Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1)

by A Wallace

  “Are you hearing yourself? Do you know what that’s called?”

  “No.” She took a bite of her toast.

  “Sexual attraction and frustration. It’s foreplay, Char.”

  She laughed so hard she spit out her toast. “You’re insane.”

  Jake raised his eyebrows. “Nope. I’m smart enough to know you two are doing the love dance.”

  After tearing off a bite of bacon, Charley shook the strip at him. “No, not even close. Besides, it eases stress and tension for both of us. I love the way he challenges me.”

  “If any other man did that, you’d drill his ass into the ground. But, not him, you care about him.”

  “I never said I didn’t care about him.”

  “There’s hope for you, sweetheart. I’m relieved.”

  Followed by a short silence, Jake squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “There’s something I need to tell you. The owner demolished the cabin. I thought you would want to know.”

  No reaction.

  “Char, did you hear me?”

  She answered with a stoic stare.

  “Sis, you weren’t responsible.”

  Charley’s attention swayed to the view out the window.

  “Does Sean know? Have you told him?”

  She dropped her head and shook it.

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  She shook her head.

  “You did nothing wrong.”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “You believe he’ll think badly of you?”

  She nodded.

  “Why, Char? Why do you believe that?”

  Her throat tightened, she coughed and sniffed. “He deserves better than me. I’m inadequate, awkward. I have little to give.”

  Jake clasped her hand. “Charley, that isn’t true.”

  She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Yes, it is.”

  “Sweetheart, a man who loves you will embrace you and take your pain away.”

  “Not possible.”

  “How long are you going to live in a box?”

  She chuckled. “He asked me if I lived in a box.” Tears filled her eyes. “I have nothing to give him. My heart is sour and my soul is black. My spirit is tattered and tired.”

  “Char, why do you continue to lie to yourself?”

  She shrugged. “I know my limitations.”

  Jack slightly opened his mouth and slumped back on the bench. “I get it now. You refuse him because you don’t want him to know. I never dreamed you would lack courage.”

  She snatched a few napkins from the holder and wiped her eyes. “I’m broken, damaged, unworthy.”

  “Sis, please.” He knocked the fork from her hand and held them. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. You’re intelligent, self-sufficient.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re willing to throw it all away because you believe you’re to blame for what happened. You did nothing wrong.”

  More tears fell from the corners of her eyes. “I don’t expect you to understand. You can’t imagine what it would be like to tell him what happened. It isn’t about courage. It’s about shame, humiliation, total depravation. Could we not talk about this? For once, I’d like one day without a reminder.”

  “All right.” Jake checked his watch as he rubbed his face. “Oh, gosh, uhm, I hate to end this, but I have a meeting with the Vice President of Operations in thirty minutes. There’re a few decisions to make, regarding Caleb. I can’t be traipsing around the world anymore. I may have to find another job or ask for a position change.”

  “Stand by Caleb, he comes first.”

  “You’re right.” He waved to the server to pay the tab.

  “I’ll get this,” she said.

  He stood, leaned over, and kissed her. “Love you, Sis, take care.”

  “I will, and love you too.” Charley clasped her hands in her lap as Jake left the restaurant, shaking his head. Her eyes followed him as he sauntered across the parking lot, opened the car door, turned, and waved. She blew him a kiss. He snatched the air-kiss, putting his hand to his mouth, returning the gesture.

  Charley sighed as Jake’s car turned right and disappeared into traffic. “He knows. Jake always knows.”

  Chapter 27

  Masked Identity

  Interstate 64 East – Ten miles outside of Buena Vista, VA

  Tuesday, 14 June – 2:33 PM

  Headed towards Northern Virginia, Charley tapped her left foot to the music CD Murphy purchased for them. Her head bobbed back and forth as she danced in the driver’s seat. The satellite communications system’s alarm jolted her from one of her rare, carefree moods. Words she didn’t want to see flashed across the screen. Another child was missing.

  After she rolled down the window, she searched under the front seat for the emergency light. Her hand gripped around the strobe she hung her arm out the window and plopped it onto the Denali’s roof. She gunned the gas pedal to ninety miles per hour, switched off the music and sailed to the crime scene.

  Burke, VA – Grenadier Drive - Rensselaer Park - 4:57 PM

  The Denali’s tires squealed as she navigated the curve to Grenadier Drive. She spotted Murphy’s truck, slammed on the brakes, parked behind it, and ran towards the crime scene.

  Local law enforcement prevented the press from gaining entry and deterred the reporters from screaming out Charley’s name.

  Murphy ran in her direction. “Where in the hell have you been?”

  Charley stopped. “Uhm, I was away.”

  “Away? Where?” Murphy’s disapproving eyes flickered over her.

  Her eyes darted back and forth before she muttered, “I was out of town.” She smoothed her hair with her hands.

  “With who?”

  “It doesn’t matter right now. We need to work this.”

  Several yards away stood Doobie.

  “Doobie,” Charley yelled as Murphy took his place next to her.

  Diverted by the sound of her voice, he swung around, his face exhausted and fatigued. “It’s about time.”

  “I’m here, okay? Whaddya got?”

  Doobie presented his fatherly stance, and the oppressive gaze of an upset dad. “We will discuss this later, young lady. This isn’t the clusterfuck as the bowling alley.” Doobie pointed to a structure on his right. “Annabelle was in the gazebo. A few children were near the fountain playing soccer. One of them kicked the ball into a mass of trees.” Doobie’s hands were on his hips, sighing, he looked at the ground, rubbing his eyes.

  Alarmed, Charley’s eyes widened. “Hey, you okay? Do you need water?”

  “I’m tired, Char, categorically tired.” Doobie turned his head. “Sleep hasn’t been my friend for a while.”

  His complexion flushed, sweat beaded Doobie’s forehead. Charley removed a package of travel tissues from her side pocket and wiped his face. “Hey, Sean, would you grab a bottle of water from the response team wagon?”

  “Sure thing, Char.” Murphy sprinted to the truck.

  She wiped the sweat from his brow. “Doobie, you’re exhausted.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  Murphy twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it to him. “Here, drink this.”

  As Doobie chugged the water, he grabbed Murphy’s arm pulling him away from the others. “Murph, you’re a good man. I want you to promise me no matter what happens,” he pointed at Charley, “you’ll watch after her.”

  Murphy’s shoulders straightened. “What?”

  Doobie clasped his hands as if to pray. “Promise me.”

  Murphy glanced at Charley. “What’s going on, Doobie?”

  Doobie’s head shook as he stepped to the side. “Tall order… but… forget it.”

  Murphy positioned himself in front of him. “No, Doobie, I don’t understand.”

  “Ignore what I said.” Doobie shuffled away, taking his place beside Charley. “Let’s continue, I’m fine.” He focused on the gaze
bo. “Where was I? Oh, yeah, Annabelle stopped playing to retrieve the ball. No one could see her in the trees. The kids said the ball flew outta the grove towards them. One of them wanted to thank her, but when the little boy went into the trees she wasn’t there.”

  “No one saw her on the sidewalk?” Murphy said.

  The caramel tone of Doobie’s skin returned. “No, one child told me they heard a loud thud, before the ball appeared, someone kicked it.”

  “You suspect Annabelle didn’t kick the ball, someone else did to keep the others away,” Charley said.

  “Yes. I don’t get it. No one saw her. The park is small. It’s in the middle of a residential area with lots of traffic, but so far, no one has claimed they saw her. I find that impossible.” Doobie combed his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. “These little girls are the age of my granddaughter. This is getting personal.”

  “If I was a parent, am not sure what action I would take,” Murphy said.

  “Where are her parents?” Charley said.

  “Mrs. Grant collapsed. First Responders and two officers transported her and her husband to the emergency room.”

  “When Annabelle disappeared where were they?” Charley said.

  Doobie directed his finger behind them. “Both of them were sitting on the front porch across the road. Grenadier Street is located opposite of where Annabelle went to retrieve the ball.” Doobie rubbed his eyes. “I’m losing sleep over this, not because of the hours, but the stress.”

  “Don’t let that happen. Get a massage, a sauna, anything to relieve your tension. I don’t want you to have a coronary or anything.” Charley grasped his hand. “We need you.”

  “I’ll tell you something else. I’ve never seen local authorities and feds cooperate without tension, without some kind of pressure. This is intense. Everyone is emotionally distressed. Most of us working the case have a granddaughter or a daughter. One fed sent his little girl to his parents in Illinois for the summer.”

  “The school year hasn’t ended.”

  “A daddy doesn’t give a fuck what the schools want. Charley, you’ll never understand this until you have your own.”

  “Uh, don’t go there, never gonna happen.”

  “Tell us about Annabelle?” Murphy said.

  “Annabelle is a child prodigy pianist. She has performed at Carnegie Hall and the Performing Arts Center in DC. She likes to play tennis, an excellent student in history and language arts. One kid told me she has a photographic memory.”

  “We have a talented, intelligent child who disappears with what is assumed to be a stranger,” Charley said. “Stranger, my ass, the girls know this guy.”

  “You’re stressing again, Char. Take a deep breath,” Murphy said.

  “I won’t breathe until it’s over.”

  A uniformed officer called to Doobie, “Agent Dubuclet, we found something.”

  Hopeful, the three of them trotted to the rookie police officer.

  “What did you find?” Doobie said.

  The officer, Seth Overstreet, wearing protective gloves, handed Doobie a theatrical mask. “Oh, man, I don’t like where this is going. Thank you. Now, go find me more evidence.”

  “Yes, sir.” Overstreet returned to the investigation.

  “I dislike those,” Charley said.

  “They are disturbing. Some are diabolical,” Murphy said.

  Charley slid on a pair of gloves. Doobie handed her the mask. “This isn’t a theatrical, it’s a masquerade mask.”

  “I don’t care, I don’t like them,” Doobie said. “I don’t care if I am from Louisiana, Mardi Gras or not.”

  Charley examined the mask, concluding the material was paper mache and handmade. Painted skin tone, the mask had a purple hyacinth surrounding the left eyehole. A sprig of dogbane decorated the right cheek. The red lips were full, pursing forward as if awaiting a kiss. “This is masterfully made. The detail of the flowers is remarkable.”

  Each side of the mask had a blue ribbon to secure it around the head. One peculiarity, it was too small for the average adult. “Purple hyacinth is asking forgiveness, sorrow. The white dogbane symbolizes deceit.”

  “Charley, I’m not challenging your idea of symbolism, but I don’t think it’s gonna help,” Doobie said.

  Murphy stepped in to defend his partner. “I disagree. We live in a world of color. Indifferent to it, we rarely notice it unless it smacks us upside the head. We become immune to how color affects our emotions, mental state, and our physical health.”

  Charley smiled.

  “No matter what we do, we cannot escape or erase it. Here’s an example, the color blue is soothing, gives one the sense of calm. When stressed, many of us step outside and admire the sky. Our subconscious guides us. It’s personal emotional therapy.”

  Bewildered, Doobie stared at Murphy as if he had tattooed his entire face. “Well now, I stand corrected.”

  With a huge grin, Charley’s eyes brightened. “You read my article in the ‘American Journal of Psychology’.”

  “Yes, I did. I’ve read many of your published articles. ‘Journal Criminology’ and ‘Criminal Justice Research & Education’. The article comparing serial homicide behavior to spree killers was a great read.”

  “I thought I was the only one who read them.” She smiled.

  “Now there are two of us.”

  Officer Overstreet approached Doobie again. “Agent Dubuclet, do you want us to retrieve all the garbage in the can where we found the mask?”

  “Son, what is all over your face?” Doobie snared Charley’s attention.

  “Wait.” Charley pointed at the object in the young officer’s hand. “Where did you get that?”

  Murphy jiggled the keys in his pants pocket. “We don’t have time, Char.”

  She whacked his arm. “Shhh.”

  Murphy shook his finger at her. “You said…”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “Last time, promise.”

  Murphy grinned. “I don’t mind being your whack-a-mole.”

  The officer took a bite of his Popsicle. “The ice cream man. He drove by here about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Ice cream truck,” Charley mumbled. Data swirled in her head. Spirals of colors spun in front of her eyes as her mind sorted the information. Someone they trusted: the ice cream man. Olivia and her mom planned to go for ice cream after school on the day she disappeared.

  “The truck, did it have strawberry cone icon?”

  The young police officer removed the dessert from his mouth. “Yes.”

  Alarmed, she requested, “I don’t care how many uniforms or suits it takes, find the ice cream man and bring him to me… now. Call me when he’s at the command center.” She turned to Murphy. “Let’s go to O’Shea’s.”

  “O’Shea’s, eh? I get to tap your ass again?”

  Doobie, along with others within earshot, whipped their heads in Murphy’s direction. Various facial expressions from shock to admiration stared at Murphy.

  Murphy dropped his head, covering his eyes. “Wait, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Charley elbowed him in the ribs. “That one, you deserve.”

  Murphy’s cheeks went from pink to scarlet. “I meant when I tossed you over my shoulder and smacked your ass.”

  Eyebrows rose higher.

  “No… wait, she was… I mean… fuck.”

  Several of the men wiggled their eyebrows and smiled.

  Charley clutched his arm and pulled him away from the crime scene. “Meet me at O’Shea’s at eight-thirty.”

  “No.” Murphy grabbed her arm, dragging her to his truck. “Get in.”

  Charley hopped into the passenger’s seat, while Murphy sat behind the wheel.

  Murphy planted his elbow on the armrest as he covered his eyes with his hand. “Where have you been?”

  “Madison.”

  He refused to look her way. “Who is he, Charley?”

  Charley lowered her head and murmured, “My broth
er, Jake.”

  Murphy moved his hand from his eyes and propped his chin in his palm. “You lied about not having any siblings.”

  “I didn’t lie to you.” Charley stared at her hands in her lap. “Jake is my self-appointed brother.”

  He shook his hands in the air. “I can’t wait to hear this story. However, it would require you to offer details, information, anything. You’re a walking secret.”

  “When I was twenty, I was at a cabin in the mountains not far from Madison. I was injured, dehydrated, and passed out in the woods. Jake found me. He carried me about a mile to his grandfather’s hunting cabin. They tossed me in the truck and took me to the hospital.”

  “What were you doing in the woods?”

  “I was at a cabin with a couple of people, but they weren’t around when this happened.”

  “You went out into the forest alone?”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “Dammit, Charley, for once would you answer a question without being so vague?”

  “I was lost. That’s all.”

  “Lost?”

  “Uhm… I collapsed from dehydration.” Charley clenched her hands. “If Jake hadn’t been turkey hunting, I would’ve died.” She covered her face with her hands. “When he lifted me from the ground, I had a knife in my hand. My arm swung, and I nicked him over his left eyebrow. He has a scar shaped like a crescent moon. He saved me. No more. From there we built a strong sibling relationship.”

  “Now it makes sense.” Murphy pointed at the charm on the necklace. “The little boy and girl sitting on the crescent moon holding hands are you and Jake?”

  “Yes.”

  “He had it made for you?”

  Charley shook her head. “No, he was in Italy at an outdoor market.”

  “Did you have a pleasant reunion?”

  “Yes, it was fabulous seeing him again. He’s been in Belgium the past two years. His construction project in Europe is complete. But…” Charley crossed her arms. “Marriage problems, he, and his wife Julie are divorcing. He has a four-year-old son, Caleb, and I’m concerned for him.”

  “He ran home to you?”

  “No, he brought Caleb home.”

  “Where’s his wife?” Murphy scratched his eyebrow. “Uh, Julie.”

  “In Germany with her lover.”