“I don’t think that the blood actually trickled toward me. There was a fly crawling around through the blood. It could have been an optical illusion. I could hardly breathe when I realized that I was looking at a huge pool of blood on the floor.”
“You say that you approached the victim and grasped her wrist. Which one? Did you touch any other part of her body?”
“I had no doubt that she was dead. The body lay completely still. I couldn’t see her breathing. But Melissa thought we should check for a pulse. So, I walked along the wall, away from the blood, and picked up her right wrist. I couldn’t detect a pulse, so I let go of her arm. At that point, Melissa walked into the room and panicked. So I rushed her out of the house.”
“Did you hear any movement anywhere in the house? Any sounds at all? Or see anyone?”
“No. But someone could have been upstairs or hiding somewhere else in the house. I didn’t want to take a chance. I just wanted to get out of there.”
Trooper Cannon spoke up. “Did you try to ascertain the nature of Ms. Townes’ wounds? Did you try to render any assistance?”
“No. I didn’t touch anything but her right wrist. I saw some blood on her upper back, but it appeared that she had a big wound on the front side of her body. It was hidden by the way she fell forward over the boxes, but I could see a column of blood on the boxes, like it had gushed down the side and pooled on the floor.” Alexa shuddered at the memory.
“Do you own a gun, Ms. Williams?”
“My family owns a shotgun that I keep at my home.”
“Is that the same weapon used in the shooting incident that resulted in the death of Jebediah Browne last December?”
“Yes.” Tears filled Alexa’s eyes as she glanced at Trooper Taylor in dismay. She felt like she had been punched in the gut. The events of last fall still haunted Alexa. Anti-abortion extremists killing several young women. Being terrorized by the religious group. Being forced to kill their leader, Reverend Jebediah Browne, in self-defense. Trooper Taylor had been the lead investigator on the case. He knew that she had been cleared of any wrongdoing.
“Alexa, I’m sorry, but you know we have to ask all of these questions for the record.” Trooper Taylor reached across the table toward her but pulled back abruptly and picked up a clipboard. “Do you own any other guns?”
Graham interjected. “Can you be more specific? Is there a particular type of gun that you are interested in? Was Ms. Townes’ cause of death a gunshot wound?” Alexa silently thanked her big brother for giving her a minute to collect herself.
“We’re not prepared to discuss any particular weapon or other details relating to cause of death at this time. Alexa, do you own or have access to any additional firearms?”
“No. The last thing I would want is a gun.”
Trooper Cannon shot a hard look at his fellow trooper and picked up the questioning. “Is there anything else you want to mention about last evening? Something that we haven’t covered but that may have struck you as odd or out of place?”
“I had never been to that house before last night, so it would be difficult for me to judge whether anything was out of place—other than the dead body. Obviously, the mess on the desk in the office and the broken panes of glass on the door didn’t seem right. Other than that, I couldn’t say.”
“Well, thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch if we need anything more.”
As they rose from the conference table, Trooper Taylor came around to Alexa and clasped her hand. “I’m sorry that you stumbled into this ugly incident. I doubt that we’ll need anything more from you.”
“How is Corporal Branche?” She had hoped to say hello to the older policeman who had worked with Taylor on the case last fall.
“He’s been assigned to a special task force, so they paired me with Cannon on this investigation. He’s a stand up guy. Say hello to Ranger Michaels.”
“Reese has gone to Africa on a long-term research project. I’ll mention that you asked about him in my next email.”
Trooper Taylor finally released Alexa’s hand as he murmured, “Africa. You’re on your own then?”
“Yes, I am, Trooper. Yes, I am.” Alexa realized that Trooper Taylor had more than a professional interest, but she couldn’t deal with that now. She just pushed open the door and left the room.
Chapter Four
“I’M EXHAUSTED. By the time those troopers finished, I felt like I’d done something wrong. I’m so glad Graham came with me. Please tell him how much I appreciated his help.” Melissa collapsed into the seat and closed her eyes.
“He would have freaked out if I hadn’t asked him to come along to these interviews,” Alexa replied. She turned the ignition and shifted the Land Rover into gear, navigating her way through parked state police cruisers. Graham had already left, trying to catch a hockey playoff game on TV.
“Can you drive me out to Mom and Dad’s? I need to tell them about all of this. Plus, the cops are going to keep my car for another couple of days. I’ll borrow some wheels from them. I think Dad is up to about six old sports cars at this point. I’m sure he can spare one of them for a few days . . . maybe the Triumph.”
“Sure. It’s always nice to see your mom and dad. They’ll be so proud that you were arrested at a protest.”
“You’re right. I’m just keeping up the family tradition. Although I think my parents spent more time talking about the revolution than actually participating in it.”
“Surprisingly, my mom was arrested back during the Vietnam anti-war protests. I’ll have to ask her about it, but I seem to recall something about a march on D.C. and being detained in a football field. Looking at her now, it’s hard to believe.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Your mom likes to traipse around the world to exotic places. She’s always been involved in social causes. I can still see a bit of rebel buried beneath the surface.”
Alexa shrugged and pulled into Tagg and Fiona Lambert’s home. The place looked deserted. Two black labs came running from a small outbuilding to greet the car, but no one emerged from the huge cedar house. Two lines of Tibetan prayer flags, strung between the house and the barn, fluttered listlessly in the anemic breeze. A chicken wandered across the lawn, stopping periodically to peck at the ground.
The Lamberts lived in a sixties time warp and had raised Melissa and her brothers to live in the moment. They named Melissa after one of their favorite Allman Brothers songs. Other beloved musicians served as inspiration for her brothers’ names, Jefferson and Donovan.
“Looks like nobody’s home,” Alexa observed.
Melissa slipped out of the Land Rover. “That’s OK. I’ll go inside and hang out until they come back. I need some time alone to deal with Cecily’s death.” Tears came to her eyes. “I just can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Let me know if you need anything. Yesterday was tough for me, and I didn’t even know Cecily. So I know you’re hurting. Call me if you need to talk.” Melissa shut the car door, and Alexa headed home, anxious for time to just chill.
When she walked into the law firm on Monday morning, her assistant, Melinda, followed Alexa into her office. “Mrs. Bertolino called and said it’s urgent that she see you this morning. So I moved some things around to give her a nine-thirty appointment. She sounded pretty upset.”
“OK. Can you pull her file for me? I wonder what this is about. The adoption is on track as far as I know. I hope there isn’t a problem. I can’t handle any drama this morning.”
“Don’t put the cart before the horse. You don’t know what Mrs. Bertolino wants. Let me get you a cup of tea before she gets here.”
Alexa groaned at another one of Melinda’s pithy quotes, but the brief exchange with her irrepressible assistant had lifted her spirits. Mondays seemed to always be one of the busiest days at Williams, Williams, and O’Donnell. So Alexa needed to push past any preoccupation with her weekend experience and get ready to face the busy day.
Alexa loved
her job as a junior attorney at the family law firm. Her semi-retired father, Norris, carried a light caseload. Dad wasn’t quite ready to quit the firm altogether, but he and Alexa’s mother spent several months each year traveling. Her older brother, Graham, managed the firm. The third partner, Pat O’Donnell, planned to retire soon. At that point, Alexa expected to become a partner, although the other junior attorney, Brian Stewart, had his own hopes for advancement.
After graduating from Columbia Law School, Alexa had taken a brief ride on the fast track at one of the big New York City law firms. Soon realizing that she wanted more out of life than sixty-hour workweeks and daily internecine warfare, Alexa came home to the family practice. She had never regretted the move.
By the time Melinda returned with tea, Alexa had finished scanning the Bertolino file. She put it aside and turned to the morning newspaper. The lead story trumpeted Cecily Townes’ murder.
Alexa studied Cecily’s photo, hoping to replace the image of her dead body with one of the living woman. A handsome woman in her late sixties stared serenely from the page. Her graying hair and plain jacket conveyed a simple elegance. The half-smile on her lips hinted at some secret knowledge. So, this was Saint Cecily. Alexa regretted that she hadn’t gotten a chance to know the woman.
The newspaper article didn’t mention who had found Cecily’s body. The police still had no leads. Most of the story concentrated on Cecily’s life history and her many charitable activities. Even though Alexa had heard a lot about RESIST from Melissa, she hadn’t fully appreciated the scope of the organization and its international reach. Cecily had won a slew of humanitarian awards, and the list of donors to her advocacy organization included some heavy hitters from around the world.
Although RESIST had been Cecily’s main focus, she had been involved in other similar efforts. Alexa noted her role on the board of Children of Light, a local organization that ran a foster care program and worked with juvenile delinquents.
Following a quick knock on the door, Melinda stepped into Alexa’s office to announce Mrs. Bertolino’s arrival. She whispered, “She’s got some guy with her. Not Mr. B.”
Alexa rose to greet her client. “Hello, Mrs. Bertolino. How can I help you today? Melinda told me that it was urgent?”
A small woman with curly dark hair, Toni Bertolino was usually a ball of fire. Today, she faltered, each step an effort, until she crumpled into the loveseat.
“It is urgent. Alexa, this is Tyrell Jenkins. He’s a social worker for County Children and Youth Services and leads our church youth group. I thought he might be able to help.”
Tyrell Jenkins towered over both Toni and Alexa as he struck a pose. His spiraled dreadlocks were parted down the center and cut short enough to frame a face the shade of burnt umber. Moving forward to shake his hand, she had to remind herself to breathe. This man was gorgeous—and he left no doubt that he knew it.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Williams. I’ve heard a lot about you.” The social worker took a seat next to Toni.
Alexa turned to her client. “Is there a problem? I expect the adoption papers to be signed in the next few weeks. As I told you, the process usually goes smoothly in a case like this, when a foster family is adopting and the parents have willingly terminated their parental rights. We’ve filed the Notice of Intent to Adopt. The placement supervision period will be finished soon. I don’t expect any issues with finalizing the adoption. In little more than a month, Meg will become an official member of the Bertolino family.”
“It’s not about the adoption. We don’t know what to do. Meg has disappeared!”
“Disappeared? What do you mean?” Alexa leaned forward in alarm.
“We haven’t seen her since Thursday. She went to school like always. Then, she went to Tyrell’s youth group meeting after classes ended. But she never came home. Ed and I were pretty upset when she didn’t show up for dinner at six. That’s one of our rules. We always sit down together for a family dinner. We called her cell and sent her some texts. But she never answered.
“By nine o’clock, Ed got pretty steamed. He threatened to ground Meg for a month. But I was frantic. By ten, we had called all of her friends. No one had seen her since youth group ended. Then we called Tyrell.”
“Meg did attend Thursday’s session.” Tyrell took up the narrative. “It’s the youth group at the Letort Methodist Church. That was an important meeting because we reviewed our plans to participate in a march on Saturday in Washington. I handed out permission slips and went over all the details. Meg signed up for the event. She seemed to be pretty psyched about marching in support of RESIST.”
Alexa jerked forward at the news that Meg had been involved with RESIST but didn’t interrupt the social worker’s story.
“Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with Meg. Like always, she was one of the most active members, asking questions and buzzing around with her friends.
“After I heard from the Bertolinos that night, I immediately called all the kids who had attended that afternoon’s meeting. Two of her good friends, Lynn and Amira, told me that Meg left the church annex with them, but they went their separate ways. Meg told them that she wanted to get home and try to finish her homework before dinner.”
“Toni, I hope you called the police.”
“Yes, for all the good it did. They promised to look into it. But I’m afraid that when they found out that she’s a foster child they decided that she ran away. And I understand that, to some extent. They probably see a lot of foster kids go on the run. But that’s not our Meg.” Toni cried, and Tyrell reached for her hand in comfort.
“I know that the police are often reluctant to launch a full-fledged search in the early hours of a disappearance, especially with teens,” Alexa said. “They don’t call out the bloodhounds unless the circumstances point to foul play. But what are they doing now? Have they listed her as missing?”
“Yes. They started an investigation. They came and searched through her room but haven’t come up with anything as far as we know. I gave them Meg’s school picture.” Toni drew a photo from her jacket pocket and handed it to Alexa.
Meg was a beautiful girl. The fourteen-year old in the photo had long blonde hair and a wide smile. Alexa found her even more stunning in person, with the tall, slender frame of a dancer and a sunny disposition.
Meg had lost her father to an automobile accident and her mother to an oxycodone habit that morphed into heroin addiction. Meg’s only living relative, her father’s aunt, had a serious medical condition. The woman wasn’t in a position to take responsibility for Meg’s care. After five years in foster care with the Bertolinos, the childless couple asked her to become their daughter. When Meg’s mother agreed to relinquish parental rights, Alexa had helped them through every step of the adoption process.
“I am so sorry. You and Ed must be frantic.”
“We are. I just know something bad has happened to Meg. She would not run away.”
“I agree that seems unlikely. Meg is a level-headed girl, and she has seemed so excited about the adoption.”
Tyrell nodded in agreement. “I work with a lot of kids in the foster care system. That’s part of my job at Children and Youth Services. I can usually spot the ones who are going to run or the ones who are going to end up in juvie. Meg has been one of the success stories―a child who has coped with the trauma of losing her parents and entering the system. She lucked out . . . to be placed with Toni and Ed from day one, and to be welcomed into their family―even luckier that she was placed with foster parents who wanted to adopt a teenager.”
Alexa turned to Toni. “What can I do to help?”
“Can you go to the police for us and find out what they’re doing? You’re a lawyer. Maybe the damn cops will tell you what they are doing to find our little girl.”
“You have Children and Youth involved already, right? Are they in contact with the police?”
“Yes. We’ve gone through the official channels. One of Tyrell’s co
lleagues has spoken to the police. But you’re my lawyer. I’d feel better if you would help.”
“I’ll try, Toni. It’s the borough police, right? I’ll go over there this morning and check on the status of the investigation.” Alexa turned to Tyrell. “I have a question for you, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Tyrell, please. Mr. Jenkins is my father.”
“OK . . . Tyrell. Did Meg know Cecily Townes? You mentioned that your church group went to Saturday’s march in Washington in support of RESIST?”
“I just found out about Cecily this morning. The newspaper says she was killed in her home on Saturday. I can’t believe it. I was with her most of the day on Saturday. My kids and I rode to and from Washington on the bus that RESIST had chartered. I sat with Cecily on the ride home.” Tyrell hung his head. “Then I found out she was dead. Gone in an instant. She was one of my heroes. The world has lost a special person. I so admired Cecily.”
Alexa almost regretted raising the topic of Cecily’s death. Tyrell seemed genuinely distraught. She asked again, gently. “And Meg’s involvement with RESIST?”
“To answer your specific question, Meg had some limited contact with Cecily. Our group began our project to support RESIST after Cecily spoke at one of our meetings. We held a car wash and a bake sale to raise money for RESIST. I’m pretty sure that Meg participated in all those activities, so she certainly met Cecily once or twice. However, I don’t think any of my kids had more than a passing acquaintance with Cecily. They were pretty much in awe of her. Most of them were too tongue-tied in her presence to have any meaningful interaction.”
Toni dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Meg attended Ms. Townes’ talk and helped out at the car wash. She came home from that first meeting pretty impressed by Ms. Townes and anxious to help girls her age from being sold into sex slavery.”
Dead of Summer Page 3