by Blake Pierce
The woman behind the desk typed into her computer and then narrowed her brow. She’s probably realizing that we’re looking into records that are sixteen years old, Kate thought.
“In terms of the records end of things, I don’t know how much help we can be,” the woman said. “However, the doctor that was seeing Mrs. Fuller is still on staff. She’s working today, as a matter of fact. She’s with a patient right now, but I can see if she can meet with you immediately afterwards.”
“That would be great,” Kate said.
Kate and DeMarco were directed to sit in a secondary waiting room, likely not to stand out among a waiting room of expectant mothers or women who were already uneasy from any number of invasive exams.
“Something occurred to me on the drive here this morning,” DeMarco said. “If the Fullers were indeed running away from something—and that’s why they made the move from Waynesboro to Deton—why not move further away? The towns are only about fifty miles apart.”
It was a good question, and one that Kate had no answers to. She was hoping it would be one of the questions they could answer while visiting Staunton and Waynesboro. “Any theories yet?” Kate asked.
Just as DeMarco shook her head, a nurse came in through one of the doors to the side of the room. She looked around for a moment, spotted Kate and DeMarco and then waved them forward. The agents joined her at the door and followed her down a small hallway.
“You’ll be meeting with Dr. Amy Shilling,” the nurse said. “I believe she’s pulling up the records you were asking about earlier.”
She led them to the end of the hallway and then to the right at a small T-intersection. She gestured to the first room along this hallway. The door was open, revealing a woman in a white doctor’s gown sitting behind a desk, looking at something on a laptop. She looked up as Kate knocked softly on the door.
“Dr. Shilling?” Kate asked.
“That’s me. You’re the agents, I assume?”
They ran through a quick round of introductions as Shilling invited them to take two of the three seats in front of her desk.
“So, I have the records here on Wendy Fuller. The last thing I have for her is a series of tests that she underwent at the suggestion of her family MD. That was sixteen years ago. Does that sound right to you?”
“That’s the time table, for sure,” Kate said.
“And while we aren’t even sure these records would have anything to do with what we’re looking for, exactly,” DeMarco said, “we’re trying to get the broadest picture possible.”
“Can I ask what this is about?” Shilling asked.
“We can’t reveal the minute details, but the broader picture is on the news. Wendy and her husband were murdered a few days ago. In their home in Deton, Virginia.”
“Oh my goodness,” Shilling said. “Though I suppose the move explains why this is the last record I have on her.”
“Do you recall her at all?” Kate asked.
“Not specifically. I see many women for infertility concerns.”
“I figured you’d remember her because she was a success story,” DeMarco said.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, she did end up having a daughter. Mercy Fuller.”
“When was that?” Shilling asked.
“It would have been about a year after she met with you.”
As Kate listened to the exchange, she realize that something was very much off here. She could see it in Shilling’s expression. She could hear it in DeMarco’s quickly suspicious tone.
“Well, this record shows that we conducted the tests,” Shilling said. “It also shows that we got the results of all of them but we were never able to contact Mrs. Fuller. From what it says here, we never got in touch with her. We called and emailed, but there was never anything. No word from her at all.”
“So she never got the results?” Kate asked.
“No. It’s almost as if she didn’t want to hear it.”
“And what were the results, Dr. Shilling?” DeMarco asked.
“Well, that’s why I’m so confused about this daughter of hers. According to the tests we got back, Wendy Fuller was very much infertile.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Kate left Staunton Women’s Services reeling. The enormous piece of the puzzle they had received from Dr. Shilling made absolutely no sense. And it drastically altered the course of the case. It was such a blow to the case that Kate and DeMarco sat in the car, remaining in the parking lot, for several minutes after leaving the building.
“How’s this even possible?” DeMarco asked.
“Common sense points towards adoption,” Kate answered. “But if there was anything related to adoption—or even foster care, for that matter—there would have been something in the public records we pulled back in Deton.”
“So…where the hell did Mercy Fuller come from?”
“That’s a damned good question.”
Kate reached into the back seat of the car and gathered up her files on Wendy and Alvin Fuller. There wasn’t much about their lives in Waynesboro—just a ten-minute jaunt from Staunton—so they didn’t have much to filter through.
“We’ve got an old address for the Fullers and the last known employer for Alvin before the move. Coleman Furniture and Cabinets in Waynesboro.”
“Seems like that’s our next stop, then,” DeMarco said.
Kate felt like they were grasping at straws at this point. The revelation that Wendy Fuller had been infertile blew the case apart, leaving no clear direction of where to go. But they had come out here hoping to dig up some answers. They sure as hell had gotten one; it just so happened that this particular answer brought many more questions with it.
***
Waynesboro was slightly larger than Deton. With an actual Main Street, courthouse, and a few storefronts, it seemed like a metropolis in comparison. The place still boasted a population of under three thousand, making the traffic at 9:30 in the morning nearly nonexistent.
They found Coleman Furniture and Cabinets at the far end of town, alone on its own little plot of land. A small lumber scrapyard sat behind the property, as well as a few small sheds. It was apparently the kind of place that built its own furniture—something that seemed to tie directly into Alvin Fuller’s eventual job in Deton as a foreman at the lumber yard.
They walked into the central building, which was quite large and boasted several display set-ups of custom-built cabinets and handcrafted living room furniture. They had only been inside for about ten seconds before a cheerful woman came down one of the large open aisles to greet them.
“Can I help you ladies?” she asked.
“Yes, actually,” Kate said. “We were wondering if the manager might happen to be here? Or, if not a manager, someone that might be able to help us with finding information on a former employee.”
The woman was clearly a little baffled but didn’t miss a beat. With a thin smile, she said: “That would be Mr. Coleman—Sam Coleman. He’s owned and operated the business for over twenty-five years. And, because he’s a creature of habit, he is indeed in his office right now. Can I tell him who’s asking for him?”
“We’re with the FBI,” DeMarco said. “We just need to see if he can help us out with finding some information about someone who used to work here.”
“Oh, I see. Well, right this way. I’m sure he’d be happy to help.”
The lady led them through the store, one display after another until they came to the back. She led them back behind the large counter and down a small hallway. One large room occupied most of the right side of the hall, an office where a slightly overweight older man sat behind a desk. He was partially hidden by an ancient-looking Dell desktop monitor.
“Mr. Coleman?” the cheerful lady said. “You’ve got some visitors.”
The older man looked away from the computer and gave them a pleasant smile. Kate guessed him to be closing in on seventy. He had puffy cheeks and a thin white beard that reminde
d her a bit of her own grandfather.
“And who can I help?” he asked, smiling.
The floor saleslady took her leave, heading back out toward the counter. Kate and DeMarco stepped in and underwent their usual round of introductions.
“FBI?” Coleman asked. “My goodness, whatever for?”
“We were hoping to get some information on a man who worked here nearly twenty years ago. He and his wife moved away from Waynesboro to Deton, Virginia. We need to find information on their lives previous to the move.”
Coleman nodded his head in the direction of an old filing cabinet that sat tucked away in the corner. With a grunt, he got to his feet and walked over to it.
“We’ve been open for twenty-eight years,” he said. “And we pride ourselves with our employee turnover rate. Very few people have ever quit. I think in total, we’ve had only twenty-two different people work here for us, and that includes the craftsmen. Who is it you’re looking for?”
“Alvin Fuller.”
“Oh yes, I remember Alvin,” Coleman said, opening up one of the cabinets and fishing through it. “A nice enough man, but I really don’t think he was ever truly happy here.”
“What do you remember about him?” DeMarco asked.
“Well, he was always good for a joke. He wasn’t like a clown or anything, but he was always trying to make people laugh.” He selected a file, took it out, and handed it to Kate. “He was a good man. He was a young guy when he was here. Got the job right after he and his wife got married, I believe.”
Kate flipped through the file folder. There was very little to see: Alvin’s application, his resume, a single work-accident report, old insurance information, and three years’ worth of W2s.
“Do you know why he moved?” Kate asked.
“He never did tell us. He was very hush-hush about it. I figured he was maybe going across the country or something. To hear he moved here to go somewhere like Deton is sort of strange to me.”
“Any problem with him while he was working here?”
“Not a single one that I can remember.”
“Did you ever meet his wife?” DeMarco asked. “Her name was Wendy.”
“No. Afraid not.”
“Do you maybe ever remember him mentioning that his wife had gotten pregnant?”
“No, I don’t. But now that I think back on it, it wasn’t just that I sometimes got the feeling that he wasn’t happy here. Near the end, I always thought he seemed sort of distracted…sad, maybe. Like his mind was on something else.”
Kate considered all of this, nodding slightly. She exchanged a look with DeMarco and they got to their feet at the same time. “Mr. Coleman, do you mind if I snap a few pictures of these documents in his file?”
“No, that’s fine. Can I ask…is Alvin okay?”
Kate then broke the news of what had happened. She left the office, asking Mr. Coleman to please contact her if he thought of anything else. As they took their leave, she thought she saw a sad look on the old man’s face as he peered back into the past and, perhaps, wondered if he had missed some essential clue regarding the mental state of a former employee.
***
Following a mostly fruitless trip to Coleman Furniture and Cabinets, Kate headed back toward Main Street and located the police station. Like most of the other buildings along this little stretch, there was plenty of parking out front and very little foot traffic along the side of the street. When they entered the little police station, Kate was grateful that there were no scrambling reporters or idling new vans to slow her progress. It made her thankful to be away from the headache of Deton, even if for only a day.
With the unexpected mystery of Wendy Fuller’s infertility, Kate felt as if she was being pushed as she entered the station. She made a direct line to the small reception desk sitting almost centered several yards away from the front door. Before the officer at the desk could so much as look up to them, Kate was already talking.
“We’re Agents Wise and DeMarco, with the FBI,” Kate said, flashing her ID. “I need to speak with someone associated with records to get details on two former Waynesboro residents.”
The officer seemed to catch the urgency behind Kate’s words and wasted no time in assisting. She paged someone elsewhere in the station and in less than a minute, another officer was leading them back into the station. As they made their way to what Kate assumed was the records room, another officer appeared from around the corner. Not just an officer, Kate noted when she saw the man’s badge on his chest.
“I’m Deputy Rothbridge,” he said in a thick southern accent. He looked to be about fifty or so, a grayed moustache and chiseled chin making him look like a younger Sam Elliot. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Maybe,” Kate said. The other officer stopped in front of a door, opened it for them, and then gestured inside with a quick nod. He gave Deputy Rothbridge a rather excited look as he passed back by them, headed back the way he had come.
“Have you heard about the double murder and possible abduction over in Deton?” DeMarco asked.
“I have. You working that?”
“We are,” Kate said. “And as it turns out, the victims once lived in Waynesboro. They moved to Deton about fifteen years ago. We’re trying to figure out why. There are details emerging that we can’t quite share just yet, but we’re hoping there might be some information here on Wendy and Alvin Fuller that can make things a bit clearer.”
“Well, the names don’t ring any bells,” Rothbridge said. “But you’re welcome to look at anything you need to.” He had already walked over to one of the two laptops sitting on a desk against the wall. He typed in a password and waited for the desktop to come up. “We went fully digital about five years ago,” he said. “If you do need anything else you can’t find here or in these old cabinets, let me know.”
He hovered around a bit as Kate and DeMarco sat down by the laptop. Kate, fully aware that DeMarco was much better with all things computer-related, let her partner have the seat at the keyboard.
It took a few instructional cues from Rothbridge for DeMarco to get into the database but once she was in, she found what she needed easily enough. But, as Kate had feared, there was very little to be found on the Fullers. Alvin had gotten a speeding ticket and had gone to court to protest it. He also had two parking tickets, both on Main Street. There was also a form on file that seemed to be nothing more than a means to verify their old physical address here in Waynesboro.
And that was it. Or so it seemed at first.
“Deputy,” DeMarco said, “what’s this little notation right here?”
She was pointing to the top right of the screen. A small notification gave viewers a date and time for when the files were last accessed.
“Well, that does seem a little odd, doesn’t it?” Rothbridge said.
According to the database, the file on Alvin Fuller had last been accessed just eight days ago.
“Is there any way to find out who accessed it?” Kate asked.
“Sure there is,” Rothbridge said. He leaned in and clicked around a bit, finally coming to the information he needed. The screen told them that an Officer Smith was the one who had accessed the Fuller file, at 3:07 p.m. eight days ago.
“Smith,” Rothbridge asked. “I wonder why. Hold on, would you?”
He left the little office, closing the door behind him. Kate and DeMarco shared a confused look. Though, really, Kate was beginning to feel a stirring of excitement. If she’d felt that she had been pushed as they’d entered the police station, she now felt that they were being catapulted toward some grand revelation.
“That timing…it can’t be a coincidence,” Kate said.
“Yeah, doubtful,” DeMarco agreed.
Something is really off here, Kate thought. Given the nature of the news they had discovered on Wendy Fuller, it opened up entire new realms of possibilities regarding Mercy. Was Mercy not even their biological child? Based on the new timelines they were lookin
g at now, based on discovering Wendy’s infertility, it certainly didn’t seem like it.
Maybe they moved away from Waynesboro because they were running from something, Kate thought. And maybe that something heavily involves Mercy.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Rothbridge came back into the room. There was another officer with him, a thirty-something guy who looked very nervous. The name patch on his chest read SMITH.
“Officer Smith,” Rothbridge said. “These two ladies are agents with the FBI. They’re in town trying to drum up some information on Alvin and Wendy Fuller—both previous residents of Waynesboro. We looked them up in the database and saw that you had accessed their records eight days ago. Of course, that’s perfectly fine. But we’d like to know why. Given that they were killed four days ago and their daughter is currently missing, it’s interesting that you pulled up records on them prior to their murders—especially since they haven’t lived in town in sixteen years.”
Smith looked like he might pass out from a panic attack for a moment but then a flood of relief showed on his face. “Someone came in last week asking if we’d know how to locate a family that she thought lived here in Waynesboro,” Smith said. “She said she was related. Seemed really distressed, like she had been crying. She gave me the names and I told her to wait. I came back to look it up and found out that they were apparently no longer residents.”
“And how did you know that based on just these records?” DeMarco asked.
“The address is listed as Sparrow Road,” Smith said.
“No one has lived on that road in over five years,” Rothbridge explained to the agents.
“Officer Smith, did you get this woman’s name?”
“It was Katherine. The last name I’m not sure about. Sanders? Saunders? Something like that?”
“A local?”
“No. She said she was from out of town and that the Fullers were relatives. Said she needed to speak with them about something private—something related to family issues.”