“You can’t remember her last name?”
Jeff winced. “It’s at the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t recall it.”
“Okay, you got my number. If it comes to you, please call me.”
“I will do that,” Jeff said before turning to look at his ex-wife. “Time to go home.”
Brenda sat on the sofa while Jeff’s truck pulled out of the driveway. The place was exactly as she had left it. There was still a tinge of hope within her, for she was sure that Samantha must have given the earring over to that poor young woman in the basement. She had no doubts about that. Her daughter was always generous to others—she remembered the time when Samantha asked her for a dollar while they were walking along the National Mall.
“What do you need a dollar for?” Brenda asked.
Samantha had just turned nine. “Just trust me, okay?”
“Okay.” She took a dollar out of her purse and gave it to the little girl.
Samantha took the money, turned around and immediately ran back over to an old homeless lady sitting near the gate of the National Gallery of Art. Samantha gave her the dollar bill before trotting back over to Brenda.
“I figured she needed it,” her daughter said.
Brenda smiled to herself. Whenever there was someone in need, Samantha was always the first one to help. She remembered when one of her daughter’s friends was in a car accident and ended up in the hospital. The moment Samantha heard about it, she organized everyone in her class to write “get well soon” letters even before her teacher suggested it. Samantha never even told Brenda what she did until the teacher called up to thank them for it.
Then she understood. Samantha must have given one earring to that girl and placed the other on the cat’s collar. There was simply no other explanation for it. Her daughter was crying out for help. Brenda’s heart began to race again. Her hands began to tremble. Oh god, I know you’re alive, she thought. How do I find you? You’ve got to give me more clues!
The landline phone beside her started ringing, nearly jolting Brenda out of the sofa. She quickly calmed herself down and answered it. “Hello?”
The voice was raspy, but calm and soothing. “Hello, Mrs. DeVoe. It’s me, Tom Breen.”
A huge sense of relief washed over her. “Detective Breen! Oh my god, how are you?”
There was a slight chuckle on the other line. “I’m good, but I’m no longer a detective. I retired, Mrs. DeVoe.”
Brenda smiled. Detective Breen had helped her to cope during the early weeks when Samantha disappeared. Over the years they had drifted apart when he moved onto other cases, and she didn’t want to keep bothering him. Now it was good to hear his voice again. “Oh Tom, you can call me Brenda, you know that.”
There was a slight chuckle on the other line. “Okay, Brenda. I heard about what happened. I’ve been calling before, but there was no answer. Is everything alright?”
“I just came from the hospital. It’s nothing serious, I just had … an episode. I’m better now though.”
“I understand,” Tom said. “I was just worried about you, that’s all.”
Brenda made a slight giggle. “Oh, it’s okay. But thanks for thinking about me.”
“Look, if you need anything, just …. give me a call, okay? I’ll give you my home number. Since I’m retired now, I have plenty of free time.”
“I’ll do that,” Brenda said before pausing for a bit. “Say Tom, are you free right now?”
“I guess so, why?”
“I-I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Brenda said. Perhaps Tom could help her out in explaining the significance of the two earrings. Back in the day, she always called him, pestering him with questions, and he always answered, no matter how busy he was.
“I can drop by your place for a bit.”
“Could you? I would really appreciate it.”
“Sure will. I’ve moved with my wife Alice to Fredericksburg, so I’m close by. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, Tom. I’ll have some coffee and cookies for you.”
He chuckled again. “I’ll take the coffee, but not the cookies. Alice says I’m too fat. See you in a bit.”
Twelve
“This is Detective Addison Draper. I’m not available right now, so please leave me a message, thanks.”
The next voice clearly belonged to Stephanie. “Addy, I haven’t seen you for days. Every time you’re home, you’re asleep, so I don’t want to wake you when I have to go to work. Please take a day off one of these days, okay? Love you, bye.”
Addison sighed as she placed her smartphone back on the desk. Stephanie was right. She had spent all her waking hours at the office or in the field, and their relationship was starting to suffer. This case was literally consuming her, and they were unable to name the unidentified subject in the basement of that burned house. Even though Captain Scowcroft’s department had been allocated extra funding for overtime pay by the sheriff, they were still no closer to finding anything.
Looking out across the room, she could see that Mike Arnold was as busy as she was, going through several folders of missing people at his desk. With roughly eight hundred thousand children being reported missing nationally each year, it was a monumental task to try and find out if the remains they found was either a child that went missing, or was already an adult when she died. Forensics wasn’t sure how long the unidentified subject had been held there or what the cause of death was. Several days had passed, and they were no closer to solving this baffling case. Mike was working on a bank robbery incident with three other detectives, so it felt like her caseload had doubled since she didn’t have a true partner to work with.
Floyd Winston had formally been charged with imprisonment and murder, and the race was on to identify the unknown victim. As soon as the media heard about it, the whole affair was all over the news. Floyd’s son happened to know a staff member in the Congressional Black Caucus, and a few protests were organized and led by prominent leaders in the local African American community in Washington DC, proclaiming his innocence when it came to the body in the secret room. The district attorney’s office was under siege from both sides. Word was soon passed on down from Captain Scowcroft to gather more evidence, and the pressure on law enforcement to produce had steadily increased. Web blogs that proclaimed everything from backwoods satanic cults to ghosts dominated the internet. The sheriff’s office was bombarded by all sorts of tips that needed to be investigated, and everyone working on the case barely had time to sleep.
Addison placed the ceramic cup to her lips before she realized that the coffee was already cold. Her lower back was starting to bother her again. It had been almost a week since her last workout at the gym, and her body was feeling it. Caffeine, sugar and pure adrenaline could only sustain her for so long. She was alternatively going through the papers on her desk and using the internet to aid in identifying potential candidates to match with the skeleton in the hidden room.
Mike walked over to her desk, carrying a small piece of pink colored paper. “Addy, I got a notice from the crime lab. One of the forensics technicians found something on the metal door.”
Addison put down the cup and looked up at him. They had already sorted through the inventory in the basement, and the only thing that seemed out of place other than the drug making paraphernalia was a pair of old night vision goggles that someone had apparently left behind. No discernable fingerprints could be traced to anybody, which considerably weakened the case against Floyd Winston. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
Mike started reading the note. “It says they found a sort of crude monogram on the sill of the doorframe. It’s most probably the manufacturer’s signature. Three letters were written on the metal using a welding torch, they think.”
“What’s the letters?”
“DEW,” Mike said, looking at the report.
“Dew? That’s it?”
He shrugged. “That’s it. Not much to go on.”
Addison sighed. “I
f it’s short for someone’s name, then we’re totally screwed.”
Mike nodded. “Yeah, it could maybe be a Dewey?”
Addison shifted her torso to face the computer on her desk. She started typing. “Do you have anybody named Dewey that’s listed as missing?”
Mike snorted. “Do you honestly think that the victim would have used a welding torch to carve out her name on the door sill?”
Addison scowled. She was tired and it was affecting her mind. “Sorry, what I meant to say is do you know any welders in the area named Dewey?”
Mike shook his head. “Nope. Nobody.”
Addison stared glumly at the screen as the internet search results came up. “The only welders named Dewey are out of state. The closest one is in Colorado.”
“Do you think Ed is going to spring us some transportation allowance to go there?”
Addison shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Too far-fetched of a theory. The captain will only allocate more funds if it’s a solid lead.”
Mike sat down on the side of her desk. He exhaled slowly. “Then it doesn’t really help us.”
Addison leaned back on her chair. An idea suddenly popped up in her head. “Wait, what if DEW was actually an acronym for something?”
“It could mean anybody. D could be Dennis or Dilbert,” Mike said. “E could be Ernie, and W could be—”
Addison threw her hand up to interrupt him. “Hold on. It could be a name of a business.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “That still doesn’t get us anywhere.”
Addison bit her lip. She knew she was close, and it felt like the solution was just beyond her reach, but fatigue and lack of sleep was slowing her mind down. She wanted to slap herself silly in order to jumpstart her intuitive skills. “We’re nearly there.”
“What do you mean we’re nearly there?”
Then it hit her. Addison snapped her fingers. “That’s it. If it’s the name of a business, and it was a welder, then W ought to mean welding or welder.”
“Okay, so if W is welder, then you’ve still got two letters to go,” Mike said, giving her a quizzical look.
Addison started typing on the keyboard again. She never learned how to type properly, so she looked down on the keys and used two fingers. “Let’s try ‘D E Welding Virginia’ and see what comes up.”
Mike leaned sideways so he could see the monitor screen without standing up again. He was also feeling the lack of sleep and part of his mind was in a light daze. His eyes opened wide when the search came up with a nearby business name: David Erskine Welding. “Wow, you found something.”
“I sure did,” Addison said as she used her mouse to click on the search link.
The website was apparently set up back in the early days of the internet. It was a single page, with a solid black background and stark red lettering fonts. The main picture showed an old man with a thick grey moustache, standing beside what looked to be a converted garage. He was holding a welding torch and smiling for the camera. Scrolling down the webpage, Addison checked through the other pictures in the site, and the second to the last picture showed a metal door that looked awfully similar to the one they found in the basement of the house by Brooke Road.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Mike whispered. “Is there any contact details?”
Addison used the mouse wheel to get to the bottom of the page. “Yeah, he’s close. Purkins Corner, King George County. Right by the highway.”
“Let me get my coat.”
The drive took no more than forty minutes. Mike drove the car as they sped through King’s Highway before taking a turn into an adjoining street. A few miles down the road past the trailer park stood an old house, partly covered by the trees. The abode was a two-story bungalow fronting a desolated front yard. A detached garage stood alongside of it. As soon as their car got to the dirt strewn landscaping, an old man opened the front door of the house to stare out at them from his porch.
Addison got out of the front seat and walked towards him. He looked pretty much the same as he did on the website, except that his features were somewhat craggier. She pulled out her badge from her belt and showed it to him. “Hi there, I’m Detective Draper with the Stafford County Sheriff. Are you David Erskine?”
The old man wore a white and brown plaid shirt with faded jeans. An old battered baseball cap covered his scalp. He looked at her intently for a short minute before giving a smirk. “That would be me, detective. What can I do for you?”
Addison got closer as she pulled out a picture of a metal door from a folder she was carrying. “We found this door in a basement, and I’d like to know if you were the one who welded this thing together.”
The old man walked up to her, took out a pair of reading glasses from the front pocket of his shirt and put it on before looking at the picture. “This must have been a long time ago. I don’t remember working on something like that for a few years now.”
Mike had walked over until he was standing beside Addison. “We could use your help on it, sir. It’s about a missing person.”
The old man scratched his drooping chin. His entire face was a mass of crisscrossed wrinkles. “Let’s see here, oh yeah, now I think I remember. It was an old fire door I found at a wholesale auction, say maybe ten or eleven years ago.”
Mike furrowed his brow. “Wholesale auction?”
“Yep,” David said. “An old die cast tool factory was closing its doors and moving their operations to Mexico, I think. The whole place was being dismantled and they were giving it all away. I got a couple of steel doors with frames out of it, along with some steel piping.”
Addison nodded. “Okay, and what do you do with them afterwards?”
“Oh, I get some requests to do some welding jobs on doors, so I would just offer these for sale if their old doors weren’t up to it anymore, if you know what I mean,” the old man said. “If nobody bought it, I could just break it down for scrap too.”
“Okay,” Addison said. “Do you remember about this particular door? Can you recall selling and installing it to anyone?”
The old man looked up at the clear sky, deep in thought. After another minute he nodded. “Oh yeah, now I remember. A couple came by in a pickup truck. They said they saw the door on my website, and they asked if they could buy it. Sorry, but I forgot their names, it was such a long time ago.”
“What did they look like?” Mike asked.
“Just an ornery couple,” David said. “A man and a woman.”
Mike took out a notepad and pen form his coat pocket. “Can you describe them? What race were they?”
“White,” David said. “The man had light brown hair, short beard and the woman was blond, I think.”
Addison was intrigued. It looked like Winston Floyd might not be their suspect after all. “We’re they young? Old?”
The old man chuckled. “Well they weren’t as old as me, if that’s what you’re asking. I think they were around your age, ma’am.”
“What about the car they were in?” Mark asked.
“A Dodge pickup. Brown colored,” the old man said.
“Any other details on the vehicle?”
“It had a bumper sticker with a Confederate flag,” David said. “But then a lot of folks around here got that. I got one draped just above the fireplace.”
Addison narrowed her eyes. “Based on the way they talked, were they from here?”
The old man paused again before answering. “I think so. I think I remember the man saying to me he worked as a foreman for a construction firm just over by the next county.”
Both detectives looked at each other. It had to be Caleb Vize.
“So you can’t remember their names at all?” Mark asked.
The old man shook his head. “Nope, sorry. Like I said, it was a loong time ago, son.”
“What did they pay with?” Addison said.
“I think they paid with a credit card,” David said. “I remember it because that was when I still had a
merchant account, but that got canceled just a few years ago. Nowadays I just take cash for my work, but I don’t do much welding anymore. I’ve gotten a bit long in the tooth, you see.”
Addison’s eyes opened wide. “Do you have the receipt with you by any chance?”
The old man rubbed his chin again. “Hold on, I think I might have it. Yeah, I put it in an old shoe box. Up in the attic somewhere- with my other stuff. Come on inside with me and I'll see if I can find it.”
Thirteen
Mike was driving again, so Addison just sat beside him and stared out of the windshield. It took the credit card company three days, but they were able to trace the registration to a woman named Irene Owen. Searching through their records, there were no less than three separate addresses registered under her name. They had drawn a blank with the first two homes since the woman in question had already moved away each instance, and as the noontime sun started to blaze down, they were now heading to an address in the south side of Richmond. Ever since they were able to find her name, Addison had a nagging feeling she was supposed to remember something, but with all the things in her head at that moment, she just couldn’t recall what.
Her partner sensed her moodiness. He stole a glance at her as they drove through downtown Richmond. “You’ve been quiet all morning, Addy. What’s up?”
“I just can’t get my head wrapped around this woman,” Addison said. “This Irene used to live in the Quantico Marine Station as a dependent, but it seems she moved out years ago.”
“Yeah, so?”
“It’s just that her name and the place sounds familiar, like I think I read it in a report some time ago,” Addison said. “Now I just can’t remember it.”
Mike kept his eyes on the road. “Just take it easy, it’ll come back to you.”
Addison rubbed her temples. “I hope so, right now my head is spinning from a lack of sleep. I can barely think.”
“Welcome to the club,” Mike said. “I can’t even remember the name of my youngest boy anymore.”
The car crossed the bridge over the James River, and Mike drove it down Hull Street, right into the heart of Manchester district. “What was that address again?”
The Girl in the Darkness Page 9
