplating whether it was wise to change lead detectives in the middle of a case.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “But if anything else happens—I mean it. Even if your newspaper is stolen, you’re off the case.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you. Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

  “No, that’s not all,” he said in an aggravated tone. “Are you done for the day?”

  “I am,” I said. “I’m heading out before traffic picks up.”

  “All right. I’ll be here late tonight,” Bishop said as he placed my “CONFIDENTIAL” file in his desk drawer. “But I have something I want you to look into before you leave.” He reached into his middle drawer, pulled out another file, and handed it to me.

  Leafing through the papers, I read over a report of multiple break-ins of the lockers at the high school. “School
’s been out for over a month,” I said, trying to make sense of it. “And the school has its own security officer. What is this?”

  “Summer school’s in session,” he said, and he waited until I closed the file before speaking again. “And this may seem…unworthy of your time,” he said, carefully choosing his words, “but the principal has asked for our help. She suspects one of her students, a kid from a broken home. His classmates say he has a serious drug problem.”

  “A Villager?” I asked, handing him back the file.

  “I think so. That area cleared out quick after Narcotics swept in and made multiple arrests. We couldn’t charge one person with forty counts of possession and not investigate the rest of the Villa.” Bishop chuckled to himself, and I got the feeling he was still beaming with pride about that arrest. “Anyone under eighteen was sent to a foster home if we couldn’t find their parents.”

  “Any connection to the murders?” I asked. “Did the kid steal a black Jeep or something?” I could feel my subconscious looking for a reason Bishop would give me this case. Maybe it was because I had more experience with the Villagers than half of the police force at this point.

  “No, nothing like that’s been reported,” Bishop answered as he set the file back down in front of me. He had to know this assignment was a bit below my experience level—and nowhere near the adrenaline level of the Vantage Woods murders—but that was typical of Lyons: Only one in every twenty cases was worth reading about in the daily paper.

  “I’ll head over there now,” I said and left without saying goodbye.

  The high school hadn’t changed much at all since I’d graduated. Walking through the front door, I showed my badge to the guard, and he gave me directions to the administrative offices. I didn’t feel the need to tell him that I could still navigate these hallways with my eyes closed. I hadn’t been here in more than fifteen years, but the pale yellow cinderblock and smell of pencil shavings instantly brought me back.

  I took a shortcut through the library, and the chairs were upholstered in the same ratty orange fabric I remembered. The ficus tree in the corner was in desperate need of water, and the magazine rack was full of well-worn copies of National Geographic. The librarian behind the desk kept her nose buried in a book as I made my way through and exited the space.