by N. M. Brown
McQueen swelled with violent rage but clamped his teeth down on every fowl word that came to mind. “Any chance…?” He found himself saying, but immediately cut off. It was a stupid question, but Cassi, nevertheless, gave him a pitiful smile.
“The EMT’s announced both the girl and baby dead at their arrival oon scene. I agreed with their estimation that they've both been dead for a number of hours; killed around the early evenings, before dumped here later.”
McQueen nodded in thanks and sent a pray for both lost souls. “Alright.” Bending down into a crouch, Cassi followed. “We’d best take a look.” The girl might have been unrecognisable, but she didn’t deserve to be ignored in death.
Gently, the good Doctor pulled the white sheet back to the victims mid-drift. The clothes were two sizes too big, hardened with dirt and grime, as well as ripped and frayed, though due to the beating or age McQueen couldn’t tell. It wasn’t, however, winter wear. What had once been a blue dress with white frills, was now a muted grey and yelloe, while cloth had been wound up her forearms. Her hair was a matted clump of chestnut brown, with braids and ribbons woven in-between. Half her face was swollen, her jaw broken and out of place while cuts were crusty with blood. More blood had dried under her open eyes, highlighting the bright blue beauties, while her nose was badly crooked. Muck covered every inch and a fowl stench wafted off her: rotting food, human waste and unwashed bodies. McQueen quickly found himself covering his mouth and nose.
“The poor lass.” He muttered to himself. Whoever had done this had been savage. “Ok. I don’t think we need to see more.” McQueen said softly, his eyes darting over her body one last time, respectfully remembering what pain she’d been through. They would catch this bastard, he swore it, but as the sheet bellowed under Cassi's hand, he dashed out; his hand stilling hers. Thinking back, McQueen wasn’t sure what it had been; maybe something out of the corner of his eye, or maybe it was just a gut feeling, but he stopped the white sheet in mid-air.
“McQueen!” Cassi cried in shock, but he was only distantly aware of her.
Bending down further, he tilted his head to get a better angle and soon enough he could feel the grass tickle the side of his face. A few inches down from where the girl’s ribs ended, there was a hole in her clothes. There wasn’t anything special about this hole and the visible bruises were much the same, but somethingwas different. Lighter than blood, too pink to be dirt and defined outlines unlike a bruise; it barely stood out. Using his pen, McQueen pushed some more of her clothing aside giving him a better view.
“Had you noticed this?” He asked, finally looking up to Cassi. “She has a birth mark.”
Cassi frowned, before dropping the sheet back and taking a closer look too. Slowly, she expertly rolled the girl’s body, revealing more of her ribs. “I hadn’t, but amongst all these wounds…” Cassi defended herself slightly, but McQueen didn’t blame her. His gut was cold like it was begging him to be wrong, but already he could feel the sour taste in his mouth, his mind snapping the pieces together.
“Well, Cassi?” A heavy voice asked from behind them both. “Could we use it to identify her?” Hale asked, his heavy woollen coat turned up at the collar as he fought off the wind.
“I'm sure it could be if it was mentioned in any missing person’s report. It has a distinct shape too.” Cassi tilted her head to get a better look. “I’d say it almost looks like a-,”
“Paw print.” McQueen whispered, feeling the air leave his lungs.
“Yes, exactly,” Cassi said cheerily, before seeing McQueen expression. Immediately, she stilled. “What is it McQueen?”
Standing slowly, McQueen passed it all through his head: the cases he’d been working on for days now, the streams and streams of missing children that he couldn’t quiet put together. Then there was his map; his map that he had spent hours plotting and colour-coordinating, the marks pulling tighter and tighter around one point: ‘Wapping Woods’.
Then last, but by no means least there had been Echo, that she-devil who had said two simple words, ‘be careful’, and just like that, he was back full circle again, a dead body in Wapping Woods and a little girl’s face smiling at him from behind dead blue eyes.
“Wendell.” McQueen swallowed. “Her name is Wendell Dalton. She was six when she went missing from a play park. Her parents and family-friends were all vetted, and all had alibis. It was never discovered what happened to her, but they sent out flyers and adverts. The Daltons made sure every photo of their daughter had a picture attach of her birth mark: a paw print.”
Hale was silent for one too many heartbeats and McQueen didn’t know what to say. A cold case, Artic-cold, that he’d given up hope on just a few hours before had risen its ugly head. There was nothing ese to find, no new lead to follow, but now...
“Are you sure?” Hale asked, looked McQueen dead in the eye. There could be no mistake on this one, no miscommunication, not when it came to a dead girl lost for a decade. The family would be notified, the press would go crazy. This would in no way be a small deal.
McQueen swallowed and looked back at the victim, marking her hair colour, the same as her father, her eyes the same as her mother, and of course the birth mark - distinct and on every poster that had cluttered Rippling’s street. “Yes, Hale. I’m sure.”
“Cassi.” Hale said, turning to the Doc. In an instant she went from a bewildered woman into a fully functioning medical examiner ready for action. “This is your number one priority. Get the autopsy done as soon as you’re back and fast track the DNA. I want proof this is Wendell Dalton before we announce it to the press. This cannot blow up in our face.” Taking a breath, he focused. “I want all the information on the fetus too. This girl was pregnant, I want to know who the father was, as well as if the scumbag left any evidence.”
Cassi nodded. “Consider it done.” She then turned to McQueen and looked at him with stern eyes, “Roman tells me you’ve been working some cold cases for a while, involving a lot of missing children?” McQueen nodded, unsure how he felt about Cassi and Roman talking about him. “Alright, I’ll look into previous John and Jane Does as well, see if any other unclaimed bodies match your missing children files.” She sped off, collecting her team and giving them a swift boot up the ass.
McQueen felt rooted to the floor in a wirlwind of activity. “It has been ten years. How could so much time have gone by and no one has anything new?” He wondered a loud.
“Yes, its strange.” Hale agreed. “Go over every alibi, as well as what every family member has been doing for the last ten years. I want to know if any of them still lived in the area or have returned recently. Check their spending habits; she could have been kidnapped and kept in a prison. It’s a horrible thought, but the streets are not the only place that could cause these marks.”
Hale turned and scanned the surrounding woods as if the killer might pop out from behind a tree. No such luck but just like that, Hale had rallied the entire unit. Wendell’s body was heading to the back of the van, and for the first time in ten years they had a solid lead. McQueen prayed that it would result in some justice, not just for Wendell but for every other child still missing.
Watching the team spin into action he also thanked whatever twist of fate gave him that cold case. It was a welcomed miracle.
“We can’t leave any stone unturned.” Hale looked to McQueen with stern eyes. “This is big McQueen, a cold case to gain traction never happens. Get back to the station. Call the Dalton’s. Find out what they’ve been doing. If we are right and this is their daughter, they need to know first, not through a newspaper story. Run blood tests, find x-rays of broken bones, anything that proves this is her.” Hale was rattling off every thought that came to mind. This could not become a shit storm. “And McQueen, I want anyone, and everyone who knows anything about this case on your speed dial. And I mean anyone.” He ordered as he left, which was good because it meant he didn’t see McQueen swallow in fear.
◆◆◆
Be Careful.
Those were the words still dancing around McQueen’s head as he sat back at the station on-hold with an estate agent. Echo, of all people, had told him to be careful, and McQueen considered her to have nerves of steel. When he’d arrived at Warping Woods, he’d half expected ghoulish faces on trunks, hooting owls in darkness the came from nowhere and nightmare music playing in the background.
Instead he’d been greeted with a spacious park with a bandstand and large pond. A path took you past the play park, to the boardwalk and tiny row boats eventually to the forest beyond. Nothing ominous. Nothing dangerous.
The trees were dense and backed onto nothing. It would be deep and wild place full of deer herds, birds of prey and fluffy bunnies. Could it be full of dead bodies too? Children long ago lost and long ago forgotten?
“Hello, Detective?” A crackle voice awoke him from down the line.
“Yes, hello.” He answered pen poised over his note pad as he hoped for good news.
“Yes, hi, I’ve found the family you were looking for. They did move seven years ago, long before I worked here. and bought a house through us; abroad in Spain, which is probably further than you thought.” The girl chuckled down the line.
Truth was, McQueen wasn’t surprised at all that the Dalton’s had moved. After losing their first born, hours and hours of press coverage with no leads, they'd sought a fresh start away from everything. However, being abroad did make things all the more difficult.
“Yes, it is. Could you give me a number to call them on? This is a particularly important matter that I have to speak to them about.”
“Oh… I mean-… sure, give me a minute.” Giving her some due, the girl was quick, and did pass him the number he needed which he was thankful for.
After extensive computer time, McQueen discovered that a year after Wendell had gone missing, her grandparents had died. With no other family left in the area, her mother and father had moved away with their second child, leaving no forwarding address or a number to call. McQueen’s only choice was to track them down via bank transactions and the government databases.
Evidently, the Daltons had closed their English bank accounts seven years ago, which McQueen had at first, found suspicious. On top of that, they’d applied with the Government to change their names and change their citizenship. One could jump to the conclusion they went on the run as the press coverage had quietened down, but now, after following their story with empathy he summarised they hadn't. A new name, a new country with new citizenship to boot, the family only wanted a fresh start away from the madness they’d left here.
After hanging up with the estate agent, McQueen checked the time; it was late evening, but not too late to call mainland Europe and he got an answer on the third ring.
“Patterson residence.” A young male voice answered.
“Hello there,” McQueen began with. “I’m looking for the Dalton family. I’m-” But before McQueen could finished, he heard a distant scream of ‘Dad’ and in the next second a stronger, gruffer voice hissed down the phone.
“I don’t know what tabloid or social media site you’re frombut for the last time, we want to be left alone! After all these years, you parasites still don’t understand the word no!” He snapped. Mr Dalton was furious; McQueen could almost feel the spit the flew from the guys lips. “However, you got this number, loose it before I call the police! How dare you ring this family, after all we’ve been through-,”
“Mr Dalton, I am Detective McQueen with the Rippling Police Force.” McQueen practically screamed out as the grieving father took a breath.
He went silent before a soft, scared whisper reached McQueen’s ears. “Rippling? That was just down the road from us… My Wendell she-,” he choked, but whatever emotion he was feeling, he stuffed it down hard and cleared his throat. “What department are you from Detective?”
McQueen felt his ownblood rush off his face and again he wished he didn’t have to do this over the phone.
“I’m sorry to inform you Mr Dalton, but as of nine A.M. this morning and after a preliminary blood test to confirm, your daughter, Wendell Dalton was found dead. I am working as part of the homicide team to uncover what happened to her.”
A ragged breath clattered down the phone and McQueen had to pull the receiver away in fear he would break down too. Becoming a Detective had been to help people, especially the dead who couldn’t help themselves, but having to break this kind of news only brought destruction and pain.
Despite this, McQueen reminded himself that from the rubble they could rebuild, and that in some cases, closure and understanding was needed. He gave Mr Dalton a few minutes before he continued. “Mr Dalton, I am sorry to have to break this news to you, but is their anyway you or your family could come over and meet me? With the case reopened, we really-,”
“No.” Gone was her ragged breaths and chocked voice. Mr Dalton had hardened himself once more.
“I’m sorry?” McQueen asked surprised. “Mr Dalton, I -,”
“No, I’m sorry Detective, I know you’re only doing your job, but I'm doing mine. I must protect this family and after what we went through when Wendell, … I can’t do that again. I’m sorry, but none of us will be coming back.”
The dial tone rang in McQueen’s ears as he looked at his phone in shock. He’d expected sobs or anger at his daughter’s death, but a flat out ‘no’… he hadn’t anticipated something so cold. Shaking his head, he slowly put down the receiver.
“Looks like we’re on our own.” He whispered to himself and in the moment, McQueen was washed with all that he’d achieved in the past few hours.
To the right of his desk he’d stolen a white board from a meeting room and it now held a giant print out of his map. Fresh stickers dotted the land; showing home addresses, schools, abduction sites and, as pointed out by Echo, play areas. It was a vast spread, dotted through Rippling and the surrounding villages, but McQueen's eyes where steadily draw to the prominent green cloud that sat at the map’s edge.
It hunkered on the border like a bristled monster, overlooking all the spots as if deciding which one to devoured first. Thanks to Echo, seeing it as something to fear made it so obvious as a pivotal point. It was close to everything and being so vast in size, it could hide anything. No hikers walked in it, no bike trails or nature paths wandered through it. It was a dense, compact area that could easily be full of evil.
At the green edge at the lip of the monster was a bright red dot, a beacon amongst all others: Wendell’s crime scene. The longer he looked at it, the stronger McQueen was sure there was something about Wapping Woods he needed to uncover. It was like an itch on the back of his hand that wasn’t there.
“McQueen,” Walking over, Hale held a stack of paper. He’d returned and quickly typed up all his notes to print and together they were combing through everything they already knew with a fine-tooth comb. “Did you find the Daltons?”
McQueen nodded, rolling his shoulders in discomfort. “Yes, and no, they’re not coming.” Hale raised a surprised eyebrow and McQueen shrugged back. “They’ve moved abroad and after what our fine journalists did to them, they don’t want a repeat.”
Hale thinned his lips, which was the only sign that he was annoyed. “Understandable, but not acceptable.” He growled before shaking his head. “Nothing we can do about it now. Call them back in a day or two, see if you can change their minds, but for now, let the knowledge sink in.”
McQueen had to agree. They might have been forever hopeful that their darling Wendell would return to them, but more likely, her death would have been a nagging thought in the back of their heads. The truth that their daughter wasn’t coming home would be a hard hit.
◆◆◆
After that, all they could do was review, recall and wait for any additional information to come in, so when the wee hours running up to midnight arrived, McQueen and Hale admitted defeat. They could do no more tonight and they’d have a long few days ahead. Yet even
as McQueen left, he reviewed Wendell’s case in his mind, committing every detail to memory.
Wendell: aged six when she disappeared, last seen with her best friend Chole, as they went out to the local play park. Both girls played together often at the same park, always with lots of other kids and parents around. Chloe, who wasn’t taken, was extensively questioned straight after the disappearance and years after. As part of McQueen’s research, he’d looked her up to see if she’d knew anything more, but sadly, the newspapers had quickly blamed Chole, stating she had killed Wendell or worse seen something a said nothing. At the tender age of thirteen, Chloe had been committed for attempted suicide and a year later succeed.