by A Wallace
Murphy extended his hand. “I’m Special Agent Sean Murphy. I’m new to Agent Dubuclet’s staff.”
Carmichael accepted the handshake. “I heard a green beanie would join us soon. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Murphy said.
As the technicians stepped towards Carmichael, he pointed towards the victim. “Remove the sheet. Let’s see what’s here.”
They lifted the sheet upward careful not to disturb the evidence surrounding the victim, stepped away, and folded it.
The victim’s copper curls shrouded her narrow shoulders. Freckles sprinkled her cheeks. Above her left ear, a velvet daffodil-yellow bow. Under her head, a pillow made from dried leaves clung to her hair. Clothed in a knee-length blue dress, gathered at the waist, the frock had a starched white pilgrim’s collar. White ankle socks and sneakers with blue silk ribbon covered her feet.
“Oh, man.” Charley’s face animated with interest. “Is this sacrificial symbolism or what?”
“You tell us.” Doobie’s inquiring eyes pled for help. “You’re the expert profiler.”
Charley squinted. “Behavioral analyst.”
Carmichael pushed his eyeglasses to the bridge of his nose. “Elaborate. We need to remove the candles so we can examine the body.”
Charley bent over, taking a candle embedded in the ground. “Hang on, I want to check them. Nine, the number means something to the perpetrator.” Careful to avoid contamination, she wafted her hand to direct the scent towards her nose. “Pungent, yet a rich, woody odor.”
“That matters because?” Murphy stepped next to her to catch the fragrance.
Charley lifted the candle to Murphy’s nose. “Patchouli, reduces anxiety and emotional stress. They’re white signifying health, purity, truth, and cleansing.”
Carmichael extracted the remaining candles, placing them inside individual evidence bags. Peering at Charley, he said, “What do you make of them?”
“I’m not sure. The candles are identifiers. He’s honoring something. Maybe the victim. What else comes to mind? What’s here? What does it tell us?”
“Where he abducted her and left her are within two hundred yards of each other.” Murphy tapped his upper lip. “He brought her home.”
“Humph, he brought her home.” Charley nodded. “I like that. How’s this? He wanted her found fast. He didn’t want her laying out here for days, so he dumps her in the path of children walking to school. This isn’t a crime laced with hate. The motive is beyond her.”
“Degenerate. Leave this poor baby out here for other kiddos to find. I hope he ends up on my autopsy slab real soon.” Carmichael gritted his teeth.
Charley nodded. “I’ll see if I can make your dream come true.”
Murphy eased forward. “My 870 will do the trick. This piece of garbage wanted her found by her friends. That’s cruel.”
“I didn’t say he’s a sweetheart.”
“What else?” Doobie said.
Charley scanned the group. “Anyone have a ruler?”
Carmichael removed a ruler from the medical bag and handed it to her. Charley placed it next to the candle. “Ten inches.” She returned it and the candle to Carmichael.
“They burned for two to three hours. He spent time with her after placement.” Charley chewed her lip. “A sacrament, liturgy. Possible religious undertones.”
Murphy tilted his head. “How do you know how long they burned?”
“I worked at a candle store during high school. Spend enough time with something, you know. The candles placed around the body are about ten inches long. Before burning, they were twelve-inch tapers. The burn rate is a little more than an inch per hour, depending on the quality of the wax.”
Murphy followed along beside Charley as she circled the body.
Doobie presented his hands. “So, the victim’s placement is symbolic?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s wrap this up, so I can get her to the morgue.” Carmichael knelt next to the body as Charley and Murphy took their places on the opposite side. “Rigor tells me she’s been dead less than twelve hours. Let’s narrow it down.” He retrieved a thermometer from his black bag and determined the body core temperature. “She left this world around ten hours ago.” The thermometer returned to the bag he shook his head. “Wasn’t it precious of the asshole to place her on a flannel blanket? It’s even green.”
Murphy glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s eleven-thirty, so she died around one-thirty this morning.”
Carmichael pinned his hands under the victim to turn her onto her side.
“Ansel, wait. Roll her back towards you.” From under the folds of the dress, Charley made a discovery. “Look at this.” She indicated a dried marigold. Further inspection revealed debris on the dress and the victim’s palm.
Carmichael shouted. “Who in the hell messed with the body?”
“A twelve-year-old boy found her. I doubt he understands crime scene protocol.” Doobie admired the cloudless sky.
“Yeah, well, shit.” Carmichael seethed.
The spent flower in Charley’s hand, Murphy brushed his black-vinyl gloved thumb over it. “Forgiveness. He wanted or needed mercy from the big guy upstairs.”
“Possible.” Charley passed the bud to Carmichael. “Marigolds are in season. They represent grief, cruelty, and jealousy. Was the flower intentional or available?”
Carmichael eased the body onto its side. Charley studied the clothing as he placed the marigold into an evidence bag. She noted the perfectly tied bow on the back of the dress. “Staged. He was careful with the posing and placement. Detailed. Retentive.” Her finger traced the zipper of the dress to the collar. “There’s bruising on the neck.”
With care, Carmichael rolled the body onto its back. He brushed Robin’s hair from her neck. “Markings indicative of strangulation.”
Murphy turned away, under his breath he said, “Piece of shit.”
Carmichael peeped over the rim of his glasses. “My first idea is a wake or a funeral. A showing comes to mind.” He inspected the girl’s face. “There’s a smidgen of rheum in her left eye.”
Charley continued her examination. “The dress is too small. He took time dressing her.”
“This style was popular in the eighties.” Carmichael smoothed the crimped collar. “My daughter had one.”
“The sneakers seem too large.”
Murphy leaned over to observe the body. “Several sizes too big.”
“This guy is sad, heartbroken.” Charley patted her chest. “Something inside of him is eating away his soul and devouring his spirit.”
“This is your kinda nutcase.” Carmichael tightened his lips and nodded.
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, yes. I’ll enjoy dissecting this murderer.” Charley stood, acknowledging Murphy. “Let’s go to the school to speak with Justin Wilkerson.”
Moments later, they reached the main entrance of the school. Charley grabbed the door handle.
“Wait.” Murphy placed his hand on her upper arm. “We need to talk about Charlottesville.”
She shook her head. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”
Chapter 3
Back to School
Reston, VA - Laurel View Elementary School
Tuesday, 15 March - 10:19 AM
Charley and Murphy entered the school’s main office. Several feet away behind the counter, stood a scrawny man with rigid posture. His lips tensed as he spotted them. A bony finger scooted his black-framed glasses to the bridge of his nose.
As the man approached, Charley leaned into Murphy. The top of her head skimmed his chin. His preened five o’clock shadow corralled a few strands of her blonde hair. She angled her hand over her mouth and whispered, “This must be the gatekeeper.”
Murphy chuckled.
“I’m Mr. Thurgood, the principal. May I help you?”
She presented her ID. “I’m Charley Faraday. This is Sean Murphy. We wish to speak to Ms. Jessica Cooper regarding Justin Wilke
rson—”
Thurgood pointed towards a door with frosted glass. “Justin is in the guidance office.”
Charley secured her ID onto her belt. “Are his parents here?”
“Yes.”
“Please, inform Ms. Cooper we’ve arrived.”
Thurgood huffed. “You don’t suspect Justin, do you?”
Charley scratched the side of her forehead. “Mr. Thurgood, the situation is under investigation. To offer any information would be egregious.”
Thurgood stiffened his shoulders, attempting intimidation. “I understand, but Justin is a child.”
“Yes sir, we know.”
Thurgood’s nose kissed the air. “First, tell me what’s happening.”
“Mr. Thurgood, a blanket court order is in place. I’ll be happy to submit you refused to cooperate.” She arched her eyebrow.
“That won’t be necessary, Agent Faraday.” Thurgood pointed at the door, leading to the hallway to their right. “Ms. Cooper’s office is at the end of the corridor on the left, room 109.”
Charley smiled her most professional smile. “Thank you, sir.”
Thurgood fumed and stomped away.
They entered the hall, hearing the satisfying click of the door behind them. At the end of the tiled gateway, they turned left, took a few more paces before Murphy stepped in front of her. “Court order, huh? Blanket too. Tell me, is it hidden in your back pocket?”
Her stance stoic, Charley bounced her heel on the floor. “It’s all about risk. I don’t work on behalf of the FBI, the Justice Department, or any other bureaucratic institution. I do this for the victim, period. My only goal is justice. Whatever it takes to make sure it wins, I’ll do it.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Does that include breaking the law?”
Charley avoided his stare. “You’ve proven you don’t appreciate my tactics. You’re free to leave.” She brushed passed him.
Murphy whipped around and gripped his hips. “Can we—”
“No,” she said without breaking her stride.
They entered Jessica Cooper’s small, bright office. Green plants lined the windowsill. Bookshelves along the left wall held various titles of child and educational psychology texts. On the right, a frosted glass door with the words ‘Holding Room’ in black, bold letters. Cooper tapped on an aging keyboard. Two chairs sat in front of the desk.
Ms. Cooper beamed a veneered smile. Thick, dark hair draped over her shoulders. Slathered with smoky eye shadow and black mascara, her hazel eyes fluttered. She wore a red linen dress with a deep v-shaped neckline. Charley glanced at Murphy. His vacant, azure eyes concealed his impression of the guidance counselor.
The woman towered above Charley as she stood to greet them. “I’m Ms. Cooper. Welcome.”
Charley and Murphy flashed their IDs and stated their names.
Ms. Cooper sat, positioning herself. “Please take a seat.” She leaned forward, her chin in her palm, concentrating on Murphy. “How may I help?”
“Give us a little background on Justin.” Charley relaxed into the chair. “Is he a good student, appropriate social skills, involved in activities?”
“Justin is a well-behaved and an excellent student.” Ms. Cooper refused to avert her eyes from Murphy.
“Any disciplinary issues?”
Her soft, airy voice peppered the room. “None.”
Silent, Murphy rested his elbow on the chair arm, his expression nondescript with his fingertips lying on his mouth.
With a provocative twist of her shoulders, Ms. Cooper’s tongue teased the corner of her mouth. “Agent Murphy, you must have a question for me.”
“No.” His bland expression endured. “I don’t.”
Charley leaned forward. “Where is Justin?”
Ms. Cooper pointed at the glass door. “It’s a holding room for students awaiting checkout. I also use it for counseling.”
Charley scooted to the edge of the seat. “What’s his state of mind?”
“Upset, scared. Justin thinks he’s done something wrong, even though I told him otherwise.”
“We’d like to see him now.” Charley curled her hair around her ear. “Are his parents with him?”
“Yes.” Ms. Cooper stood, running her hands down the sides of her hips.
Charley and Murphy rose from their seats.
Jessica Cooper removed a business card from the center desk drawer. She flipped it over and wrote on the reverse side. Her smile accompanied fluttering eyelashes as she stepped away from the desk. She pushed against Murphy, slipping the card into the breast pocket of his dark gray suit coat and dabbed it with her hand. “If you have any more questions… or want something.”
With one sweep of his left hand, his fingers delved into his pocket. The card secured between the tips of his index and middle finger he removed it. Focused on Ms. Cooper, with a jeering smile, he offered the card to Charley. “Agent Faraday will call you if we need any additional information.”
Not expecting his support, stunned by his lack of interest in the becoming Ms. Cooper, Charley retrieved the card and crammed it into her back pocket. “Thank you, Ms. Cooper.”
At the holding room door, she tapped the glass with her knuckle. From the other side, Charley heard a muted feminine voice, “Come in.” She turned the knob. “Don’t scare him, okay?”
“I’m awesome with kids.”
The room overflowed with toys, books, and art supplies. Bright and cheerful, a round, wooden, youth-sized table sat in the center. White, subway-block tiled walls accented the light-blue laminate floor.
On a leather sofa against the left wall, a young boy sat huddled between two adults. Uncertainty streamed from the woman’s eyes as her arms hugged the lad. The boy stared down, revealing a Washington Redskins athletic cap. His hands clasped in his lap, he picked at his thumbnails.
Anxiety scribbled on the mother’s face, she rubbed her cheek on her son’s head. Concern rippled down the gaunt line of the father’s face, his hands fidgety as his leg jigged up and down out of control. They stood while the young boy remained seated.
The couple stepped toward Murphy and Charley. “I’m Keith Wilkerson. This is my wife, Elise. We’re Justin’s parents.”
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkerson. We’re Agents Faraday and Murphy. Thank you for allowing us to speak to your son.”
“You’re welcome.” Elise’s lips quivered. “Robin is important to our family.”
Murphy presented his ID along with Charley. “Good to hear.”
Charley motioned for them to follow her to the opposite side of the room. “I don’t want Justin to hear.”
“My son is scared,” Keith whispered.
“There’s no need for him to feel threatened,” Charley spoke in a hushed tone. “With his help, we may learn more about who committed this crime. It’s your right for an attorney to be present.”
“Do we need one?” Keith leaned toward them.
“Justin isn’t a suspect.” Charley shook her head. “He’s a witness, nothing more.”
Keith placed his arm around his wife. “What do you think, honey?”
“Well,” Elise said, “what reassurances are there that Justin isn’t a suspect?”
“I’m required by law to inform you. If you want to contact your attorney, Agent Murphy and I will wait.”
The Wilkersons stepped away to confer. Charley and Murphy waited for their decision.
The father nodded. “Talk to Justin. Agent Faraday, I appreciate your suggestion.”
“You’re welcome. If, during the interview you believe the questioning should end and an attorney called, tell us. We’ll abide by your decision. If you have questions, ask.”
“Thank you,” Keith said.
Charley removed the voice recorder from her pocket. “I need to ask your permission to record the interview.”
“No problem,” Keith said, as the four of them returned to Justin.
Charley scanned the room. Only youth-
sized chairs were available. She glanced at Murphy and grinned. “No seat for you.”
Justin snickered and scooted back on the cushion. Trembling, he licked his lips. His eyes on Murphy’s polished black dress shoes, Justin worked upward, taking in the man’s immense stature, before coming to rest at the top of his ebony hair. “You’re tall, like the Tower of Pizza.” The boy’s crimson cheeks matched his swollen, red eyes.
“Pizza, eh?” Murphy grinned. “You sure about that?”
Justin’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that where all the Italian pizza is made?”
Charley lowered her head, smiling.
“Son, it’s Pisa, not pizza,” his father said.
The boy slumped back into the sofa. “Oh.”
Keith and Elise took their seats next to their son.
Murphy flashed him a brilliant, chipper smile. “You like the Washington Redskins?”
Justin grinned and nodded.
Murphy sauntered towards Justin and knelt on one knee in front of him. “Same here. I hope they get their game on next season, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
He pinched the brim of Justin’s cap. “I like your hat. I’m gonna buy one of those.”
The lad pointed to his right. “They’re at All-Star Sports, down the street.”
“Guess where I’m going this evening?”
“They’re on a rack at the front of the store.”
“Thank you.” He glanced at Charley who picked up a chair. “Guess who else likes the Redskins?” Murphy scooted to the side so she could place the seat in front of Justin. “Agent Faraday does. Don’t you?”
Charley sat and placed the voice recorder on the floor. “Sure, since I was Justin’s age.”
Justin gave her a weak smile.
Murphy’s comforting voice accompanied an earnest smile. “Justin, do you understand why we’re here to talk to you?”
The lad nodded.
“Good. Agent Faraday and I need to talk to you about Robin. Is that okay?”
Justin nodded.
“Thank you,” Charley said in a soft voice. “Justin, I want you to take a deep breath. Release it and relax your shoulders.”
Murphy shifted closer to her.
