Idyll Fears

by Stephanie Gayle

  “Hello, Mr. Neilly. It’s Chief Lynch.”

  “Chief Lynch?” He sounded as though he thought I might be playing a prank. Given our last encounter, at Wannerman’s, I wasn’t surprised.

  “Mr. Neilly, I have a delicate matter that’s come up, and I’m not sure how to proceed. It involves the mayor.”

  “Mike.” He didn’t say his name so much as drop it. There was no love lost between the two. My forced attendance at town meetings had brought this to my attention.

  “I don’t want to dance around the topic.” I cringed. Did that sound very gay? “Earlier today, the mayor warned someone that I would be coming to see them, on a criminal matter.”

  “Warned them?” His voice rose.

  “Moreover, it seems he implied that no investigation would be forthcoming.”

  “What crime? Not that kidnapping, is it? By God, we can’t—”

  “No. Not that. The arson on Haywood Court.”

  “My, your department is certainly busy these days. You know, we never had this much crime before. Not ever.” Meaning, not since I joined the department. As if the criminals had followed me from New York to Idyll.

  I said, “The mayor knows who committed the arson, and he tried to influence me not to pursue it. Mr. Neilly, you were a volunteer firefighter, weren’t you?” I knew he was. I’d seen him yakking it up with Captain Hirsch, talking about the “old days” when they had an honest-to-God bucket brigade.

  “I served from 1945 to 1951.” Jesus. The way he said it, you’d have thought he’d won World War II, single-handedly.

  “I’m sure you can appreciate how that fire might have quickly gotten out of control. Captain Hirsch said it was a very near thing. Neighbor’s house nearly caught fire.”

  “It was windy.” Mr. Neilly’s other passion? The weather.

  “So, you see, I can’t condone someone setting a deliberate fire, endangering lives.”

  “Of course not! That would be, er, dereliction of duty.”

  I cleared my throat. “Indeed. So I find myself in an awkward position. I don’t want to bring a formal complaint against the mayor, but he can’t interfere in police business this way. It smacks of cronyism.”

  “Yes, very awkward. Have you pursued the suspect?”

  “Yes, he’s been questioned and released.”

  “I see. I see. Who was it?”

  “I’m not sure I can discuss that, sir. Seeing as how it’s ongoing.”

  “Quite right. Not, I gather, a family member?” He was fishing now. Rod and bait out, for all to see. I didn’t mind.

  “Well, I think I can tell you, no. Not family, but a friend, a very good friend.”

  “Rest assured, Chief. I will look into this. I don’t think you have to worry about the mayor hampering your investigation.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Neilly. Your dedication to your job, and to justice, does you credit.” Was that laying it on too thick? It had sounded better, more reasonable, in my head.

  “Don’t mention it, don’t mention it. Just doing my duty.”

  I pictured the mayor’s face when good old Neilly paid him a visit. God, I’d pay good money to see that go down. I crumpled the mayor’s phone messages and tossed them in the trash. Who would appreciate this story? I reached for the phone. Damien Saunders would eat this up. Maybe I’d been too harsh on him. Maybe he’d like to grab a drink, without his GALP pals. Maybe he’d know how things were between the owners of Sweet Dreams. I hadn’t heard a peep from them since we’d booked Zachary Gabriel.

  A knock at my door. I set the phone down and looked up. “Sorry to bother you,” Cisco said.

  “Not at all. Come in.” I waved him in.

  He stepped inside, gave the room a thorough stare, and said, “Waters wants me to check out the doctor who treated Aaron Donner.”

  “Dr. Frazier. I’ve got his number.”

  “No. I’ve got to ride down. Do interviews.”

  “You need directions?” I asked.

  “I need a partner. The guy who was supposed to be assigned got pulled to assist on some drug bust in New Haven.”

  “You want me to lend you someone?” He could have his pick, but he might find the selection less than stellar.

  “I was hoping you’d tag along.”

  “Me?”

  “You were a homicide detective in New York, yeah?”

  “Back in the day.” It had only been eighteen months. Some days it felt like eighteen years.

  “I’m guessing you know your way around an interview. Though if you need to stay here . . .” He nodded at the phone.

  “Give me a sec.”

  “Sure thing.” He stepped backward, out of my office.

  I grabbed a pen and stuffed a notepad into my coat pocket. “Ready,” I said.

  I saw Klein on my way out. I told him I’d be at the hospital if anyone needed to reach me. “You don’t have a mobile,” Klein said.

  Cisco paused. Said, “Really?”

  “Really. I’m sure the hospital could page me,” I said to Klein.

  Cisco insisted on driving. He had a shiny black SUV. He turned on the radio. Christmas pop. Shut it off. “So, what’s it like being a gay cop in a town like Idyll?” he asked, eyes scanning the road. Not what I’d expected him to lead with.

  “About what you’d expect.” Assuming he had an active imagination.

  He unwrapped a stick of gum. Popped it into his mouth and chewed hard. “The feds are a little better to work for,” he said. “They’ve gotten good at looking the other way.” So he was gay. I’d suspected as much.

  “Is this the part where we compare gym routines?” I asked.

  “You couldn’t handle mine, old man.”

  I mimicked typing a report. “Federal agent insulted police chief with inappropriate comments related to his body.”

  He grinned. Flipped on his turn signal. “Who do you think took the kid?”

  “Mrs. Donner looks as good as anyone, but it still seems off. When we thought it was a random snatch-and-grab, it made more sense.”

  “Crazy people do crazy things,” he said.

  “That’s great. That belongs on a pillow. ‘Crazy people do crazy things.’” I framed my hands.

  He laughed. The car was warm, the ride smooth. Today was shaping up.

  Dr. Frazier wasn’t at the hospital. He was in New York City, seeing the sights with his wife. We settled for his colleague, Dr. Larson, and a pediatric nurse, Annie Burr, who had treated both Cody Forrand and Aaron Donner.

  Cisco interviewed the young doctor. I took the nurse.

  “Aaron was a sweetie,” Annie said. “Always said ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ He loved the sherbet from the caf.”

  “What about Cody?” I asked.

  “Cody was a handful. He’d climb out of bed if you turned your back. He was the kid you worry won’t make it to age ten, because his rambunctiousness combined with his disease is a deadly combo. But he can be a charmer when he wants.”

  “Were you surprised by Aaron’s death?”

  “Kids with CIPA are more likely to die young. Still, given his inclination to stay indoors and take it easy, he seemed likely to beat the odds. But he didn’t die of an injury.”

  “Hyperthermia, right?”

  “Yup. It was early September. One of those Indian summer days. I guess Aaron wanted to wear his new school clothes, even though they were too hot. His mother said she told him to change when he got home. He went upstairs. She assumed he was in his room, playing. She found him an hour and a half later, collapsed on his floor. He hadn’t changed and the air-conditioning was off on the second floor. A busted fuse. The downstairs units were working, so Mrs. Donner hadn’t noticed. She called an ambulance. He had multiple seizures on the way in. When he arrived, he was unresponsive. We tried cooling him, but he stopped breathing. Every time we got him back, his body shut down.”

  “How was his mother?” I asked.

  “Frantic. She wanted to be in the room with hi
m.”

  “So, normal.”

  “Yes,” she paused. “And no.”

  “No?”

  “I’ve worked here eight years. Seen a lot of parents. You get all kinds. Negligent assholes who shouldn’t be allowed to breathe, and the grateful ones who send you presents year after year for saving their child.”

  “What type was Mrs. Donner?” I asked.

  “Demanding. Religious. You never forgot she was in the room. Half the time Aaron was here, I felt we were taking care of her, not him. There’s a condition called Munchausen syndrome by proxy. It’s when a caretaker, usually a parent, abuses a child in order to gain sympathy or attention.”

  “She had that?” I asked.

  “No. Aaron definitely had CIPA. She couldn’t have faked that. She behaved as if we ought to treat her specially, though. Don’t get me wrong. Having a kid with CIPA is a nightmare. Still, you don’t get a damn medal for it. I mean, parents of kids with terminal cancer don’t expect awards.” Doctors and nurses judged how parents behaved. It was no different than how cops evaluated parents. Five seconds, and we’ve decided whether they’re deadbeats, saints, or simply unlucky.

  “Any doubt about Aaron’s cause of death.” I asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “Did you ever see her, after Aaron died?”

  “She volunteered at the hospital. Two weeks after Aaron died, she showed up, wanting to help. She said the hospital felt like home, and she felt closer to him here.”

  “Does she still volunteer?” Was it possible our kidnapper was in the building?

  “No. She stopped, four months ago. Said her church work was keeping her busy.”

  “Does someone supervise the volunteers?” I asked. “Could I speak to him or her?”

  “Mrs. Potts. She’s on afternoons. I’ll ask her to call you,” she said.

  “That would be great. Thanks.” I stood. A small bump in the floor made me stumble. She didn’t notice. She sighed and said, “Poor Cody.”

  Cisco said Dr. Larson hadn’t been as forthcoming as Annie about Mrs. Donner’s personality. Though he did refer to her as “the poor widowed woman” more than once.

  “How was she widowed?” Cisco asked.

  “Wright said her husband had a massive heart attack when Aaron was a baby.”

  “Who’s checking Mrs. Donner’s house?” I asked.

  “Mulberry, assuming we can get in. The video footage isn’t a slam dunk.” It wasn’t. Cody wasn’t visible in any of the car’s images. Tough to exchange what we had for a search warrant. “We’ll put eyes on the house, warrant or no,” he said. Surveillance duty in this weather. I didn’t envy the sucker who drew that short straw.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “We report back. Waters may have some more leads.”

  In the car, Cisco turned on the radio. Commercials frantically urged shoppers to get their last-minute shopping done. “You celebrate yet?” he asked.

  “Yesterday, in the city with my family.”

  “New York?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was supposed to have Christmas off this year, but unless we find Cody on our return drive, I doubt that’s gonna happen,” he said.

  “You have to travel?” I looked out my passenger window. The night was dark as tar, the highway lights ugly and yellow.

  “North Carolina. It’s nice this time of year. No snow.” He silenced the radio. “God, I could use an hour of sleep.”

  “Don’t you have any of those caffeinated drinks with the bull on the can?”

  “Not in the car. Mind if we stop for coffee?”

  “Fine by me.”

  He zoomed off the next exit. Pulled into a McDonald’s. I stepped onto the slushy lot, walking around the worst of the puddles. Only one other car, with Florida plates, in the place. We tromped inside and ordered two large coffees. The glare of the place: bright colors and fluorescence, made me blink. The pimply teen in the brown-and-yellow polyester uniform fumbled our change. Cisco told her to keep it, winning a giant smile from her. She wore braces. The elastics on them were blue.

  Back outside, we stomped our boots on the pavement to clear them of slush and salt. Cisco said, “I hate to ask, but would you mind driving? I’ve barely slept for three days. We’d come off an abduction case before being called onto this one. I haven’t been in my own bed in over a week.”

  “Sure.” Might be fun to drive an almost-new SUV. He held the keys out. I grabbed them as I walked past. Cobra fast, he spun and grabbed the back of my neck. Pulled me in and kissed me. I stood, shocked still, the scent of him, musk and coffee, invading my space. His face was bristly. His hard arms reeled me in closer. His heat came at me. So close, I could practically feel his pulse. He stepped back, as fast as he’d grabbed me. “Sorry.”

  I looked around the lot. No witnesses. I should’ve been grateful, but part of me wanted an observer nearby, so I knew I hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

  “I act badly when I’m sleep-deprived,” he said.

  “You assault cops?” He stood a foot away, but I could still smell him.

  “Not usually,” he said. “Only the handsome ones.”

  Flattery. There’s a reason they say it will get you everywhere.

  “Next time, a warning would be nice,” I said. “Sudden grabs could get you punched.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” He opened the passenger door and slung himself inside. I got in and started the engine. The view was different; I was a foot higher than the seat in my car. The car purred, a low rumble of power. I circled out of the lot and checked the road before pulling onto it. The car leapt when I depressed the gas. Power. “I could get used to this,” I said, but Cisco’s eyes were closed, his face slack. I looked longer than necessary before setting my sights on the road back to Idyll.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Mrs. Forrand was hysterical. Mascara ran in parallel streaks on her face. She kept pacing past the windows in my office. The stress couldn’t be good for her baby.

  “Mrs. Forrand,” Agent Waters said. Her voice was cool and calm, but under it I sensed a frayed thread. Annoyance? “We need information. The sooner we have it; the sooner we find your son. Did Mrs. Donner ever mention another property besides the house in West Hartford? Was there a place she vacationed?”

  “My baby. She took my baby.” Mrs. Forrand looked almost feral now. “If I get my hands on her, I’ll—”

  “Honey,” her husband said, reaching for her arm, and missing as she stalked past, muttering what she’d do if she got her hands on Mrs. Donner. He sighed and said, “She went on vacation with Aaron to Disney World, two years ago. Other than that, I don’t know.” He chafed his hands. “Her house was nice. I think her husband’s death left her with some money. I don’t think she had another home or anything like that.” He picked up the mug of coffee we’d given him. “You’re sure she took him?”

  The feds had gotten a warrant to search Mrs. Donner’s home. Waters let Wright tag along. What he’d told me had creeped me out. Aaron’s bedroom had been remade. The same sheets Cody had at home were on the single twin bed. Pictures of Power Rangers hung on the walls. Lego pieces were stacked in a plastic tub on the floor. A family photo of the Forrands was on the night table. Sammy, the stuffed raccoon, was missing. Just like Cody.

  “They wouldn’t be asking us these questions if they weren’t sure!” Jane yelled. She stopped mid-pace. “Would you?” She addressed Agent Waters.

  “The evidence indicates it’s her.” While Cisco and I had been at the hospital, the tech boys had gotten a better image of the stolen car’s driver. Mrs. Donner, without a doubt. Unless she had a twin. “Had she been spending more time with you recently?”

  Peter frowned. “I suppose. After Aaron died, we saw less of her. Made sense. We didn’t run into her like we used to, but about four months ago she began stopping by.”

  “She offered to help with the kids,” Jane said. She wiped at her face with a tissue, smearing mascar
a across her cheek. “She’d watch them while I ran errands, or she’d come with us to the doctor’s and keep Anna entertained while Cody had tests run.”

  “I always thought she liked Anna more,” Peter said.

  “So you’re surprised she took Cody,” Wright said.

  “Of course we’re surprised!” Jane said. “If we had any inkling she would take him, we wouldn’t have let her inside. We’ve known her for, what, two years?”

  “Almost two years,” Peter said.

  “She was nice. A little preachy, but other than that . . .” she took a shuddery breath and blinked back tears.

  “What about her family?” Waters asked. “You said she has a sister in Vermont. Do you know where?”

  “Middlebury or Burlington. I don’t think they were close. Sharon mentioned her living in sin with some guy.”

  “How quaint,” Cisco said.

  “Do you know her sister’s first name?” Waters asked.

  “Lizzy or Lily or, no, Lilith. Lilith.” Jane rubbed her hair. “I don’t know her last name.”

  “We can get that,” Waters said. In fact, we already knew it. Pitts. Lilith Pitts, sister to Sharon Pitts before she became Sharon Donner, widow, bereaved mother, and kidnapper. I wondered why Waters had withheld that information.

  “How did Cody feel about Mrs. Donner?” Waters asked.

  Peter thought, his brow crinkled. “He called her ‘No Fun Franny’ once,” he said. He smiled at the memory. “No idea where he picked up that phrase.”

  “Do you find it curious that Cody would go with her?” Waters asked.

  “She took him! He didn’t go with her. She grabbed him!” Jane resumed pacing. She was going to wear a trench into the floor.

  “No one reported yelling. Your sister didn’t hear Cody cry out. It appears he went with her willingly.”

  “Maybe she drugged him, like the first time,” she said.

  “Maybe she lied to him,” Peter said. “Told her we’d sent her to get him.”

  “Twice?” Waters asked. “After the first time, you’d think he’d be more suspicious.”

  “She stole our child and you’re, you’re criticizing him for not being, what? Skeptical enough? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jane yelled. Peter reached for his wife, but she evaded him. “Cody is the victim here! Why the hell are you blaming him! What’s wrong with you? With all of you?”