by A Wallace
Erin’s face contorted. Her eyes watered, she blinked, and a tear trickled down her cheek. “She didn’t go there.”
“How do you know?”
“Because.” Erin huffed. “She turned the corner to her house, and she didn’t go straight to the secret place.”
“But she could have walked from a different direction.” Murphy softened his tone. “She could’ve changed her mind.”
“She won’t go without me.” Erin crossed her arms and shook her head. “It’s our secret place.”
“Have you been there without her?”
Her mouth tightened and drooped. “Yes.”
“It’s possible Olivia did the same.”
She leaned forward. “But she didn’t go straight.”
“Maybe she didn’t want you to know.”
The girl shrugged.
“Erin,” Murphy said in the gentlest voice possible. “Please, help me find Olivia. Her mom wants her to come home where she’s safe. She could be hurt.”
Erin’s lower lip quivered. “It’s Miss Rosie’s house.”
“Who’s Miss Rosie?”
“She died and her house is empty,” Erin said. “Olivia and I broke the glass in the door so we could get in and play.”
Mrs. Stokes gasped, placing her hand on her chest. “Erin, I can’t believe you did that.”
“Miss Rosie told us we could come to her house anytime we wanted. We didn’t mean to start the fire.”
“Fire?” Mr. Stokes asserted. “What fire?”
“We tried to make soup, and the stove caught on fire.” Erin’s shoulders trembled as her eyelashes dampened. “We tried to clean it, but it won’t come up.”
“When was this?” Mrs. Stokes said.
“I dunno, a week ago.”
“That explains the missing paper towels and cleanser,” Mrs. Stokes said, shaking her head.
“Daddy, Momma.” Erin’s eyes flooded, droplets channeled over her face, dripping onto her pajamas. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to.”
“What’s the house address?” Charley said to Mrs. Stokes.
“I’ll write it for you.” Mrs. Stokes stood and trotted to the kitchen. She wrote on a notepad, returned, and handed the paper to Charley. “Miss Rosie lived a few houses down the street. Sweetest woman on Earth.”
“Excuse me.” Charley removed her phone from her pocket to call Doobie. She gave him the address to send a team to investigate.
Erin’s tears didn’t stop. “I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”
Murphy took her hand. “It’s okay.”
“I hope Olivia is there.” Erin buried her face into her hands.
Charley tapped her phone on her palm. “We’ll find out in about five minutes.”
The girl turned to her parents. “Please, don’t be mad at me.”
Mr. Stokes rubbed his daughter’s head. “We’ll talk about it later.”
With tears in her eyes, Erin peeped at her mother. “Momma?”
Mrs. Stokes caressed her daughter’s hair. “Erin, don’t worry, it’s important you answer their questions.”
Charley’s cell phone buzzed. “This is Charley.” She listened. “Thanks, Doobie.” She acknowledged everyone in the room. “Olivia isn’t there.”
“I said she wasn’t there,” Erin squealed.
“Erin, go to your room, now.”
She rose to her feet and ran to the stairs.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Stokes said.
“Erin’s traumatized,” Murphy said. “Children aren’t stupid. She understands what’s going on is serious. She knows Olivia well enough to understand she didn’t go to Miss Rosie’s house.”
“Thanks for being patient with her,” Mrs. Stokes said.
“Not a problem,” Murphy said. “We’ll be on our way. Thank you for your time.”
Mr. Stokes slicked his hand over his hair. “I hope you find her. Olivia is a sweet little girl.”
Murphy’s eyes trailed the stairs to the landing. Erin peeped around the corner. Suspicious, the little girl had more secrets than a house fire. Erin’s eyes revealed her deceit. In a tone loud enough for the child to hear, Murphy said, “We will find out what happened. It’s a matter of time.”
A whimper bleated from upstairs, snaring their attention. Teary eyed, Erin stood above them on the landing and regarded her parents, Murphy and Charley. She descended the steps and stood before them. Her mouth quivered as she wiped her runny nose with the sleeve of her pajamas. She pointed at Murphy and Charley. “I need to tell them something.”
“Go ahead, sweetie,” Mr. Stokes said.
Erin shivered, her little mouth twisted. “The reason Olivia didn’t go to Miss Rosie’s, is because we had a fight.”
“Why were you arguing?” Murphy said.
Erin dropped her head and picked at her fingernails. “She told me she had a new friend, and I wasn’t her best friend anymore.”
“I bet that hurt your feelings.” Charley frowned.
“It did. I’m her best friend. Not that other person.”
“Other person?” Murphy said. “A grown up? Was it a man or a woman?”
“I dunno, but she said they lived far away and everything had to stay a secret.” Erin’s fists clenched against her jaw as her shoulders trembled. “Olivia laughed at me. She said they would live in a castle.”
“What happened next?” Murphy said.
Erin’s body tensed, she brought her fists in front of her chest, shaking. Her eyes shifted between the adults as she wailed, “I hit Olivia. I was so mad at her. She cried, and she ran towards home.” Erin shook as she blinked away the lake in her eyes. “She ran away because I hit her, hard. Now she’s missing and I don’t know where she is.” Erin’s throat cracked as she tried to breathe. “I grabbed her arm to throw her onto the ground and her bracelet broke. I’m so sorry. I love Olivia. She’s my best friend.”
Murphy and Charley stared at each other. He dropped to one knee, reaching his arms out to her.
Erin accepted his concern and fell into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
Murphy rocked her shaking body. “It’s okay Erin. Thank you, for your honesty.”
Charley rubbed Erin’s back. “Olivia is lucky to have such a caring friend.”
“Thank you.” Erin darted towards the stairs and scampered to her bedroom.
Silenced hovered between them until they heard Erin’s bedroom door close.
“It took a lot for Erin to come forward,” Murphy said. “Don’t be too tough on her.”
“She’s upset. I understand,” Mrs. Stokes said.
“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Stokes, we’ll be on our way,” Murphy said.
Outside the Stokes’ home, Charley and Murphy stood on the sidewalk facing each other. In unison, they echoed. “Matthew Gunderson.”
“But the castle?” Murphy said.
“That threw me,” Charley said. “This person lives far away.”
“Kids… well… far away to them, is down the street. Their depth perception hasn’t developed.”
“True. Castle. Are there any castles around here?”
“It’s not a proverbial castle. It’s a metaphor.”
“All right. Replacing what?”
“I dunno.” Murphy stared off in the distance. “That was hard.”
“I’m not sure what to think, regarding what Erin told us.”
Murphy brushed his foot on the sidewalk. “Me either.”
“I’ll mull it over.”
“Would a child consider a U.S. Navy ship a castle?”
“I understand what you’re saying. Gunderson is in the Navy. Children around here are familiar with battleships and destroyers.” Charley pointed southeast. “The Navy Yard is twenty miles southeast of here.”
Murphy shoved his hands into his pockets and captured her eyes. “We lost the only piece of evidence available.”
Charley nodded. “Yep, Doobie will pitch a fit. I suggest we both keep our distance.”
“I dunno, Faraday. I’ll let you tell him.” Murphy smiled and stared across the street.
“For the first time, Murph, I believe you’re right.”
Chapter 12
Poker Night
Annandale, VA - Breckinridge Sports Complex
Wednesday – 20 April - 9:53 PM
Charley delivered her last breaststroke inches from the in-step of the fifty-meter swimming pool. Forty laps completed, she emerged from the water and adjusted the leg openings of her one-piece suit, pulling the elastic to cover her firm glutes. An excellent way to end a long day, she stepped from the pool as the attendant handed her a soft white towel. She nodded with a smile and a faint thank you, wiped her face, and squeezed the excess moisture from her hair. Headed to poolside, she squatted and sat on the rail edge and swirled her toes in the water.
She draped the towel around her shoulders and stared into the circulating pool. The serene movement of the water contradicted the upheaval within. Chorine and saline stung her eyes while she contemplated the current case. With so little evidence, catching the suspect would take tenacity and a huge amount of luck. Charley grabbed the ends of the towel and wiped away the droplets traveling over her face.
The water shone as bright as his azure eyes. Her heart thumped once and the lump in her throat subsided. Required to maintain the façade of indifference towards Murphy, she had no choice. He must never know the truth. The humiliation and embarrassment had to remain hidden. Buried deep within the remnants of her soul, Murphy strolled into her heart, took a seat, and stayed. She refused to allow her affection for him to surface. Charley put her heel onto the edge, pushed upward, then left for the locker room.
Dressed in her grass green track pants and t-shirt, her shoulders slumped from exhaustion. She stretched and yawned, walking towards the rear exit door.
A stressful day behind her, she wanted to crawl into bed and sleep forever. She trotted to the car which seemed far away in the distance as she dug into the front pocket of her backpack, removing her keys. She ruminated on Robin and Olivia and the emotional trauma experienced by Erin, too much for a child to endure.
“Castle,” Charley mumbled, slowing to a saunter, approaching her car in the parking lot. The cool, refreshing night air tingled her cheeks as she tapped the fob button unlocking the driver’s side door.
Once behind the steering wheel, she tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat. She peered in the review mirror. Red, irritated eyes stared back. Charley fished for the eye drops in her satchel. With a drop in each eye, she blinked, and wiped away the residue. “That’s better.”
She turned the key to start the engine.
Click, click, click.
Charley slammed the heel of her hand on the wheel. “Start, would you?”
Another try.
Click, click, click.
“Dammit.” Her throaty bellow increased as she smacked the palms of her hands against the steering wheel several times before searching inside the bag for her phone. Reclined in the seat, she went over her mental list of whom to call. Doobie and Scott were in Boston for training in geographical imaging and communication tracking.
“This can’t be happening.” The back of her head plopped onto the headrest, groaning she rolled her eyes.
Charley scrolled through her stored numbers, selecting ‘Agent Asshole’. She snickered and tapped her fingers on the dashboard waiting for an answer.
“Agent Faraday,” Murphy said. “Make it snappy, it’s Wednesday.”
“I’m aware it’s Wednesday. I need help.”
“For what?”
“My car won’t start.” She grabbed the lever under the dash to release the engine hood. “The battery is dead. I’m at Breckinridge.” Out of the vehicle, she trotted to the front of the car and lifted the hood to check the battery cables.
“Call Doobie.”
“No point.” She wiggled the cables, finding they were secure. “He and Scott are in Boston.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Call someone else. I’m busy.”
“There is no one else.” Charley slammed the hood closed and kicked the driver’s side front tire. Pain shot to her ankle. She raised her foot, massaging her toes, balancing and hopping on one foot.
“Sorry, babe. It’s poker night. There’s five hundred dollars in the basket.”
“Nice to know my worth.” She leaned against the car door. “Please, Murph, I’m begging. I’m ten miles from home.”
“Call a taxi.”
Click.
The phone away from her ear, she stared at the glass face, telling her the call had ended. “Jerk.” She sprawled over the roof of the car, tapping the phone on the metal, wondering who else might be available. Kimmie, Scott’s girlfriend, attending a funeral of a family member in Indianapolis, wasn’t due home for two days. The other agents were playing poker with Murphy. She exhaled a long, audible huff. “Taxi it is.” Charley rose, lifted her phone, and spotted a raised fist reflecting on the screen. She ducked as it slammed above her right ear.
Annandale, VA – Murphy’s Home
Wednesday - 20 April - 9:59 PM
Murphy placed his cell phone beside an old-fashioned glass of Jim Beam on the poker table. With his back pressed against the chair, and a Fat Boy cigar lodged between his molars, he grinned, admiring his lousy cards. He took a long drag from the stogie, exhaled, creating smoke rings. In the center of the table, a pile of money waited. Murphy leaned in with a cheeky grin and offered an overconfident nod. “What’s it gonna be, boys?”
His FBI friends glared at him from around the table, tossing in their cards.
“You’re toast.” Murphy grinned before dousing the cigar in the ashtray. He dropped the worthless spread on the table.
“What? Are you kidding me?” Greg leaned over the table for a closer look. “You don’t have shit. You asshole.”
“Fuck you, Murph,” Steve said.
“Not today, Steve.” Murphy formed his hand into a pistol, clicked his mouth when he twitched his thumb at Steve. “I’m not that hard up, not yet, anyway.” Murphy laughed. “I am the poker king.” He gathered and stacked the cash, fanned it with his fingers and sniffed. “Love that smell.” He stood, stashed the cash in his shirt pocket and crammed his phone his back pocket. “I have to go.”
“What?” Greg screeched. “You’re leaving? It’s still early. I want to win back my money.”
Murphy placed the chair under the table. “I gotta go. That was Faraday on the phone. She’s stranded.”
Ted glanced at his wristwatch. “Where is she?”
“Breckinridge.” Murphy trotted to the coat closet, grabbed his black leather jacket.
“The sports complex near the community college?” Steve said.
“Yes.” Murphy slipped on his coat.
“Why did you wait?” Steve said.
“Whaddya mean?” Murphy adjusted his jacket and zipped it halfway.
“You left her out there alone? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve stood with his hands on his hips. “In the last six weeks, four college girls were assaulted, walking to their cars after night classes.”
Murphy’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? I hadn’t heard.”
“Where in the hell have you been?” Greg said. “It’s been on the news and on the wire.”
Ted chortled. “Murph’s too busy trying to figure out how to tame the lovely Charley Faraday.”
“That’s never gonna happen,” Ethan said. “Does she even date?”
“If she does,” Ted said, “it’s the best kept secret.”
“I’d love to get my hands on her.” Greg wiggled his eyebrows. “Whoo... wee, that would be nice.”
“She hates men.” Ethan scowled.
“No, she doesn’t,” Steve said. “Her best friend is Scott Grae in cyber. They’ve been buds for years.”
“I’m out of here. I shouldn’t have hung up on her.” Murphy returned to the table, removed the money from his pocket, and tossed it
back onto the table. “Here, divide it.” He turned and hurried towards the garage entrance door and called to them, “Lock the doors before you leave.”
Headed north to the sports complex Murphy attempted to contact Charley via phone. He tapped his heel faster with each ring. “C’mon, dammit, answer.” Nothing. He shoved the cell inside his pocket. “She’s ignoring my call. Typical.”
At the intersection of Bolivar and Spring Streets, Murphy careened into the parking lot of the facility.
The exclusive club’s massive complex of sierra brick and glass, opened six months ago. A solitary vehicle sat at the end of the overflow parking lot. The driver’s side door of Charley’s red Volkswagen was open. No sign of her.
His stomach flipped as he spun the steering wheel, squealing the tires. The truck slid sideways, coming to an abrupt stop. Murphy slammed the gearshift into park and leapt out of the truck.
A perpetual chime rang from the interior of the Volkswagen.
He bolted towards the car. Shattered glass crunched under his boots as he leaned inside the car to remove the keys from the ignition. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as the keys gouged his palm. “What have I done?”
Murphy forced his body into the driver’s seat, the steering wheel burrowed into his thighs and ground into his chest. A backpack laid open on the passenger seat as he inspected the interior.
No blood.
He squeezed from the seat and exited the vehicle. The car door creaked as he closed it. A concave impression on the door exterior indicated nothing good had happened. A foot? Someone fell against it? Hit by a car?
He surveyed the area, calling her name. Murphy’s voice echoed as each shout’s volume increased. He turned in a circle, everything spun as he pressed on the sides of his head. He screamed her name again.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No response.
He removed the phone from inside his jacket.
Her cell. Maybe she went inside for help. He whipped around, frantic. Why would she leave her keys? No way. Not her. Never. She’s too careful, consistent. His breathing erratic, he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his leather jacket. I’ll call her. She’ll answer. Yes, she’ll answer and she’ll give me shit. I’ll give her a hard time for leaving her keys in the ignition. Everything normal.
