The Silent Child Boxset

by Roger Hayden

  Her fingers tapped nervously against the table as she bobbed her head, lips moving.

  “Have you asked her any questions?” Dobson asked as Fitzpatrick approached. “Confirmed her alibi?”“

  Fitzpatrick looked around and then stepped closer. “Let’s make a few things clear. Evelyn Bailey is not yet a suspect. She happens to head an organization that donates millions to police charities across the country, including our own. I hope that you can appreciate that.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Dobson said, and quickly changed the subject. “Any word on that Suburban?”

  Fitzpatrick glanced at him. “The Suburban?” he asked, and after a beat, quickly got back on track. “Nothing yet, unfortunately.”

  Dobson checked his watch and then looked back at Fitzpatrick with an indifferent shrug. “Captain Nelson is expecting his brief soon. Better get this over with.”

  His relationship with the homicide department’s fresh-faced new lieutenant had been rocky since Fitzpatrick’s arrival only two months prior. Straight from the academy, he was eager and sharp, but was also younger and less experienced. It seemed to constantly put him at odds with Dobson, who was nearing retirement.

  Fitzpatrick turned without saying anything and then walked toward Holding Room C, waving his hand at the attending officer, who moved aside and opened the door. Fitzpatrick entered as Dobson followed. Evelyn Bailey looked up from the table, exposing tear-soaked cheeks and streaks of mascara under her eyes. Sniffling, she took a sip of her coffee and set it back down, wiping again at her eyes.

  Fitzpatrick sat at the table in one of the two empty chairs as the door closed behind them. “I’m sorry about the wait,” he began. “We can’t thank you enough for coming here right away.”

  Dobson approached the table, extending his arm. “Ms. Bailey. My name is Michael Dobson.”

  She looked up and lightly shook his hand, a blank sadness on her face. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”

  Dobson pulled his chair closer and then sat, placing his notebook on the table. “You must be tired, and I can only understand how difficult this must be.”

  Evelyn dabbed at her eyes again. “I just… I don’t understand what happened. I’ve been looking after my aunt for months. I take one short trip and this happens.” She suddenly brought her hands to her face in anguish. “It’s all my fault. I should never have left her.”

  Fitzpatrick pulled his chair closer and leaned against the table. “No one blames you for what happened. Your aunt was murdered, and we need to find out why.”

  Evelyn cleared her throat and nodded. “I thought I could do this, but it’s very hard. My aunt was a good woman. She was a kind and giving woman whom I looked up to as a role model.” She paused and clutched her hands together, fighting back tears. “She didn’t deserve to die like this. She should have been able to live her last years in peace. She deserved something dignified.” She then raised her trembling hands to her face and sobbed.

  Dobson opened his pocket notepad

  “Would you like something else?” Fitzpatrick asked. “Water perhaps?”

  Evelyn raised her head and sniffled. “No thank you. I just want you to find out who did this. Aunt Andrea deserves justice.”

  “How long have you lived with your aunt?” Dobson asked, not gently, but not harshly either.

  Evelyn sniffled again, wiped her eyes, and then thought to herself. “Off and on for about two years. I couldn’t stand the fact of her being in the old house by herself. She refused most help though. Didn’t want someone looking after her all the time.”

  “Did she have a staff or hired help to manage the grounds?” Dobson asked.

  “Yes. Both a home cleaning service and lawn maintenance team.”

  “Can you provide us the names of each?” Dobson asked.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” she said.

  Dobson leaned in closer. “Who else did she have over? Visitors, friends?”

  Evelyn brought a hand to her chin in thought. “My aunt preferred solitude.” She glanced at both detectives, quick to correct herself. “Not that she didn’t like people. She did what she could, given her physical limitations.”

  Dobson scribbled his notes and then looked up. “What kind of physical limitations?”

  “She had arthritis and osteoporosis,” Evelyn said. “It was hard for her to move around a lot. She got tired easily.”

  “We found nine millimeter shells in her room along with corresponding bullet holes lodged into her bedpost and walls, Dobson continued. “Is there anyone you know who may have wanted her dead? Anyone capable of such a thing?”

  Evelyn took a deep breath, leaning back. “I really can’t say. Not anyone I would associate with.”

  Dobson scribbled in his notepad and then pointed at her with his pen, ready to hear more.

  “Aunt Andrea…” she began. “She was like a mother to me.”

  Fitzpatrick jumped in. “I think that’s enough for now. Don’t you say, Detective?”

  Dobson looked at the lieutenant, perturbed, then back to Evelyn. “Why do you think she had the security system shut off that evening?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “She might have forgotten.” Evelyn brought a hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear. “I should have reminded her. Should never have left her alone in the first place.”

  “Are you the sole beneficiary of your aunt’s estate?” he asked, pressing, receiving a glare from Fitzpatrick in return.

  Her tear-soaked face seemed to go blank, wiped clean of emotion, or maybe it was anger at the implication of what Dobson was asking.

  “As far as I know, and as I said before, my aunt was a very charitable woman, so I believe most of her money was designated for local charities. Then again, it’s not my business. That’s between her and her lawyers.”

  “But she told you that you are the executor of the Bailey estate, correct?” Dobson asked, tapping his pen.

  Her eyes suddenly brightened with recollection. “I do recall a man who came to us trying to sell frozen meats.”

  Dobson stared at her with an arched brow, confused by the response. “Frozen meats?”

  “Yes. A solicitor. The gate was open and he rode right onto our property with boxes of frozen meats he wanted to sell.”

  “This man. Had you ever seen him before?” Fitzpatrick asked, suddenly excited.

  “Once or twice,” she said. “He was scruffy-looking with a beard. Wore a flannel shirt and had a pot belly. Eduardo, our maintenance supervisor, had to tell him to leave our property. He got angry and said that he was only trying to support a family. Things like that.”

  “What kind of vehicle did he drive?” Fitzpatrick asked, as if they might be onto something.

  Evelyn looked up, thinking. “I believe he drove a Chevy Suburban. Early nineties model. But I could be wrong.”

  Fitzpatrick nudged Dobson, pleased.

  Evelyn rubbed her eyes with an exhausted sigh. “I’m afraid that’s all I can remember. It’s been a long day…

  Dobson glanced at her fingers, searching for a wedding band but didn’t see one. “Do you have anyone with you? A companion who can help you?”

  Evelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “He’s not here right now. Paul lives in the city.”

  “New York?” Dobson asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “But I have my driver, Al, with me. He will be assisting me in getting a few things from the mansion. I’ll be staying at the Radisson Suites in town for a few days while you continue your investigation.”

  Fitzpatrick rose to his feet. “Is there anything else we can do for you, Ms. Bailey?”

  “No. Thank you,” she said with a vacant stare. She then glanced at both detectives with blue-eyed intensity. “You find the bastard who did this. Don’t stop until you do.”

  “We will try our best,” Dobson said. “I can promise you that.”

  Dobson and Fitzpatrick thanked Evelyn as they walked her to the lobby where
her driver waited, dressed in a suit, tie, and driving cap. With all the questions asked, Dobson felt as though they had only scratched the surface. It was a little after five when she left the station, and he hadn’t made up his mind about her. Could he believe that Evelyn Bailey was anything but a loving niece devastated by the death of her aunt? Only time would tell.

  Dobson returned in haste to his office and took a quick glance at his wall clock. It was time to brief the captain, but first it was time for another call to the Forensics lab.

  “Detective LaRue speaking,” a female voice said over the speaker.

  “Hey, it’s Mike,” he said, relieved. “Glad I could catch you before you left.”

  “Lucky me,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “A few quick questions,” Dobson began. “Did you find anything on the toothpick?”

  “Inconclusive. No DNA match in the database.”

  “And where are we with the sweep?”

  “Nothing so far,” she said. “Not a single hair or fingerprint to be found.”

  “That’s impossible,” he barked over the phone.

  “Would you like to go back there tonight and double check?” she asked. “The team could certainly use your help.”

  “No,” Dobson said with a quiet sigh. “Thanks for the info. I’ll check in first thing tomorrow morning.” He hung up the phone and walked out of his office, coat and satchel in hand.

  Captain Nelson’s office was straight down the hall with the door closed. As he approached, he could see two figures beyond the thick, blurry glass of his door. He knocked lightly, hoping that they wouldn’t hear. Then he could go home.

  “Come in,” the captain bellowed from inside.

  Dobson drooped his head and opened the door to see Captain Nelson sitting at his mahogany desk with Lieutenant Fitzpatrick in one of the leather chairs across from him. Nelson adjusted his glasses and signaled to the empty chair next to the lieutenant. “Have a seat.”

  Dobson walked inside and closed the door behind him. “Thank you, sir.” He pulled the seat a good space away from Fitzpatrick and sat, notepad and pen in hand.

  Captain Nelson was a tall man with a long leathery neck, tan face, and short gray flattop. He had overseen the homicide department for the last two years and proved himself a competent commander. Dobson had learned his penchant for daily briefings early on.

  “Fitzpatrick gave me a rundown. I don’t like it. The murder of Leesburg’s wealthiest citizen is not going to sit well with the public. No one’s going to feel safe.”

  “Not to worry, sir,” Fitzpatrick said in a confident tone. “We’ve got a lead on a viable suspect we’re in the process of considering.”

  “Great,” the captain said, rocking back in his office chair.

  Dobson leaned forward, hands folded at his knees. “I’d also like to investigate Mrs. Bailey’s assets, and those of her niece, Evelyn Bailey.”

  Captain Nelson nodded in approval. “Sounds reasonable enough. I want every avenue explored, no matter how unlikely.” He then paused as his attention went to his computer screen. “I’m reading your report now, Mike. There are some gaps to be sure, but it’ll do for now.”

  For now? Through his peripheral, Dobson noticed that Fitzpatrick was looking at him. He could practically feel the disdain. “You gentlemen are dismissed,” Nelson continued. “Solve this thing, damn it.”

  Dobson and Fitzpatrick both rose and left the captain’s office without saying a word to each other. Dobson was too deep in his own thoughts to notice. It was almost six, and Rachel’s dinner was likely getting cold.

  At sundown, Dobson turned down a quiet neighborhood street, alert behind the wheel of his four-door Chevy Impala. He lived roughly twenty minutes from the station, depending on traffic. Hoping to cut some time off his commute, he skirted the inevitable gridlock of small-town rush hour and took a series of back roads.

  He continued down Saxon Boulevard where the fresh, black pavement of the two-lane road still had an aroma. Bright yellow traffic lines marked the path, with quaint neighborhood homes of various bright colors, spaced with little room between them.

  Closer to the end of the street, he noticed another car parked on the opposite side of the road, facing him. He could see the shape of a man at the wheel wearing a ball cap. With Dobson’s steady approach, the man shielded his face and lowered his cap just as the headlights shined against the windshield.

  Dobson looked over and caught a glimpse of a digital camera in the man’s hands. Across from the car was a small blue-painted house with a white picket fence and no vehicle in the driveway. He recognized the house. The police had been called there several times by a neurotic middle-aged woman named Betsy Wade. She lived alone and suffered from mental issues, or so the rumors went.

  Dobson briefly wondered who was taking pictures of her house and why as he reached a three-way stop. Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw that the car remained idling on the side of the road, the man slinking lower in his seat, to the point where his head wasn’t visible anymore. Dobson pressed the gas and continued, not giving the matter much more thought.

  He reached his house a few more blocks down the road just as the news on the radio broke the story of Andrea Bailey’s murder. The murder had been described as a “shock to the community.” Dobson had to agree. If one of Leesburg’s wealthiest residents could end up murdered in her own home, what was protecting anyone else from the same fate?

  He turned down his street, a cul-de-sac, where he pulled into the driveway of his three-bedroom red-brick home. The freshly-cut lawn and absence of garbage cans on the road was a welcome sight.

  There were several lights on inside and he could see Penny walk past one of the front windows. He parked next to Rachel’s blue Mini Cooper and took a moment to grab his things after shutting off the engine. He stepped out of the car with his satchel and coat, eager to get inside after smelling the aroma of Rachel’s meatloaf from an open kitchen window. He walked in and saw Penny sitting on the living room couch, watching television. She turned and jumped off the couch, excited.

  “I knew that you’d make it!” she said, hurrying over to him. “Mom said that you’d probably be working yet, but I told her she’d be wrong.” Penny had on a faded red T-shirt and blue jeans. She was twenty-three and already the height of perfection to Dobson. Her big blue eyes and adoring face made his day every time.

  She hugged him and coughed as he patted her back. “Easy there. Don’t want to get you all worked up. How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Good,” she said, backing away. “Much better actually. This new treatment has done wonders for my sinuses. And there’s been minimal buildup in my lungs.”

  “I am so glad to hear that,” he said, squeezing her shoulders.

  Penny waved him off but couldn’t help but expose the bright white teeth of her wide smile. “I was thinking that if this keeps up, maybe I can go back to teaching.”

  “Certainly,” Dobson said in his most optimistic tone. “We’ll see how it goes.”

  “Dinner’s ready!” Rachel called from the kitchen. “Hurry up the both of you before it gets cold!”

  Penny looked at her father and smiled. “She beckons us.”

  Dobson quietly laughed as she walked away. He set his coat and satchel on a nearby recliner and took off his dress shoes, relaxed for the first time that day. The effects of her life-long illness due to cystic fibrosis were evident. Her lungs were badly damaged, but despite a regimen of treatments, exercises, and medicine just to get through the day, she somehow stayed optimistic. The doctors said she might not live past her twenty-fifth birthday, but Penny was determined to prove them wrong.

  As they sat around the table under the glow of a hanging lamp shade, Dobson talked about the case without revealing too many details. “No one knows what happened,” he continued. “It’s a real mess.”

  Both Rachel and Penny listened, shocked someone would murder a defenseless elderly woman in the very town
they lived in.

  “No real suspect yet, but there are definitely some interesting theories,” Dobson said, taking a bite of meatloaf.

  Rachel brushed back her short red hair, adjusting her headband. “That Bailey family is so weird. Built that mansion way out there, hidden from the world.”

  Dobson discussed the many and diverse rooms and the extraordinary size of the mansion, explaining that he’d never been in a house like it. For a moment, they seemed to hang on to his every word. That evening, there was a shared happiness among them, tethered, he believed, to Penny’s improving condition. Penny seemed to read his thoughts and smiled.

  Special Delivery

  Clearwater, Maine

  Todd walked in without his briefcase, his shirt un-tucked, collar open—his normal appearance after a hard day. He stopped at the kitchen, surprised to see Victoria sitting in the darkness at the empty table by herself.

  “Hey,” he said, slightly taken aback. “What’s up?”

  “We need to talk,” Victoria said.

  “Sure,” he said, walking in and flipping on a light switch.

  “Brooke’s birthday is coming up, and guess what she wants.”

  Todd glanced behind him and shrugged. “I give up.”

  “She wants a dog. An Australian Shepherd to be precise.”

  Todd walked to the refrigerator, shaking his head. He opened the door and grabbed a bottle of water. “And what did you tell her?” he asked, closing the door. He twisted the cap and guzzled the bottle as he made his way to the table.

  “I told her that we’d see.”

  Todd pulled a chair out and sat across from her, slumping down with a sigh. “Honey, are you sure?”

  “She wants a dog, and we can’t keep telling her no every year.”

  Todd lowered his head and then placed both his palms on the table, thinking. He then looked up and cut across the air with one hand like a negotiator. “Let’s consider all our options here first. Maybe she’d be just as happy with fish.”

  “Fish? No,” Victoria said, adamant.