by Claire Booth
‘Because I do understand your feelings,’ she soothed.
Stan Schattgen looked like he’d scored a victory. Probably a good time to leave. Hank rose to his feet. Schattgen walked them to the door. His wife was already on her way to the phone.
DeRosia took several deep breaths of clean morning air as they walked to the car.
‘Man, that one was a bitch. You got someone on the Fitch kid?’
Hank nodded. ‘I know Della Schattgen promised, but I don’t know how long she can keep it once she’s off the phone with the Bartons.’
DeRosia agreed. ‘I’d be talking to as many other people as I could, too, if I were married to that guy.’
SIX
Sheila started her Forerunner and was backing away from the crash scene when there was a pounding on the passenger window. Startled, she slammed on the brakes and looked over to find Sergeant Jenkins fogging up her glass.
She jabbed at the window control button.
‘What?’
‘Where the hell are you going?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Why are you leaving? I give you special permission to assist, and now you’re leaving?’
She could feel her eyebrow climbing higher and higher. Special permission? This man was about to step on her last nerve.
‘As you know,’ she said slowly, ‘I am not under your command. I am a sworn officer of this county, and I’m leaving to go do my job. In my county. So let go of my car.’
Jenkins jerked his hands off her door. Then rethought it and put them back. ‘Look, that’s fine if you’re going to go do other stuff, but not if you’re doing things relating to this investigation. You need to clear that with me.’
She really did not like this man. She especially didn’t like that he had a point. She shifted the car into park and turned to him.
‘I’m going to notify the Fitch family about their daughter. It needs to be done immediately, before other families get in touch with them and break the news. My sheriff has informed me that scenario is likely. So I need to go.’ She looked pointedly at his hands.
Jenkins processed all that very quickly, she had to give him that. Within seconds, he’d agreed, told her he was going too, and insisted on driving.
‘Fine.’
She hid her smile as they walked to his truck. She’d been a little worried about showing up at the Fitch house in civilian clothes and driving a dirty blue SUV. Now they’d arrive in a vehicle marked, not with the sheriff’s department, but with the MSHP insignia. Missouri State Highway Patrol. She really should’ve gone into PR.
Jenkins drove like he talked, bulldozing straight through any potential interference. Sheila was glad it was still early enough that not many people were on the road. She discreetly double-checked her seatbelt and braced herself as they headed into town. As they got closer, she started to give him directions to the Fitch neighborhood. He waved her off.
‘I know where that is.’
‘You do?’
He stiffened. ‘I know all of my coverage areas. Branson is an important part of my zone, and I’ve familiarized myself with its geography.’
Fine, she thought. She’d just sit back and try to survive the drive. But no, he wanted to chat.
‘So, you’re not in uniform. What are you at the sheriff’s department? Why would you come out to the scene if you’re off duty?’
‘I’m chief deputy.’
‘Really?’
She leveled a look that would have made a normal human shrivel away to nothing. With Jenkins, all it did was cause a slight heightening of color in his white face.
‘No. Um, what I meant was … well, one metro jurisdiction in my zone just got their first black second-in-command last year. So to have someplace way down here in the mountains already have a, um …’
Sheila didn’t bother with another look. She also didn’t bother with a response. He wasn’t the first to say that, and she knew he wouldn’t be the last. She stayed silent for the rest of the drive, half hoping he’d get lost, and was first out of the car when they arrived at the little frame house with peeling paint and a front yard full of busted concrete.
She’d already knocked on the door by the time Jenkins caught up. She straightened the badge attached to her windbreaker and waited. And waited. And knocked again. Finally, the door squeaked open.
‘What’d she do?’
The woman stood there in a T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, her curly brown hair exploding in all directions.
‘Mrs Fitch?’ Sheila said.
‘It’s Rossetto and Ms. I ditched the Fitch when I ditched the man. Only place I haven’t got rid of it is the phone book.’
‘Ms Rossetto, then. Nora Rossetto? We need to speak with you. May we come in?’
The former Mrs Fitch leaned into the door jamb and sighed.
‘Can’t you just tell me what she did and get on with it? I’m not going to bail her out.’
That didn’t sound like what little Sheila knew of Hailee Fitch.
‘We’re here, ma’am, regarding Hailee,’ she said slowly.
The weariness in Nora’s shoulders suddenly hardened into fear. Her ruddy face lost its color.
‘What?’ she whispered. ‘Hailee? Not Emily?’
Sheila cursed herself for not running a more complete records check on the drive to the house. She likely would’ve picked up on the daughter or niece or whoever it was who obviously was already known to police. She held out her hands, palms up, and asked again to come inside. Nora Rossetto nodded.
She showed them into the tiny front room, where there was only a couch, a beanbag seat, and a smallish TV. The paint on the walls was peeling and water-stained, and there was a hole in the wall by the front door.
Nora Rossetto disappeared and returned with a rickety wooden chair. She didn’t sit, instead standing behind it and gripping the back until her knuckles turned as pale as her face. Sheila sank into the sofa. After a second of hesitation, Jenkins did the same, shifting to place as much distance between them as possible. Ideally, Sheila would have waited a moment for everyone to catch their breath before talking, but she didn’t want him to take the lead.
‘Is there anyone else with you here in the house? Someone who could come be with us, too?’ Sheila asked.
Nora shook her head. Sheila took a breath.
‘Ma’am, we need to tell you that Hailee was involved in a car accident. She was killed.’
The space between the end of her sentence and Nora’s comprehension of it seemed to stretch forever. Then Hailee’s mother started to shake. Sheila leapt to her feet and barely caught her before she collapsed. She helped her into the chair and, her eyes still on Nora’s face, pointed across the little hall to the kitchen and ordered Jenkins to get a glass of water.
‘Ma’am …’ Sheila grasped both of the woman’s hands and pressed them together to calm the trembling. ‘I need to ask you a few questions, OK?’
Nora Rossetto stared at her blankly. Sheila spent what felt like an eternity trying to get her to respond, until a throat clearing interrupted. Jenkins handed over a faded plastic cup and retreated back to the couch.
Sheila coaxed Hailee’s mother into drinking half the water and then tried again.
‘She spent the night at Kayla Anderson’s,’ Nora said. ‘She was so excited. She never really got invited anywhere.’ She took another sip. ‘It came up at the last minute. I thought it was because whoever Kayla really invited fell through. I didn’t say anything, though …’
She looked at Sheila with such anguish that Sheila felt her own heart break. She pulled the woman into her arms and held her. Until the next throat clearing.
She really did not like that man.
She gently drew away. ‘Do you know who else they might’ve been hanging out with or what they might’ve planned on doing?’ she asked Nora.
The mother shook her head.
‘Like I said, she didn’t really have a lot of friends … people didn’t like the
ir kids bein’ too near to Emily. I don’t think – wait, did Kayla die, too?’
Sheila nodded. Nora moaned and looked like she might be sick. Jenkins dashed out of the room and returned with a trash can just in time. Afterward, Sheila tried to make her drink the rest of the water, but she pushed the cup away.
‘Was Hailee driving? Was it her fault? Oh, God, the Andersons are—’
Sheila stopped her. ‘No. Hailee wasn’t driving. Neither was Kayla.’
Nora slumped back in her hard wood chair with what seemed like relief. Sheila waited, but the question didn’t come. Nora Rossetto looked like she was pulling back inside herself again.
‘Ma’am.’ Sheila had to get through before she completely lost her. She grabbed her hands again. ‘Ma’am, you need to have someone here. Is there someone we can call for you?’
Nora shook her head.
‘A pastor? Anybody like that? Anybody?’
Another shake. Damn. Sheila thought frantically, the people she knew scrolling through her head like a computer spreadsheet. Nothing. Who could she call?
The screen door slammed and Jenkins stepped in from outside. Sheila flinched. She hadn’t realized he’d left the room. He cleared his throat.
‘Ms Rossetto. A Highway Patrol chaplain is on her way to be with you. She will be here momentarily. You may rely on her for anything you need.’
That was surprisingly compassionate, Sheila thought. Nora didn’t seem to hear. Jenkins stood there awkwardly for a minute and then disappeared with the trash can. Sheila got up and went into the kitchen to refill the water cup. The sink was full of dirty dishes, but the room was otherwise clean. The refrigerator had a couple of kiddie letter magnets on it. The ‘u’ held a yellowing photo of two little girls with their arms wrapped around each other. The ‘h’ held a 3.9 GPA report card from Branson Valley High.
Sheila returned with the water in time to see through the front window that another car had pulled up in front of the house. The woman who got out talked briefly to Jenkins, who was holding a garden hose in one hand and the trash can in the other. Then the woman came in, introduced herself, and politely held the door open for Sheila. She took the hint.
She took a deep breath of the early morning air as she walked to the street. Jenkins finished washing out the trash can and joined her. She must not have hidden her surprise very well. He laughed.
‘Compared with what I see at a crash scene, that was nothing,’ he said, jerking his thumb at the can now drying on the front step. He had a point.
They both waited until they were in the truck before saying anything else. Sheila, grudgingly, went first.
‘Thanks for calling a chaplain. I don’t think we could have come up with anybody otherwise. But I can’t believe she got here that fast.’
He waved it off. ‘They automatically go on call when our unit responds to a scene with multiple fatalities. So she was close.’
Now his turn.
‘She didn’t ask who actually was driving the car,’ he said. ‘Or where the accident happened. That’s damn strange.’
Sheila shrugged. ‘I thought so, too. But then, I’m not her. And I don’t think that lady has much space to worry about things that don’t directly affect her. Because I think she’s got plenty of those.’
He grunted. In dismissal? Then how about this? she thought.
‘Did you notice the holes in the walls?’
‘There was one by the front door,’ he said.
‘And one kind of covered up by the TV and another one in the kitchen.’
‘So …?’
‘All at eye level. All about the size of a grapefruit. Somebody likes to throw punches. Somebody with a big fist.’
That shut him up.
SEVEN
As they drove away from the Schattgen house, Hank pulled out his cell and dialed Sam.
‘We’ve had an incident – a major car accident and—’
‘I know. I just talked to Sheila,’ said Sam, sounding peeved that he was only now finding out about it.
‘I need you to go down to the IMAX and see if there’s a white two-door Chevy hatchback in the parking lot.’ He read off the license plate number. ‘If it’s there, impound it.’
DeRosia shot him a surprised look.
‘I’m on it,’ Sam said, the peevishness gone. He’d been so touchy since the shooting four months ago. Hank kept trying to show that he still trusted the kid, but Sammy didn’t seem to believe it. ‘You want it towed back to headquarters in Forsyth?’
Hank thought for a moment.
‘Nah, that’s too far. Just have Buster’s Towing take it to the Branson satellite office. We can do everything we need to there.’
He hung up the phone and saw DeRosia staring at him.
‘What would you possibly need to do with Isaiah Barton’s car?’ she asked. ‘This isn’t a criminal investigation.’
He shrugged noncommittally and went back to staring out the window. It might very well turn into one, he thought as he flashed back to a road with no skid marks. And it never hurt to cover all your bases.
They had to decide which family to visit next. Hank unfolded the list, even though the names were burned into his brain so deep, he didn’t think they’d ever leave. DeRosia glanced at the paper, and then drummed her long fingers on the steering wheel for a moment.
‘If we’re essentially running against the clock – or the small-town grapevine, more like – we should probably go to the Anderson girl next,’ she said. ‘Fitch’s mom might be more likely to call the girl before the other two boys, don’t you think?’
Hank nodded, and they headed toward one of the city’s older neighborhoods, Branson North. The Anderson house was long and low with big windows. The flowers in the window boxes were starting to die. At least DeRosia appeared to have learned her lesson and didn’t give him a horticultural quiz on the way to the door.
A man in his mid-fifties in shirtsleeves with still damp hair and an untied necktie answered the door.
‘Don Anderson?’
‘Well, goodness, officers. Good morning to you. Come to escort us to church?’
His chuckle was deep and easy. He obviously used it a lot.
Hank swallowed the bile in his throat, introduced himself and DeRosia, and asked to come in. The first sign of unease flitted across Mr Anderson’s face. He swung open the door just as a woman in a carefully pressed blue cotton dress hurried across the foyer toward them.
‘I’ve got the coffee cake right here, and …’ She stopped and stared, the foiled platter in her hands forgotten.
Don Anderson ushered them inside, talking the whole time.
‘… I knew I should’ve parked it in the garage. Did they smash the windows? There’ve been a couple of those lately.’ He turned to Hank, who had been trying to get in a word. ‘Oh, shoot. It’s the business. Was it a break-in? A fire?’
Anderson looked concerned, but not panicked. This was a man who took a lot of things in stride. Including the safety of his children. Wherever they thought Kayla was, it was apparently inconceivable to them that her well-being was the issue. Or any of the rest of her siblings. There looked to be several in the photos that covered the wall on the right side of the entry hall.
Hank wondered how many people were actually blessed enough to live like that. Without the first thought being one of harm or tragedy. Certainly not him.
‘We would love to sit down, sir,’ he said, looking into the living room. ‘And I’m just going to hold this, ma’am, just until we get settled …’ He gently took the coffee cake out of Cathy Anderson’s hands. DeRosia stepped behind her, unobtrusively directing her forward into the living room. She was beginning to look worried. Her husband still thought it was about the business, which appeared to be an insurance agency a few miles away.
They finally got the Andersons seated. Hank set the platter on the coffee table and sat next to DeRosia on the solid blue couch that complemented the flowered love seat the Andersons had tak
en.
‘We need to talk to you about Kayla.’
Dread flooded Cathy Anderson’s face. Don just looked puzzled.
‘She slept over at her friend Lauren’s house,’ he said. ‘She’s going to go to church with them and then come on home.’
Cathy latched onto her husband’s hand and started to squeeze.
‘Kayla was in a car accident last night,’ Hank continued. He knew from experience that the next part had to come quickly, before the thought could form that it was only an injury and the family needed to race to the hospital. ‘I’m sorry to tell you that she was killed.’
They stared at him. Then, as one, they turned to DeRosia, hoping she would disagree. Or say it was a joke. Anything. Instead, she nodded. Mrs Anderson seemed to list slightly in her seat. After a long moment, she asked if Lauren had also died.
‘No, ma’am. She was not in the vehicle,’ DeRosia said. Hank was busy watching Don, who looked like he was going to faint.
‘Why would Kayla have been, and not Lauren?’ Cathy blinked rapidly. ‘What about Lisa and Doug? Are they OK?’
Those must be the parents. DeRosia asked for their last name. Blenkinship. Lisa and Doug Blenkinship. There was no one, DeRosia said, with that last name in the car. There were no adults – just teenagers. She gave them Hailee Fitch’s name, and the Andersons scowled, but said they didn’t know her personally. They’d heard vaguely of the Barton family, but Alex Danzig was the only one DeRosia listed who was a friend of their daughter’s. As far as they knew.
It was that realization that broke Don Anderson. He wobbled and started to go over. Hank leapt up and caught him before he fell off the couch. He helped him up as DeRosia disappeared. She returned with two glasses of water. Don gulped his down, but Cathy looked at hers as if it were an unrecognizable mess. Kind of like what her world just turned into, Hank thought as he took it gently away.
The clink of the glass as it hit the coffee table was drowned out by a sudden thunder coming from below. It rumbled up the stairs from the basement and ended in three boys smelling of soap and dressed for church.
