The Silent Child Boxset

by Roger Hayden

  Salazar opened the door halfway, exposing a round, tired face and a protruding gut under his extra-large T-shirt. He was wearing gym pants with stripes on the side and tennis shoes. Dobson noticed some earbuds dangling around his neck.

  “Bout to go for a run?” he asked.

  “What business is it of yours?” Salazar said.

  “Just curious.”

  Salazar looked outside, scanning the balcony left and right. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I want to talk about Evelyn Bailey,” Dobson said, taking the risk of being upfront.

  His head jerked back with wild blinking. “Who?”

  “Evelyn Bailey,” he repeated “What can you tell me about her?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said, backing into his apartment. “Now, why don’t you fuck off back home?”

  Dobson moved forward, stopping the door halfway with his foot as Salazar attempted to close it.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Salazar,” he said, defiant.

  Salazar’s face went pale with shock. He thrust his large arms against the door and pushed it as Dobson lunged forward to push back, both men struggling against each other as the door shook.

  “Fuck you!” Salazar shouted with his teeth bared.

  He suddenly jumped back and let the door fly open, sending Dobson tumbling forward and onto the floor in one quick thud. He pushed himself up immediately as Salazar backed up and bounced around like a boxer in the ring. He then swung his leg back and kicked Dobson in the side, knocking the wind out of him and sending him back to the floor. Dobson clutched his ribs, gasping as he watched Salazar run into the darkness of his living room and reemerge with a backpack.

  “Stop right there!” Dobson shouted.

  But before he could say another word, Salazar kicked him in the face on his way out. A white flash followed as Dobson’s head shook and rattled, leaving him dazed and plummeting back to the cold floor. Dobson rolled to his side, holding his face in pain as Salazar stepped over him and ran across the balcony toward the stairs.

  Dobson drew his pistol and used the door frame for balance as he rose to his wobbling feet. His left jaw throbbed with pain. One of his bottom teeth felt loose, and his eye was quickly swelling.

  He stepped back just in time to see Salazar nearing the stairs and running in panic, arms flying and backpack half over one shoulder. He was a large man and didn’t move very fast but had already gained enough ground to almost reach the steps. To stop him, Dobson sprinted forward and raced toward Salazar like a madman.

  “Get back here!” he shouted. A few doors opened and residents poked their heads out as he frantically passed them, closing the gap with every hurried step.

  Salazar spun around at the top of the stairs and pulled a pistol out, sweat pouring down his forehead. Dobson saw the gun and immediately ducked down as multiple shots blasted through the air. Windows shattered around Dobson as he rushed closer, head low and crouching. Out of six shots, not one had hit him. Holding his pistol, Salazar seemed most surprised of all.

  His body swung around in a panic as he attempted to run down the stairs with Dobson only inches away. His ankle then twisted and sent him tumbling down the staircase, propelled by his weight and hitting each concrete step, one at a time, all the way down. Dobson halted and watched as Salazar rolled to the very last step and onto the pavement, holding his sides in agony and gasping for air.

  His pistol rested on the fourth step down—a 9MM Beretta, similar to what Dobson thought had been fired in Mrs. Bailey’s bedroom. He casually walked down the stairs as Salazar rolled around, eyes clenched and mouth agape in pain.

  “My back’s broke. I need an ambulance!”

  For a moment, Dobson just stood over him, watching.

  “You hear me, you asshole?” Salazar shouted, opening his eyes.

  “You’re a pretty lousy shot,” Dobson said, pointing his pistol down.

  Salazar looked up, out of breath and shielding the glare of the sun in his eyes. “I was just trying to scare you!”

  “Like you scared Mrs. Bailey?” he asked.

  Salazar went quiet except for his labored breathing. Dobson circled around him and then yanked him up by the collar with all his force. “Get up, you sack of shit. I’m taking you in.”

  Salazar howled in pain, limping as Dobson pulled him to the car and slammed him against the driver’s side door, handcuffing him. “I’ll fuckin’ sue you, asshole!”

  Dobson opened the back door and pushed him inside. He slammed the door shut and leaned against the car, holding his side in pain. A glance at his reflection in the window showed that his left eye was swollen. Salazar had calmed down somewhat and stared ahead, catching his breath. He must have known that it was over for him. And if he didn’t, he was certainly going to find out.

  Dobson walked back to the stairs and retrieved Salazar’s Beretta, walking it back to the car carefully, using the sleeve of his jacket to hold it. Sirens rang in the distance. Doors and blinds were open all over the apartment building as people looked cautiously outside. All attention was on them, and Dobson knew he needed to get out of there quick. He turned the ignition and raced out of the parking lot, tires squealing all the way.

  Halfway to the station, Dobson made an urgent call to Harris, hoping that he’d pick up.

  “What’s going, Mike?” Harris said, sounding distracted.

  “I need your help, Jack. This Bailey case has widened. There’s just one main thing I’m missing.” He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Salazar staring blankly ahead with fear in his eyes. His forehead was cut, and bruises were showing on his arms and legs from the fall. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. Contemplating, perhaps, his life decisions? Or just wishing for a smoke?

  “What else about the case?” Harris asked. “They caught that guy. Randall Morris.”

  “No,” Dobson said. “I don’t think they have the right guy. Listen, Jack. Do you still have all the pictures you took of the Bailey mansion? Inside, with all the rooms?”

  “Yeah. I think so.” Harris paused, noticing the intensity of Dobson’s tone. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Better than okay,” Dobson said, trying to keep his voice down. “Meet me in my office and bring whatever pictures you have on your phone, especially of Mrs. Bailey’s bedroom.”

  Harris agreed, and Dobson thanked him, ending their call. The station was five minutes away. He imagined the look on Evelyn Bailey’s face if she was at the station and saw Salazar in handcuffs.

  “So, what happened?” Dobson asked, eyes glancing in the rearview mirror. “Did she pay you to whack Mrs. Bailey? Or maybe it wasn’t a hired hit. Maybe she had you looking for something. Looks like you flipped that place upside down. Did you ever find it?”

  Salazar said nothing as his frown deepened.

  “If you were able to produce that recording, it would largely incriminate Ms. Bailey. Without it, you’ll take most of the blame.” Dobson waited as the traffic light turned green and the five o’clock traffic jerked along down the busy downtown street.

  “I want to speak to a lawyer,” Salazar said in low, gravelly voice. “That’s all I got to say.”

  * * *

  An hour had passed, and Dobson was ready. He had commandeered the meeting room, utilizing its expansive bulletin board to post a series of pictures, notes, and evidence that he believed would establish his case. He kept most of the lights off, choosing instead to work in low light, out of the glare. Besides, he didn’t look too good. It was almost six o’clock. Several of the detectives would be ending their shifts, but he was counting on Lieutenant Fitzpatrick to still be there.

  He booked Salazar and placed him into temporary custody for fleeing an officer of the law. He wasn’t going to get him to say anything without a lawyer present. He didn’t need to. Dobson felt he had what he needed to make his case. Just having Salazar in a holding cell would be enough to make Evelyn Bailey nervous. She and Fitzpatrick were in for one hec
k of a surprise.

  Dobson looked upon the rows of empty chairs and then began placing several marked pieces of evidence on a table at the front of the room. A nearby bulletin board was filled with photos. He backed away from the table and checked his watch. If everything went as planned, they would be arriving soon, completely unaware of why Dobson had called them there. The door suddenly swung open as Captain Nelson walked inside, squinting in the darkness.

  “What’s going on in here, Dobson? Why are all the lights off?”

  Dobson moved quickly to a wall switch and flipped them on. “Sorry, sir. I was just getting ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Nelson asked, hands on his hips and surveying the room. “What is so important that you had to see me?”

  Dobson raised a hand up for patience as he shuffled through some paperwork. “One moment, sir, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know. It’s about the Bailey homicide. New information has come to light.”

  “New evidence?” Nelson walked to the front and examined the pictures tacked to the bulletin board, focusing on a photo of Salazar leaning against his plumbing van and talking with Evelyn Bailey in the maintenance garage.

  “What is this?” he asked. “Is that who I think it is?” He then looked at his watch and huffed at Dobson, his patience at an end. “It’s been a long day, Dobson. What the hell is this all about? I want you to tell me this instant!”

  Dobson turned from the table and held up an evidence bag with a pistol inside. “This is the weapon I believe was used in the break-in at the mansion. And it doesn’t belong to Randall Morris.” Dobson paused and sprinted toward the bulletin board where he pointed at the picture of Salazar. “It belongs to the man in that picture. His name is Ruben Salazar. I believe that Evelyn Bailey hired him to break into her aunt’s house.”

  Nelson stepped back and shook his head, baffled. “But… why?”

  “That’s what I’m about to explain,” Dobson said.

  Nelson opened his mouth in protest when the door in the back of the room opened and Lieutenant Fitzpatrick stuck his head inside, suspicious. He then appeared less guarded after seeing Captain Nelson.

  “Um. You wanted to see me, sir?”

  Nelson glared at Dobson, then back to Fitzpatrick. “Come inside, Lieutenant. I’m not sure what this is about.”

  He cautiously entered and squinted toward the bulletin board in the front, and the table, where Dobson had placed several exhibits. “Detective Dobson? You mind telling me what this is about?”

  “My pleasure, sir,” Dobson said. He looked at his notes, prepared to speak, but hesitated when Evelyn Bailey entered the room, right behind Fitzpatrick, looking confident and pretty and greeting each of them with a small smile.

  “Ms. Bailey,” Dobson began. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  “It’s late, Dobson,” Fitzpatrick said, cutting in. “What are you up to?” He then looked at Captain Nelson for backup, but the captain’s attention was on the bulletin board, studying every picture and note.

  Fitzpatrick stopped halfway inside and held his hand out, blocking Evelyn. “We demand answers. I received a call that Captain Nelson had requested a meeting.”

  “I did no such thing,” Nelson said with his back to them. He then turned to look at Dobson. “Is this some kind of joke, Mike?”

  Evelyn approached Fitzpatrick and took his hand. “I received a call from Detective Dobson. He said that he’d made a breakthrough and wanted to share it with me.”

  “You should have told me,” Fitzpatrick said, pulling his hand away.

  “I tried to. You didn’t answer your phone,” she said.

  Fitzpatrick held his cell phone up and looked at the screen. “Oh. You did. I’m sorry.” He then took her hand and stepped toward the door. “Enough of this. We’re leaving.”

  Dobson signaled to the front row of chairs. “Please. Have a seat.”

  Fitzpatrick stopped and looked at Dobson in disbelief.

  “Do what he says,” Captain Nelson said, turning around to face them.

  Evelyn looked at Fitzpatrick for guidance, as he remained standing with his arms crossed.

  “This will only take a minute,” Dobson said. “I need your help to clear this up. Both of you. Please.”

  “Is that so?” Fitzpatrick said with an arched brow. His attention went to the bulletin board with great interest, his eyes stopping at a photo of a footprint in the sand, with a photo of a boot right next to it. “Get to it then, Dobson.”

  “Sit down,” Nelson said, raising his voice.

  Evelyn and Fitzpatrick exchanged glances again and then reluctantly sat together in the second row. Nelson turned his head to Dobson. “The floor’s yours, Detective. But be careful of what you say. I don’t want any false allegations in this department. Got it?”

  Dobson nodded. “The only false allegation is what was levied against Randall Morris.”

  Evelyn looked at Fitzpatrick with grave concern. “What is he talking about?”

  Fitzpatrick stared at Dobson with utter contempt and then spoke. “Relax, Ms. Bailey. I think we’re witnessing the last desperate act of a reckless detective soon to be discharged from the force.”

  “Hardly,” Dobson said from behind the table. “I have the evidence to prove that Evelyn Bailey engaged in a conspiracy to commit murder,” he said. A hushed silence swept across the room. “And that’s just for starters.”

  Evelyn suddenly laughed. “Have you lost your mind?”

  As eyes went on her, she then regained her composure and leaned back in her chair, calm and collected, with not a hint of worry on her face. Fitzpatrick, however, pulled at his collar and shifted in his chair with increasing worry.

  “Do I have your attention now?” Dobson asked.

  “We don’t have to listen to this!” Fitzpatrick shouted, standing up with his hand out toward Evelyn. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “No one is going anywhere,” Nelson said. He was looking at a row of pictures displaying the vandalism inside Mrs. Bailey’s mansion.

  “I want to speak to my lawyer,” Evelyn said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Fitzpatrick turned to her, stunned. “What are you talking about? This is nonsense. He’s trying to set us up, don’t you see that?”

  “Us? Meaning set up Miss Bailey and you? Not likely,” Dobson said, his voice echoing in the largely empty room. “Evelyn Bailey hired Ruben Salazar to break into the mansion and coerce her aunt to give him an audio file that incriminated Evelyn in operating countless fraudulent charities. Charities, mind you, that her aunt had been persuaded to support by Evelyn.”

  Nelson stepped toward the line of chairs in the front row and slowly took a seat, leaving an increasingly frustrated Fitzpatrick as the only person standing in the room. Fitzpatrick sighed and reluctantly sat, flushed with anger as Evelyn looked down in a daze.

  Dobson then walked slowly in front of the bulletin board, pointing to pictures along the way. “I have photographic evidence of Ms. Bailey talking with the man she solicited to commit a crime. A man who we currently have in custody.” He watched her for a reaction, but she remained stone-faced, unbreakable.

  “You see, Ruben Salazar left his presence at the scene of the crime in more ways than one. A toothpick found at the scene has his DNA on it, confirmed in a match only an hour ago by the Forensics lab.”

  Dobson paused to absorb the silence in the room.

  “And as you can see, none of this has to do with Randall Morris. I believe Mr. Morris is just a scapegoat to take the focus away from Evelyn.” He then walked to the table and held up Salazar’s gun. “The bullets from this Beretta match the casings found in Mrs. Bailey’s bedroom. This is indeed the weapon we’re looking for, and it’s the same pistol that Mr. Salazar pulled on me when I approached him for questioning. Six shots, and thank God every one of them missed. Sound familiar?”

  He looked directly at Evelyn and saw only contempt for him in her eyes.

  “I don’t know if Ms.
Bailey intended to have her aunt killed. Maybe Salazar was just supposed to scare her. Whatever the intent, Mrs. Bailey is dead, and her niece is directly responsible.”

  He paused and watched Evelyn for a reaction. Despite her cold stare, he could see a slight misting in her eyes as she quickly wiped them, confirming that he was getting to her.

  “Where did you find this guy?” Dobson asked her.

  He placed the pistol down and then held up a small evidence bag holding a tiny memory card and a plastic case. “You should have hired a more careful person. You see, Forensics found the tape about twenty minutes ago, right where your aunt had hidden it ─ in a baggie placed inside your uncle’s urn. They rushed it right over to me with a lot of other evidence. I must say, Ms. Bailey, the audio on it is pretty damaging.”

  Evelyn brushed her blonde hair to the side and smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective. But I would certainly like to contact my attorney based on these wild accusations.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course,” Dobson said, signaling to the door. “Take your time. We’ll be in here.”

  She stood up and walked past a highly-agitated Fitzpatrick. Her heels clicked throughout the room as she swung the door open, revealing several uniformed police officers, Staff Sergeant Peterson among them. He grabbed her arms and turned her around as she trembled in disbelief. “Ma’am, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and fraud. You have the right to remain silent…”

  Fitzpatrick shot out of his chair. “What is this nonsense?” He then looked at the captain, desperate. “Sir, are you going to stop this?”

  Captain Nelson turned away and brought his attention to Dobson, who began speaking to Fitzpatrick. “Sir, I’m afraid we’re going to have to charge you with obstruction of justice and planting evidence. Both first-degree felonies.” He paused and held up a glossy blow-up picture of Evelyn Bailey’s bedroom. On the dresser was a jewelry box, circled in marker. Inside the box appeared to be the same items allegedly stolen by Randall Morris.