by KT Roberts
“No. Thanks anyway. I’ll catch up with you another time.”
“Wait. Don’t hang up, Max. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be such a jerk.”
“Right. You shouldn’t. I gotta go. See you at school.” Max clicked off his cell phone and sat down on the edge of the bed. His anxiety returned.
A whiff of pie baking in the oven filled the air with a rich buttery smell, and he knew his mother was making his favorite—cherry pie. He could feel the crunch of the crust between his teeth, and taste the release of the sweet liquid when he bit into the plump cherries. His mouth watered thinking about it. But tonight, he had to pass on his favorite dessert. It would kill him, but he couldn’t risk having his father ask more questions.
He opened his closet door and pushed his clothes to the side. Holding onto the doorframe with one hand, he reached inside his secret hiding place with the other for the cassette and pulled it out to look at it. He tossed the cassette on the bed and remembered his old recorder. The one he used to listen to Dr. Seuss tapes, and prayed the mini-cassette would fit. He rummaged through his old toy chest hopeful he’d find the small Sony when he heard his father’s voice call him from downstairs. He ran to the door before his father could walk up the steps.
“Yeah, Dad,” he said, sticking his head out the door.
“C’mon down. Mom made your favorite dessert.”
“Uh, Dad, I’m not done with my homework yet. Maybe later.”
“You can’t be serious. You’re going to pass up on your mother’s homemade cherry pie and ice cream?”
“Save me a piece, will you?” Max shut the door and continued rummaging through his toy chest. A sudden series of thuds on the stairs made him panic—his father was on his way up to his room. He quickly closed the toy chest and grabbed the first thing closest to him to make his father think he was studying, and jumped on his bed making sure to sit on the cassette just as his bedroom door creaked opened.
“Are you okay, son?” Jack asked. “I can’t believe you’re passing on cherry pie.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“All right. If you’re sure.” His father turned around and started to walk away.
“Oh, Dad,” he called after him, remembering he had a little matter he needed to clear up. His father stopped and turned to face him.
“What, son?”
“I remembered something about the recorder. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this when you asked me, but there wasn’t any cassette in the recorder. Like I said, I was trying to show Ritchie how it worked, and without the cassette, I couldn’t show him anything.” He shrugged, “so I just told him how to set it up.”
“Okay son, thanks. That’s just what I was worried about.” He nodded. “All right, I’ll take this up with the last person who used the equipment.”
He left the room and Max exhaled a sigh of relief, waiting until he could no longer hear his father’s footsteps. He quickly jumped off the bed, scooped up the cassette and walked to his closet to put it back in his secret hiding place.
15
Jessie walked to her desk with a container of coffee in her hand. Her partner was already at his desk, his feet up on top, eating a powdered donut.
“You’re going to get fat from all those trans fatty foods you’re consuming, hotshot.”
“Yeah, my mother used to tell me the same thing, but I work out, so I can eat all I want.” He waved the box past her nose. “Want one?”
“No thanks. I’ve already had breakfast.” Her cell phone chimed its melodic ring tone.
“Detective Kensington.” She poked him in the arm so he’d pay attention and pointed to her phone. “Yes, Mrs. Clayton.” He sat upright, leaning in to hear above the noisy office. She rested her hip against his desk and watched his handsome face, subconsciously wiping a dot of white powder off the corner of his mouth with her fingers. He gave her an appreciative smile.
“She did?” Jessie said to the woman, and gave him the thumbs up signal. “Okay, terrific. When would be a good time for us to meet with Marti?” She smiled excitedly. “Wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Clayton. This is the first positive news we’ve received so far. Yes, Detective Gerard and I will be there by ten thirty this morning.” She disconnected the call.
“Sounds like good news.”
“Jane Clayton said after our cold canvas she got to thinking about her daughter Marti, and wondered if the kid had communicated with Gabrielle since they’d last seen each other. Marti’s is apparently visiting with her grandmother. After talking to her daughter, she said Marti confirmed she had in fact heard from the Sawyer girl and agreed to talk to us . . . at the insistence of her parents.”
“Finally! Did she say where the Sawyer kid was calling from?”
“Mrs. Clayton didn’t go into detail. She said Marti was reluctant to discuss it with her for fear she’d be getting the Sawyer kid in trouble, but they assured her she’d be helping her friend. Anyway, Marti’s home today and will hopefully give us something from which to build a case.”
He gave her a sexy smile.
“What?” she said.
“Thank you for taking care of me.” He squeezed her arm.
“Oh, Christ, don’t go getting all syrupy on me just because I wiped your mouth. I didn’t want sugar falling onto the report.” He gave her a wink, and she thought her heart would jump right out of her chest. Damn it, she was furious at herself for continuing to react to him the way she did. He stared at her with a slight grin, almost as if he was reading her thoughts. She cleared her throat. “After we talk to her, she’ll return to her grandmother’s house for the rest of the week, so it’s probably prudent for us to make up a list of questions we want to ask her before going to the house. Mrs. Clayton said she doesn’t mind being cooperative, but she doesn’t want to freak her daughter out either. So, let’s get as much as we can while the fire’s hot.”
Detective Gerard pulled up in front of the Clayton’s house, at the end of West 87th Street, several doors down from the Sawyers. Jessie rang the bell. “You should be the one to interview the young girl,” he said, “I think she’ll relate a lot better to you than to me.”
“I agree.”
“Who is it?” a woman’s voice rang out through the intercom.
“Detectives Kensington and Gerard, NYPD.”
The door opened. “Please come inside. The Claytons are expecting you.”
“Detectives,” Jane Clayton said, walking toward them. She extended her hand in greeting. “We’re all in the den.” They followed behind and saw Marti was curled up on a chair, when they entered the room, her face flooded with conflicting emotions. “Please have a seat,” Mrs. Clayton said, motioning to the sofa across from where her daughter sat.
Jessie pointed to the ottoman in front of the young girl so she’d be closer to Marti.
“Hi Marti, I’m Detective Kensington. Thank you for agreeing to talk to us about your friend, Gabi. I’m sure you’re very worried about her safety, and I just want you to know we’re going to do whatever we can to find her.
The young girl’s mouth creased into a half smile. Zach reached inside his briefcase and removed the recorder from the case, placing it on the coffee table in preparation for the interview.
Robert Clayton stood and walked over to his daughter, and squatted down on the floor in front of her. “Marti, don’t be nervous. These detectives are just going to ask you some questions about your conversation with Gabi. Okay, sweetie?” She gave him a blank stare. “And you’re not going to get into any trouble, so take a deep breath, and answer whatever they ask. Okay?”
“Yes, Dad,” she said with a slight smirk.
“Are you ready?” Zach asked before turning on the recorder.
Marti nodded, then turned her attention toward Jessie. “I’m really scared for Gabi.”
“Why are you scared for her, Marti?” Jessie asked. “Did she say something that made you worry?”
“No. But her dad came in the room and yelled at her.�
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“Dads do that sometimes.”
“I know,” she said glancing at her father. “But not like this. His voice sounded really mean—like he was going to hurt her.” Tears welled in the child’s eyes.
Jane Clayton made her way over to comfort her daughter. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re doing a good thing for Gabi, so don’t worry.” She brushed away a stray hair from her daughter’s eyes.
Jessie changed the subject to take the pressure off Marti. “So, what grade are you in, Marti?”
“I’m in the fifth grade at St. Catherine’s.”
“Oh really?” Marti nodded. “I know someone who goes there, and I think he may even be in the fifth grade. His name is Max Harwell. Do you know him?”
“Really?” She grinned. “I know Max. He’s in the seventh grade though. I know his friend, Ritchie too. Gabi’s got a crush on Max.” She gasped, then quickly covered her mouth with both hands seemingly embarrassed about revealing her friend’s secret.
“Not to worry,” Jessie placed her hand on her heart. “Your secret is safe with me.” Marti smiled, obviously feeling better about the detective. “Do you have to take the subway to St. Catherine’s?”
“Yeah, Gabi and I both do. Most of the kids do because we all live so far away.”
“It’s a very good school,” Jane Clayton added. She smiled at her daughter.
“Will you tell me about the conversation you and Gabi had?”
“We didn’t really talk that long.”
“That’s okay. Whatever you can remember will be very helpful. And, even after we leave here, if you think of something else, you can always call me.” Jessie handed Marti her business card. “You keep this card, and whenever you want to talk to me, you can reach me at this number. Okay?”
She nodded again.
“Okay, do you remember what day she called?”
“I think it was Friday. No, wait.” She looked over at her mother. “Mommy, is that the day we shopped?”
“No, sweetie, we shopped on Thursday.”
“Right. That’s the night she called.” Her face flushed. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to be. You’re doing a good thing for your friend.” Jessie held up her hand, “honest, and one day you’ll look back on this and know you did the right thing.”
“I hope so. I don’t want her to get mad at me.”
“Did she call you on your cell phone, or the house phone?”
Marti pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket and held it in the air. “She called me on my cell.” Her fingers flipped through the screens with speed. “Yeah, Mom, it was Thursday, seven thirty at night.”
“Can I have the phone number she called you from?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think it works anymore.” Her eyes watered again. “That’s why her father yelled. She was using his cell phone.”
“Gabi doesn’t have her own cell phone?”
“No. Her father won’t let her have one.”
“Was he very strict with Gabi?”
“No.” Her eyes opened wide with surprise. “That’s why I was surprised he yelled at her.”
“Why wouldn’t he let her have her own cell phone?”
“He didn’t want her to become a spoiled brat.”
“Oh.” Jessie gave her partner a fleeting look. “Did her father usually let her use his cell phone?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you think that’s why he yelled? Did she take the phone without asking permission?”
“I think so.” Another tear ran down her cheek. “I shoulda stopped asking her questions. She wanted me to do something for her.”
“Maybe she’ll call back.”
“I hope so . . . cause I’m going to be scared until she does.”
“Can you tell me what she talked about before her father came into the room?”
“Well, I was really surprised she called because Mommy and I saw Mrs. Simon at the mall. She’s the school secretary at St. Catherine’s, and she asked me if Gabi was having a good time on her cruise.” Her eyes widened. “Mrs. Simon knows we’re friends.” Marti stopped talking and took in a deep breath.
“It’s okay, Marti. Take your time.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard. “I mean, Gabi and I tell each other everything, so I was a little mad that she didn’t even tell me she was going on a cruise when she’d slept over at my house for two nights before her dad picked her up. You know, like how could she forget to tell me something so exciting?”
“Do you think her dad was trying to surprise her?”
“Um, well, she did say that after I asked . . . you know, that maybe her father was waiting for her mom to come home before they went away. Oh, and then she said her dad was acting different since her mom was away and had given her a lot of surprises.”
“How different?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Okay, so you asked her how the cruise was, and she said?”
Marti seemed more relaxed now. “She said they weren’t on a cruise . . . they were at her dad’s cousin’s house.” She touched her chin. “I think she said her name was Maria.”
“Did Gabi say where Maria lived?”
“No, we never got that far.”
“Other than saying her dad was giving her a lot of surprises, and maybe he was waiting for her mother to come home to go on a cruise, did she say anything else about her mom?”
“That was really why she was calling. She told me her mother was in Ohio with her Aunt Sissy, and her dad didn’t have her aunt’s phone number stored in his new phone so she could talk to her.”
“Doesn’t her mom have a cell phone?”
“Yeah,” Marti nodded, “she does. But maybe it wasn’t working?” Marti shrugged again. “I don’t know, but I think she might have wanted me to do something for her, like maybe get the aunt’s phone number from the house?” she hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know . . . but that’s when her father walked into the room and shouted—” Marti looked at her parents as if waiting for their approval before continuing.
“Go ahead, Marti,” Mrs. Clayton said. “It’s okay for you to repeat the exact words Mr. Sawyer used.”
Marti took in another breath. “He shouted ‘What the hell are you doing?’ . . . then the phone went dead.” She shrugged.
“That’s good, sweetie. And you’ve never heard Mr. Sawyer raise his voice like that to Gabi before?”
“No, that’s why I was scared for her. She only wanted to talk to her mom.”
“It sounds that way. Well, is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“No. That’s all I know.” The young girl looked over at her parents. “Mommy, can I go back to grandma’s now?”
“As soon as we’re done here with the detectives. You run along to your room. Daddy and I have a few more things to discuss.”
“Okay.”
“Marti,” Detective Kensington said, “Thank you for all your help. You did a great job.” The young girl smiled back and took off like a shot in the opposite direction.
“Marti,” her father called after her. “Please leave your cell phone here so the detectives can record the phone number Gabi called you from.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” she said, and hesitantly handed her phone over to the detective.
Jessie sensed her reluctance and reassured her. “I’ll tell you what. If you’ll stand right here, I’ll give it back to you as soon as I key in the number. Okay?” The young girl nodded. “Oh, and Marti, one more thing,” Jessie added, “Please don’t discuss this conversation with any of your friends.”
“I won’t.” She took her phone and left the room.
Detective Gerard stopped the recorder. “Thanks Marti,” he said, barely catching her before she was bounding up the steps, taking two at a time. He smiled and turned to the parents. “Thank you very much for allowing us to talk to Marti,” he said. “The information she’s provided has brou
ght us one step closer to solving this mystery. Do you mind if we ask you a few more questions?”
“Not at all. We’re happy to help.”
“I’m going to turn the recorder back on.”
“That’s fine, Detective,” Mr. Clayton responded.
“How well did you know the Sawyers?” Zach asked.
“We weren’t close friends if that’s what you’re asking. Patrick has always been very nice around us. We’ve been invited to several of their new car launching parties, but so are a lot of other people.”
“New car launching parties?” Jessie asked.
“Yes, mostly,” the wife added. “Patrick always made it sound as though he wanted us to be the first to see the new cars, but what he really wanted was for his guests to buy one.” She chuckled. “I have no doubt that was the reason we were invited,” glancing at her husband. “Don’t you think?”
“Of course. I mean it’s not like we went out to dinner, or did things you’d do with close friends. I guess the best way to describe our relationship with him was purely at the acquaintance level.”
“Do you know who their closest friends were?”
“Uh, seriously? I don’t think they had any,” he said with a tilt of his head.
Jane nodded in agreement. “Although, I have to say, Amanda and I were much closer. We’ve shopped together a few times. We were actually developing a nice friendship . . . then, something happened and we lost contact.”
“You don’t know what happened?”
“No. I don’t know . . . maybe she was too busy. I shouldn’t be saying things I’m not sure about.”
“Do you remember what happened the last time you saw her? Did she have any bruising on her body?”
Jane gasped. “Why? Do you suspect him of being a wife-beater?”
“We don’t know. We’re checking out every possibility. What we do know is that we haven’t been able to prove they’re on a cruise.”
“Oh my God,” Jane said, turning her head away. Lines of deep concentration gathered in her forehead. “I should have realized something was wrong several weeks ago when we were trying on clothes in Neiman Marcus. She had a long bruise that ran the length of her thigh.” Jane paused, tears gathered around the rims of her eyes.
