Double Vision

by Colby Marshall

  Molly did like Dr. Ramey. The doctor was fun to talk to, mainly because Molly could tell Dr. Ramey thought of her as any other person. Not like a lot of adults.

  “So, Molly, how have you been doing?” Dr. Ramey asked.

  “I’m okay,” she said truthfully. Everyone had been worried she would have bad dreams after the grocery store or be really upset over the ordeal, but really, the only things about it she’d given much thought were Mr. Beasley, the man in the cereal aisle, and how much she missed seeing G-Ma almost every day. She really did miss G-Ma. A whole, whole lot.

  “I’m glad. This is Agent Ovarez. She’s working with me on this case,” Dr. Ramey said, nodding to the darker-skinned lady, who flashed a smile and put out her hand.

  Molly let go of where her own hand lingered on her juice cup and stretched it across the table to shake Agent Ovarez’s brown hand. She liked that the new lady wanted to shake hands. Maybe she was a lot like Dr. Ramey.

  “Hi,” Molly said.

  “Nice to meet you, Molly,” the agent replied.

  “Molly, we need to ask you a few more questions about the day of the grocery store,” Dr. Ramey said. “Anything you happened to notice is important, so tell us whatever pops into your mind. Sound good?”

  Molly nodded.

  “All righty, then. Molly, I need you to think about being in the store before the bad stuff started to happen. What you and G-Ma were doing right before the loud noises and yelling started, before you called nine-one-one. Okay?”

  “I can do that,” Molly said, sure of herself. She had a good memory.

  “Great. Now, I brought some pictures with me. Some of the people in the pictures were in the grocery store while you were. Other ones weren’t there at all. I need you to look at the people in the pictures and tell me if you recognize any of them, and if you do, anything you might’ve noticed about them while you were there.”

  “Like what color shirt they were wearing?” Molly said, her heart beating faster. She couldn’t tell why, but she was almost excited about this responsibility. She didn’t know what made it such an important job, but if they came all the way out here to ask her to tell them things she noticed, it had to be. She needed to do it right.

  “Let me explain a little more,” Dr. Ramey said.

  Molly leaned in, elbows on the table. Concentrate. This is big.

  • • •

  Jenna leaned forward, mimicking Molly. She could tell the little girl was eager to please, but explaining what it was they wanted her to detail to them without leading her in any way would prove tricky.

  “We’d love for you to describe what they were wearing. Sure, that could be something you’d notice. You could talk about clothing or anything else about the way they looked that day that the picture doesn’t show. But this can include anything you noticed about them in addition to how they looked, too. You could tell us if you saw an item you remember being in their grocery cart or if you heard them talking at all, what their voice sounded like, the topic they were talking about . . . anything like that. You can tell us if you felt a certain way near them, or if they seemed friendly, reminded you of someone you knew . . . made another person nearby laugh, walked faster than you did . . . anything,” Jenna continued.

  “Or if they had lots of groceries in a cart or were carrying a full basket and lots of stuff in their arms, too? Or if they had a basket, but it only had a few small things in it, probably not even enough to need a basket. That’s one thing I noticed about Mr. Beasley. That’s the reason I knew he was missing from the back room where they kept the witnesses that day. Because I’d looked at him and his basket, talked to him.”

  Jenna had to suppress the urge to snicker so she wouldn’t interrupt or insult the little detective in the making, but it wasn’t easy. Molly’s stepfather might be trying with everything he had to keep Molly from any further involvement with the case, but the kid had different ideas, as the team had found out recently. After Eldred Beasley’s call to Jenna, Teva had followed up with Eldred’s daughter, who at first couldn’t tell them much if anything—her dad hadn’t told her he remembered being at Lowman’s at all, and she said she couldn’t imagine why he’d had the seemingly random, isolated moment of clarity regarding the incident that he must have had the night he’d called Jenna.

  But this morning, the daughter had called Teva back. She’d been at her father’s apartment to drop off some takeout for him to have for lunch when he’d mumbled something about talking to “that little girl” on the phone.

  It hadn’t taken much digging after that to find out that Molly’s interest in numbers had given her a leg up in her amateur-sleuthing pursuits. Somehow, Molly had managed to obtain Eldred’s phone number despite not even knowing his name. Apparently, she’d been concerned when she realized he hadn’t been in the back room of the grocery store where the witnesses who’d seen the shooter were held until the police could talk to them. So she decided to make sure to get the involved parties in touch with each other since they were all very busy doing other important things and consequently it might get put off without their realizing.

  What else did you see in Eldred Beasley that we haven’t yet? But they’d get to that later. First, a control question.

  “What was the first thing you noticed about the first person you saw when you and G-Ma entered Lowman’s that day?”

  “It was more crowded than on other days we’d been to that store at the same time of afternoon. G-Ma told me it was senior citizens’ discount day, and we started produce shopping. One old man who was older than G-Ma seemed almost shorter than me, but he wasn’t really. He was just hunched over. I noticed he didn’t have many things in his cart, but by how slowly he walked, I wondered if he got a cart instead of a basket so he could lean on it for support walking.”

  Jenna’s stomach flip-flopped. She knew this kid had instincts. The team was driving the stepfather crazy and probably seemed to be talking to the child in his home more than the other witnesses combined, but call it whatever he liked, this little girl might be their most valuable witness. She seemed to be the only person able to sift through lots of information without thinking solely about the crime.

  “Perfect, Molly. That’s just the kind of thing I want to know. You ready?”

  Molly nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  Saleda slid the flip-book of pictures they’d compiled across the table. It contained photos of patrons from the grocery store, a few random mug shots, a few pictures of police officers in street clothes. They needed those controls so they could be sure Molly was remembering the right people and for the right reasons, rather than pointing to every photo and telling them things about the person that she may or may not remember simply because she knew they wanted to hear information. Such a fine line to walk with kids: leading them versus not, determining which of their observations constituted magical thinking about people versus solid thoughts based in reality.

  Molly opened the book and glanced at the pictures one at a time, her gaze scanning the page slowly from left to right.

  She pointed to a picture of a female with a short brunette bob. “This lady was there. She walked like she was hurt.”

  Jenna looked to the picture. Indeed, it was one of the witnesses in the store. “Why do you say that?”

  “She limped,” Molly said. “And she was slow. G-Ma wanted to pass her in the fruit section when we were behind her but felt bad, so we just walked slow awhile.”

  The girl went silent again, taking in the photos. She turned a page.

  Her finger landed on the first picture on the next page: another grocery store patron.

  “He was on his cell phone. He talked loud.”

  Jenna felt rather than saw Saleda making a note on her legal pad next to her. Good. Mr. Too Loud on Cell Phone was a possibility. It was rude to talk on your cell phone in public. But he was also a man, and other than what s
he now thought to be bystanders in the grocery store at the wrong time during the massacre, the Triple Shooter had only killed women.

  She ignored the voice in the back of her head trying to tell her that this was a total shot in the dark. Sure, even if Molly remembered a lot of these things and they could check the potential victims more in depth, it didn’t narrow down the target pool entirely. The girl couldn’t have seen every person in the store or gotten a bead on their habits. But still, something told Jenna that Molly could help. A lot.

  Molly had moved on to a photo on the third line of that same page, which happened to be a photo of Eldred Beasley. She tapped it with her pointer finger. “Mr. Beasley is probably the one you need to be talking to. He has trouble remembering stuff, but doesn’t that maybe mean he’s the one person from the store that day who hasn’t gotten a chance to tell you everything he saw?”

  “We’re in touch with him, Molly. We’ll be interviewing him soon. Thank you for that,” Saleda replied.

  Jenna leaned in, brushed Molly’s shoulder with hers, then winked. “Though, for future reference, it’s always best to either tell your mom or Liam and they’ll contact us or for you to contact us yourself when you remember something like that instead of contacting a stranger. You did a great job, but it helps us do our jobs better if we’re in the loop, and even though Mr. Beasley is a nice man, not everyone involved in cases we tend to lurk around is, you know?”

  Molly smiled sheepishly but nodded her assent. “I’ll call you next time.”

  “Good deal,” Jenna replied. “But back to Mr. Beasley. What do you know about him?”

  The little girl nodded. “He’s a nice man. When he told me he remembered some things, I told him he really needed to call you. I’m glad he did before he forgot to again,” she said thoughtfully, maybe even a little proud of herself in the aftermath of Jenna’s previous slight scolding.

  “Me, too,” Jenna said. For someone so young who probably didn’t yet understand all the ways Alzheimer’s disease could ravage someone’s mind, Molly was quite astute about the effects. No wonder kids and animals were good for people like Eldred Beasley. They were the few with the patience to treat them like they weren’t different. Still, she needed to bring Molly back to the task at hand. “What other pictures on this page?”

  “This man dropped his glasses on the floor. I picked them up for him, and he said thank you.”

  Jenna noted the elderly man with salt and pepper hair Molly had pointed to. Yep. Also in the store. If nothing else, she was consistent.

  They went through the same tedious process for the entire picture book, and Molly never once identified a picture of someone who hadn’t actually been in the grocery store the day of the killings. Armed with a list of about ten people to look at closer—and a lot more of Molly’s thoughts on Eldred Beasley—she and Saleda walked Molly back to the living room.

  Liam and Raine were there, watching some nature show on TV. Liam held the remote control idly in his right hand, a can of soda in his left. His feet were propped on the coffee table. Raine sat on the love seat across from him, both feet on the floor, back straight, hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were on the screen, but her gaze was far away.

  Poor lady. Jenna knew that look all too well. She had the same one anytime she pretended to do something else while she thought of Hank, she was sure.

  “All done,” she said, giving Molly a little push in the small of her back to send her toward her family.

  Molly scampered over and crawled onto the love seat with her mother, eyes on the television. “Is this the cheetah one?”

  “Nope, the crocodiles this time. It’s a good episode, though,” Liam answered, standing. “May I see you ladies out?”

  “Sure, thanks,” Jenna replied. When they reached the door, she turned to shake his hand.

  He obliged, giving a curt smile. “Happy to help.”

  Orange—a lie—flashed in. I’ll bet.

  “Good evening,” Saleda said, also shaking the man’s hand.

  Then they were out the door, and it closed behind them. Since they’d been in the Tylers’ home, the temperature had dropped with the setting sun. Jenna rubbed the goosebumps popping up on her arms.

  “Thoughts?” Jenna asked.

  “Yeah. My thoughts are I need a drink,” Saleda replied.

  31

  The next morning, Jenna rolled over and reached for her cell phone. She did it every morning she wasn’t with Yancy these days, but this time, it was different.

  When she and Saleda left Molly Keegan’s house last night, they’d decided they could both use some rest. With nothing particularly time sensitive on the line, they called it a day and went home. But unlike most other nights, Jenna hadn’t talked to Yancy at all, and she was starting to get worried.

  She breathed out relief when she saw the text message from him.

  Coming over first thing. Need to talk.

  Who cared how he knew she was home. He was okay, and he hadn’t been taken hostage by any psychopathic mothers named Claudia in the last forty-eight hours. That was what mattered.

  Besides, Jenna had this feeling she knew exactly what local Ramey Enquirer field office had informed Yancy of her movements, and it was called Charley.

  She crawled out of bed and threw on a pair of wrinkled black slacks from her dresser and a light blue button-down. The last time she ironed had to have been before they’d moved into the house from the apartment in Florida. She wouldn’t even know where to find an iron if she wanted to. Oh, well. Good thing catching killers wasn’t dependent on a tidy appearance.

  After Jenna had combed her hair into a neat low ponytail, she swiped on some mascara to look a little more awake and headed for the kitchen. As she walked down the hallway, she passed Charley’s room. He was sitting on his bed, restringing his guitar. She poked her head in. “Traitor.”

  He didn’t look up. “One of the pitfalls of living with your little bro all your life.”

  The cameo pink Jenna had seen when she was around eight flashed in. It had been the day her grandmother had told her that she always wanted Jenna to remember to follow her dreams, and something had tickled Jenna’s gut. A sick, worried sense that her grandmother was trying to prepare her for something. A few weeks later, she’d told the whole family she had cancer.

  Jenna blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Charley’s fingers worked at the instrument, but something sparkled in his eyes. “Oh, nothin’. I guess matchmaking’s just part of my charm . . . one of the many services I offer, that sort of thing. Or in this case, maybe I should say making you make up with your match is just one of the many services I offer. I don’t know. Which do you think would sound better in the commercial jingle?”

  Neon lime green flashed in. Mischief.

  “That did not sound anything like an everyday Charley-assesses-his-own-greatness statement, for the record,” Jenna said, ignoring his joke about advertising his own services and instead honing in on the tone of his voice when he’d mentioned the downside of the two of them living in the same house as adults. Despite the playful, devilish green she’d seen following the cameo pink of preparation, the skepticism and foreboding of the pink were the associations that resonated with her most in conjunction with his tone. If she hadn’t known better, she’d think Charley was gearing up to tell her he had plans to move out.

  Surely not. No matter how overbearing and paranoid Charley might think Jenna was or how many speeches he might give her about being overly fearful and not enjoying life to its fullest, he’d always seemed okay with Dad and him living with her and A. Not just okay; he’d been happy. Could he have met someone? Be thinking of moving in with a girl?

  No. Right? She’d have met her. Wouldn’t she have?

  “Color coding’s failing you, Rain Man. I’m not going anywhere,” Charley said, strumming a note on the gu
itar to check it. He looked up. “And yes, I know you’re doing it. You give off some kind of pheromone when it happens . . .”

  “Oh, shut up,” Jenna said, though she smiled. Maybe she was paranoid. After all, he’d moved all the way to Virginia with her and Dad when she’d been offered her job back at the BAU. He wouldn’t have come all this way to just walk away from them without a serious reason, and he’d always been honest with her—almost to a fault. Even if he’d been trying to keep something cryptic from her before now, he’d just reassured her that her random fear based on nothing but a throwaway sentence was unfounded. He didn’t have a reason to keep anything secret from her.

  “Love you,” she said, grinning as she left his room.

  “I know you do. I’m too awesome for you not to,” he called after her in a loud whisper.

  Jenna entered the kitchen to see Yancy, the only outside party in the world who was supposed to be able to find this place. He sat at the table with a strawberry Pop-Tart. Jenna glanced at the clock. Charley must’ve let him in, too. Too early for her dad to be up.

  “Hey, you,” she said as she reached for the coffeepot.

  “Hey,” Yancy said.

  Something about the little side smile he always did looked different today. It was slower to develop, and his eyebrows didn’t lift the same way. But mostly, it was the defeated way his greeting sounded that let her know he was still low from their fight.

  She sat down across from him with her coffee, this time shaking a packet of sugar to its bottom before opening it and dumping it in.

  “Listen, I’m sorry for the other day. I know how bad it sucks for us to have to be so separate when I’m on the job, particularly after working so closely on the case last year. It sucks for me, too,” she said.

  Wow, his eyes looked tired. Bags underneath them, bloodshot. She did miss him. So much.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Yancy said. “I need to talk to you about—”

  “But I am worried,” she cut in. He wasn’t weaseling away from the issue that easily. She’d been a psychiatrist too long to stay silent when she knew something was bothering him. If they didn’t discuss it, they would both let their feelings fester so long they wouldn’t be able to talk about it if they tried.