by J. J. Stone
Ada frowned. “She was a junkie?”
James pointed at the coffee table in front of an ancient television. “Drug paraphernalia was found there, and there were some used needles in her bedroom.”
“From what the neighbors we were able to track down for interviews said, Cheryl was quite a party girl,” Brenda said. “There were multiple noise complaints filed. One party ended with a few attendees spending the night in jail.” Brenda pulled out a flashlight and shined it down a dark hallway. “I’ll show you her room.”
Brenda cautiously made her way down the cluttered hallway, and Ada followed. “She was found in bed. Cause of death was strangulation. She’d been dead just over thirty-six hours by the time a friend found her,” Brenda said as she came up to a bedroom at the end of the hall. She waved Ada in ahead of her.
The room was just as cramped and cluttered as the rest of the house, but there was something noticeably different. Underneath the chaos was evidence of an innocence buried deep inside Cheryl. There were boy band posters on the wall, smiley face stickers stuck to random things, and everything on the bed was covered in a bright floral pattern.
“This doesn’t feel like the room of a drug addict prostitute,” Ada said as she walked to the bedroom’s lone window. She glanced outside at the gray haze and sleepy street.
“I said the same thing,” Brenda agreed.
Ada crouched in front of a short bookshelf underneath the window. She was surprised to see textbooks crammed between well-worn magazines and CD cases. She pulled one textbook from the shelf and her eyes widened when she saw the title. “She was a veterinary student?”
Brenda nodded. “At a local community college. Her teachers had nothing but praise for her.”
James appeared in the doorway. “Any epiphanies?” he asked Ada.
Ada carefully placed the textbook back on the shelf and stepped to the foot of the bed. “She was found here?” She tried to picture a lifeless body stretched out on the bright pinks and purples of the comforter.
James nodded and leaned against the doorframe. He raised his brows at Brenda in exasperation. Brenda shrugged a shoulder at him.
“I thought you wanted my help, James,” Ada snapped. She half-turned toward them with a dark scowl shadowing her face.
Brenda winced and looked away from her to James. He stood holding Ada’s gaze with equal acidity.
“Help, yes,” James answered evenly, “but I didn’t anticipate having to go on field trips every time you had a hunch.”
Brenda wanted nothing more than to be out of the increasingly cramped bedroom. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” she breathed as she moved toward the door.
James stepped further into the room to allow Brenda clearance to leave. Ada watched her leave and tried not to feel abandoned. Hostile silence permeated the room until Ada could no longer stand it.
“I really don’t get you,” she hissed at the stony agent. “It’s not like I begged to be a part of this. You asked for my help, for my insight. And all I’ve gotten in return is attitude and veiled insults.” She tried to read James’s excellent poker face. “If you don’t want my help, I’ll happily oblige.”
James chuckled and laced his fingers together, pointing his index fingers toward Ada. “I only need your help until this case is solved. After that, we get to part ways and never speak again,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “We don’t need to get along. The only reason I didn’t try to find someone else is because I respect Patrick and your uncle.”
Tears stung the back of Ada’s eyes. She turned away from James and pretended to gaze out the window, furiously blinking the traitorous moisture from her eyes. As her eyes cleared, the house directly across from Cheryl’s window came into focus. It was one of the more dilapidated homes on the street. Ada noted a child’s bike in the front yard, something no other house on the street had. “Who lives there?”
James muttered something under his breath and walked up behind her to look out the window. Ada couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at his proximity. “No one. It was one of the first houses we canvassed. The owner is in a nursing home,” James said, glancing down at Ada. “Somehow I don’t think she’s our suspect.”
Ada rolled her eyes and moved away from the window and James. “What’s with the bike, then? It seems a little out of place in this neighborhood.”
James shrugged, increased annoyance creeping into his features. “Maybe some kids were playing around in the yard and left it. There’s a park right up the road. Some kid could have wandered down here and left it.”
Ada shook her head. Something was off. “I’m going over there.”
“Seriously?” James called after her as she strolled from the room.
CHAPTER 13
Ada squatted down in front of the small pink bicycle. The streamers fluttered in the brisk breeze while the back wheel turned slowly. There was a small piece of cardboard stuck to the back of the bike as a makeshift license plate. “Jane” was scrawled on it in child’s handwriting.
Footsteps crunched up the sidewalk behind Ada, but she ignored them. James could throw a fit all he wanted; she was going to sniff around this place. Something just didn’t fit.
The house itself looked like a slight breeze would send it toppling to the ground. Not exactly an ideal location to raise a child. The lawn, where it was still alive, was overgrown, and what used to be a neatly planted flowerbed was now just brown weeds.
Ada tilted her head back and studied the upper level of the home. The windows were layered with dirt and some were broken. Behind the gray-brown sheen of one window hung pink lace curtains. Like the bike, they not only seemed entirely out of place, they hinted at a child’s presence.
“I hope you have another way back to campus, because I’m leaving here in twenty minutes,” James barked as he crossed the street and walked into the yard.
Ada turned to see that Brenda was the one who had followed her. She was standing over the bike, frowning slightly. James stopped beside Brenda and crossed his arms across his chest. “Are you done here?” He waved a hand at the bike.
“Hardly,” Ada replied in a sickly sweet tone. If he was going to be a jerk, she could dish it right back.
Brenda intervened. “There really isn’t anything here, Ada. This was one of the first places we dug into.”
“Well, finally. Someone’s here to figure this mess out,” called a diminutive elderly woman making her way down the sidewalk.
James turned on his heel and gave the woman a tight, polite smile. “We’re wondering who lives here. You wouldn’t happen to know, would you, ma’am?”
The woman paused her journey down the sidewalk and leaned against the house’s mailbox. “Who’s asking?” she questioned with narrowed eyes. She glanced at Brenda and Ada.
James pulled out his badge and held it out to the woman. “Agent Deacon. I’m with the FBI,” James said as he placed the badge back in his pocket. He motioned to Brenda and Ada. “These are my colleagues.”
“FBI?” the woman huffed. “That’s a little much for a domestic dispute.”
Ada frowned and came up beside James. “Domestic dispute?” When the woman pulled away from her a little, Ada flashed her a smile and held out her hand. “Ada Greene.”
The woman briefly shook Ada’s hand. “You don’t look like FBI, sweetheart.”
Good, Ada mused. “I’m here as an analyst.”
The woman nodded and pointed her chin at Brenda. “She’s definitely FBI.”
Brenda grinned and gave the woman a mock salute.
“My friend Betty used to live here. We were some of the first people to live on this street. Moved in right after they built these houses in the fifties.” A wistful look washed over the woman’s features. “This street used to be just wonderful. Children everywhere. You knew everyone by t
heir first name. How it should be, you know?”
James cleared his throat, breaking the old woman’s reverie. “You said there was some kind of domestic dispute here?”
The woman nodded, disgust flooding her weather face. “It was Betty’s good-for-nothing kids making a scene.”
“Were the police called?” James asked.
“No one bothered. I guess we all figured someone else would. Or they’d just kill themselves and save us all the trouble.”
“So, her children were living here?” Ada asked.
The old woman shook her head. “That was part of the issue. The kids couldn’t agree on what to do with the place. I guess Betty’s son decided he would just move in without telling his sisters. Boy, did that get them in a tizzy.”
“Did Betty’s son have a daughter?” Ada pressed.
James glanced sideways at her.
The old woman shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. We didn’t even know anyone was living here until the two sisters came over that night and raised hell at the front door. Betty’s son came out. What a mess. Looked like he was homeless.”
Brenda joined the group with narrowed eyes. “Why didn’t anyone mention this when we were canvassing here?”
The old woman laughed. “No one talks to anyone around here, especially the police. I’m amazed anyone opened the door for you.”
“What happened after the fight between Betty’s children?” James broke in, attempting to get the conversation back on track.
“I thought I heard something the next morning around two, so I got up and looked outside to make sure I didn’t need to grab my gun.” The woman blanched for a second and touched her fingers to James’s forearm. “I have a permit, I promise.”
James smiled and nodded.
“Well, I thought I saw a car in Betty’s driveway, and it looked like her son was packing it up. He took off in a hurry, and that was that. Nothing’s moved in that house since.”
“Was this before or after the Adams murder?” Brenda asked.
The old woman thought for a moment. “This was the day before you all got here.”
James straightened. “Was Betty’s son ever at Cheryl Adams’ house?”
“I told you, no one even knew he was here. If he ever left this house, it must have been at night.” The old woman frowned and turned to Ada. “You think he had a child in there?”
Ada motioned to the bike in the yard. “That belonged to someone.”
“Oh, I hope he didn’t have a child. What an awful way to live.” The old woman glanced at the house and shuddered.
James reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you think of anything else,” he handed the card to the woman, “please let me know.”
The old woman took the card and clutched it in her hand. “I will, Agent.” She cast one last mournful look at the house then pushed away from the mailbox. “Just so sad, so sad,” she muttered over and over as she continued her shuffle down the sidewalk.
“I knew it,” Ada whispered excitedly. She turned back to the house, hands on her hips.
“She was right about one thing,” James mused from behind her. “You don’t look like you work for the FBI.”
Ada bit her tongue and refused to take his bait. “What’s wrong with that? After all, I’m only here until this case is done.” She glanced over her shoulder at James. “Isn’t that right, Agent Deacon?”
James gave her a fake smile and nodded. “I’ll send someone to talk to the homeowner again. See if we can get her son’s name and figure out where he is now.” He turned and made his way back across the street to the waiting SUV.
“I’m sorry, Ada,” Brenda whispered as she placed a hand on Ada’s shoulder. “He’s acting more evil than usual.”
Ada took one last survey of the house then turned and grinned at Brenda. “I have a feeling he’s all bark and no bite.”
Brenda chuckled as she followed Ada toward the car.
_____
John hated this hotel. It reminded him of every “road trip” his mother had dragged him and his sisters on to visit whatever boyfriend she was shacking up with at the time. She’d always get two rooms, one for the kids and one for her and the guy. She had at least had the courtesy not to get adjacent rooms.
He’d come to this hotel out of necessity. His first three choices had been fully booked. This one happened to be closest to the highway, which he supposed was a positive. Once he got his next target, he would be moving on again, so he only had to endure the accommodations for hopefully no more than a day. However, he had yet to hear from base. It probably meant nothing, but he couldn’t help wondering if maybe he’d deviated from the plan at some point.
John stepped out of the dated bathroom, scrubbing a towel over his damp shaggy locks. He glanced momentarily in the mirror and cringed at what he saw. The past couple days of inactivity had resulted in a patchy beard and sallow skin. His dark brown hair lay like clumps of seaweed slapped to the top of his head. A far cry from the John of a year ago.
One year ago, he landed a big account at work. One year ago, he had a house with a wife who, he had thought, adored him and a daughter who couldn’t wait for him to come home every day. One year ago, he came home early to celebrate his success at work and found his wife with the neighbor from two doors down. Ten months ago, he became a single parent when his wife decided getting blackout drunk was more important to her than their daughter’s well-being and she just couldn’t “deal” with being a mom anymore. Nine months ago, he lost his job. Eight months ago, he and his daughter were living out of the family van. Six months ago, he finally found work that afforded a hotel room for Jane and him. One month ago, a total stranger in a local coffee shop reached out to him and forever changed his life.
He dug into his small bag of toiletries and unearthed a comb. Carefully, he plowed through his hair until it obediently lay slicked back against his scalp. Next, he pulled out a razor and can of shaving cream. After lathering up the lower half of his face, he deftly swept away his beard, inwardly reminding himself to change the dulling razor blade.
Satisfied with his renewed appearance, John padded across the room’s ancient shag carpet to the sagging double bed. He took a fresh flannel shirt and pair of worn in jeans from the duffle bag sitting at the foot of the bed.
His phone vibrated violently on the bedside table. He cursed under his breath as he hurriedly pulled on his clothes before the phone rattled itself off the table. He managed to scoop it up before it fell. “Yes?”
“John, it’s Mina,” came the annoyingly frail voice of his cousin.
John squeezed his eyes shut and sipped in a steadying breath. “Hey, Mina. What’s up?”
Mina didn’t speak, and John knew she was struggling to choose her words. He could hear a television in the background. “Jane keeps asking when you’ll be coming for her,” Mina whispered. A door shut and the sound of the television ceased. “I can’t keep telling her I don’t know. Eventually she’ll want a real answer.”
John found a fresh pair of thick wool socks in his bag and sat down on the bed to pull them on. He wedged the phone between his cheek and shoulder. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not sure when I’ll be done—back,” John caught himself. He cleared his throat as he took the phone back in his hand. “Do I need to talk to her?”
“It might help a little,” Mina said. The door squeaked open and she called for Jane. John winced at how loud she was.
A few moments later, Jane’s precious voice squealed, “Dad!”
A smile broke across John’s face before he could stop it. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Mina said you might be coming here soon?”
“I’m not sure, Jane. I still have work to finish up here. I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”
The answering
silence was painful to John’s ears. Disappointing Jane was the thing he hated most in life. “You’re having a good time with Mina, though, right?” John asked, attempting to divert attention from his homecoming.
“I guess so,” Jane mumbled. “I just miss you, Dad.”
John swallowed hard, stood to his feet, and paced. “I’ll be back soon, Jane. I promise.”
“OK, Dad,” Jane sighed.
“I love you, Jane,” John’s voice broke and he slammed a fist into the wall. What the hell was wrong with him? “I need to go now. Listen to Mina.”
“Yes, sir,” Jane replied.
“Good girl.” John smiled. “I’ll talk to you later.” He ended the call just as he heard Mina’s squawk for him to hold on.
John stared blankly ahead, trying to collect his thoughts. That slight waft of doubt was starting to creep out of a distant corner of his mind. He turned on his heel and strode across the room. He yanked open the top drawer of the hotel dresser and sifted through its contents. After a brief search, he pulled out a stack of photos and relief washed over him, followed by steely resolve.
He reminisced back to the inception of everything. He and Jane had just moved into his mother’s old house. That first night there, after Jane had gone to bed, John paced through every room, unable to sleep. He had left his mother’s house and gone to the only place open at the time, the local coffee shop three blocks away. While he sat staring into his jet-black dark roast, a young man in the chair next to his struck up a conversation. Something had instantly connected between the two of them. Before John knew what had happened, they were arranging to meet again and talk further.
Eventually, John was having conversations with the young man he had only ever conducted in the safety of his mind. This man not only understood John’s hatred, he had given him an outlet. A plan. At first, John had recoiled, utterly repulsed by what the man was suggesting. But then the slut across the street from John had had one of her “parties”, which had involved taking the festivities to her room with one particular male partygoer. When John had gone to tuck Jane in, he had found her at her window, unable to tear herself away from the amorous show taking place in the window across the street. He had no explanation to give Jane. He had simply tucked her in and made sure her curtains were drawn completely.