Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1)

by A Wallace

“You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me?”

  “A little girl is dead. More will die.” The table shook with each swing of her leg. Her eyes focused on the table. “I must stop him.”

  “Why did you involve me?”

  “I convinced myself I could trust you,” she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, “but you’re like all the rest. All’s good until it’s necessary to dirty your hands. In a blink, you’re the epitome of the perfect cop.”

  “That isn’t true. You can trust me.”

  “About as much as the chicks you date do.”

  “Keep the personal life out of this.”

  Charley’s condescending laugh pitched into the air. “I bet you want to keep that quiet and snug.”

  Heat migrated up his neck. Murphy tugged on his collar. No way she knows. “Answer me this. Why is this club important?”

  “I didn’t plan this, but it’s the only way. I don’t know if it will work until I request a copy of the blueprints. They may be outdated.” She buried her face into her hands.

  “I’m taking you home.” He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. “Now, let’s go. You’ve had enough.”

  “Leave, Murphy.”

  “My decision.” He clenched her elbow to pull her from the stool.

  Charley wrestled her arm from his grasp, picked up the glass, and licked out the last available drop of bourbon. ”Goodbye, Murphy. I’ll see you when I need another bad day.” She stood, turned, and staggered away from him as she dug into her pocket. The toe of her boot clipped the back of her heel. “Oww.” She stumbled.

  He inched up behind her and snatched the keys dangling from her fingers. She whisked around, swinging. “Give me those.”

  Murphy held them in the air. “Not happening, sweet cheeks.”

  She continued to jump for the keys, bumping into the adjacent table. He swung his arm back, crammed them deep into the right pocket of his jeans, and chuckled. “C’mon, try it.”

  “Is that a dare?” She reached for his pocket.

  He grabbed her hand, picked her up, and slung her over his shoulder headfirst.

  Charley kicked and pounded his back with her fists. “Let me down, you cretin.”

  He smacked her on the butt. “You gotta nice, firm ass, Agent Faraday.” He chuckled.

  “Dammit, Murphy, put me down,” she demanded.

  Entertained by Murphy’s persistence many patrons whooped and hollered as he carried her out of the pub. One yelled, “Been there, done that.”

  Out the door, on their way to his truck, she kicked and punched his lower back with her fists. With each struggle, he smacked her ass.

  “Give it up, Faraday. You’re making a scene.”

  “I’m making a scene? Arrgghh.” The more her feet flailed, the more he laughed. She grabbed his waistband trying to wedge his jeans. Unsuccessful, she rammed her hands into his pants to try the same with his briefs. Surprised, she ripped her hand away and shrieked.

  “Find something you like?” He smirked.

  “Commando? What is wrong with you?”

  “I need the space.” He chuckled. Nearing the truck, he dug for his keys and used the fob to unlock the doors. After opening the passenger side, he slid her into the seat, and secured her with the safety belt through flailing limbs.

  “Give me my keys.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Stop.”

  Charley raised her knees attempting to force him away. With a single grasp of her ankles, he planted her feet onto the floor. Murphy parked his hip on the edge of the seat, facing her. He lashed his finger at her. “I’m not telling you again.” Murphy tweaked her nose.

  She drew back her fist and punched him in the shoulder. “This is kidnapping.”

  He swiped his shoulder with his fingers. “Did you see that gnat?”

  She positioned the ball of her hand to punch him in the nose. “Dammit, Murphy.”

  He grabbed her wrists and locked them on each side of her head. “Behave.”

  “I swear. I’ll kill you in your sleep. I’ll… I’ll… burn your house down.” She writhed against him.

  “Fine, Faraday, you can kill me tomorrow. For now, I’m making sure you live through the night.”

  “If you think I won’t jump out of a moving vehicle, you’re wrong.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” He reached across her, opened his console, and produced a pair of handcuffs. “You see these? If you don’t be good, I will use them.”

  “Into that kinda thing are you?”

  Murphy slapped the handcuff onto her right wrist, then attached it to the granny bar over the passenger window. “Jump out and see what happens.”

  Charley’s slumped in the seat and shivered.

  Murphy slid from the seat, opened the rear passenger door, and grabbed his black leather jacket. The door closed, he returned to cover her. “You’re cold, too much alcohol.”

  Her voice shaky and shallow, she whispered as she wiggled her cuffed wrist. “These aren’t necessary.”

  “I’m not taking any chances. You’re stronger than you look.”

  After a silent drive, he turned into her driveway. Murphy slowed to a stop in front of her garage. He put the truck in park. “Call me tomorrow and I’ll come by and take you to your car.”

  “Thanks, not necessary,” she mumbled as she gazed out the passenger window. “It’s my problem. I’ll take care of it. For now, I wanna crash.”

  “It’s your car.” He sighed. “Faraday, why are you so angry? It has nothing to do with our conversation at O’Shea’s or Charlottesville. This is personal.”

  “Doobie told you about my parents.”

  He nodded.

  She turned her head. “I miss them so much. Sometimes I resent them for dying. I was a kid.” She stared out the window.

  “It couldn’t have been easy.”

  Charley shook her head. “The day Robin’s body was discovered was the anniversary of my parent’s death. I received the message from Doobie while I was visiting their graves.”

  “I made your day worse.”

  “Yes, you did. Mind removing these cuffs so I can go inside the house?”

  Murphy leaned over and removed the handcuffs. “There.” He adjusted into his seat, digging in his pocket, he removed her keys, and handed them to her. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She dropped out of the truck. “I still don’t like you.”

  “Same here.”

  Charley slammed the door.

  Chapter 9

  Stashed

  Lorton, VA – Faraday Farms

  Wednesday, 13 April – 4:15PM

  Charley avoided the FBI satellite office, preferring to work from home, out in the field, or traipsing around the country. The free rein of fieldwork had its advantages, offering latitude.

  Planted on the floor in her home office, she rummaged through the desk drawers, tossing items onto the floor in a frantic quest. “Where is it?”

  She dug deeper into the file drawer. In the far reaches of the bottomless pit, she found the engraved heavy glass beer mug. Charley drifted her finger over the etched lettering, ‘The Library’. A campus bar near the University of Virginia in Charlottesville a place she’ll never forget. That night she experienced the most magnificent dance of her life. She snickered. Unable to recall his face but she remembered his feathered hair draped over his forehead as he leaned against the bar with a beer in his hand. Charley clapped her hands. “Yes.” The precious grail removed, she gripped it tight against her chest.

  She hustled to the master bedroom closet. Across from the door stood a mounted floor-to-ceiling shelving unit on a sliding track system. She slid the monstrous shelf to the left, exposing a steel security door with an electronic locking mechanism. After punching in the code, she opened the door, revealing a large area filled with weapons and memorabilia. Charley advanced to the wall at the far end to a large piano-hinged shadowbox. She grabbed the edge and opened the box as if it we
re a cabinet door. Behind it, embedded into the wall was an oversized fire safe. After inputting the code, she opened the safe. She placed the mug on the top row along with other items, including a lump of bituminous coal, an unused play ticket from Franklin Square Theatre in Philadelphia, a lock of dark hair, one red dice, a Walther PPK handgun, a pinkish-orange conch, a Silver Star military medal, and a one-caret solitaire diamond ring. She picked up the Silver Star and placed it to her lips.

  “I love you, Daddy.” With the medal back in place, she picked up the ring, squeezing it tight in her palm. “I miss you, Momma.” She wiped away a single tear from the corner of her eye.

  Charley’s hand slid to the center shelf and clawed at a white catalog envelope. She pressed the packet, easing it from the safe, clutched the edges and shook the report. “You are the reason I’m so screwed up. You stole everything from me. My innocence, my dignity, my life. I hope you’re rotting in hell.” She crammed the sealed document back into the safe, slammed the door, and locked the lever into place. Charley backed away, dropped to the floor, and crossed her legs. Her elbows on her knees, she buried her face into her hands, and wept.

  Charley pushed the memories away, rolled onto her knees, stood, scuttled from the closet, and returned to her desk.

  Seated in the office chair she gazed at the ceiling. Seven months ago, before she left Charlottesville, Charley swiped the mug from Murphy’s office. Excitement drained from her cheeks, erasing her internal thrill. The significance of the stein was unknown to her. Charley grinned with satisfaction. Pleased she had a piece of him within her grasp.

  She settled her internal success and concentrated on the investigative notes, reviewed crime photos, and scoured autopsy reports. The meager evidence granted nothing further regarding the abduction and death of Robin Senters.

  Charley kept an image of the girl on her phone. Daily, she concentrated on Robin’s face, wishing the child’s eyes would offer a clue.

  Six days ago, three weeks after Robin Senters’ death, Charley attended opening night for the Sunnyvale Sunflowers; a little league softball team for girls. Dedicated in her name, ballpark three was now ‘Robin Senters’ Field’. The girl’s teammates wore purple bands around their left upper arm, embossed with Robin’s name.

  The following day, Charley and Murphy engaged in an intense disagreement at the satellite office. His exuberant and quick-witted personality had gained him new friends. Murphy and his poker pals spent most Wednesday nights around the card table. The men congregated to enjoy the show, convinced Murphy didn’t have a chance against Charley. Greg, Steve, Ted, and Ethan amused by the display snickered and clapped their hands, having some personal ammunition to harass Murphy.

  He believed she slighted him on purpose since she had not informed him of the ceremony.

  Charley’s hands were in the stop position. “I wasn’t aware of the festivities until the last minute.”

  Anger spilled from his lips. “Who told you?”

  “No one. The rec park is on the way to the gym. I saw Robin’s name on a large sign. Curious, I went to check it out.”

  His fingertips dug into his hips. Murphy’s tone became abrasive. “Do you know how to use a phone?”

  She shrugged. “Only on Tuesdays.”

  “Yesterday was Wednesday.”

  “Exactly,” she said, flipping her hand in the air.

  Murphy’s poker pals snickered, a guarantee of more harassment ammo at the next card game.

  The sound of the emergency notification alarm on her cell brought her back to the present.

  Another missing child.

  Olivia Ingram, aged twelve, a sixth grader at Twin Oaks Elementary School, disappeared while rounding the corner to her home after leaving the school bus.

  A photograph emerged on the monitor with a highlighted medical alert specifying the missing girl was diabetic.

  Chapter 10

  Big Yellow Twinkie

  Great Falls, VA – Heritage Hall Estates – Legacy Drive

  Wednesday – April 13 - 5:13 PM

  The heat from the late afternoon sun radiated through Charley’s windshield as she entered the crime scene. The usual mass of law enforcement vehicles sprinkled the landscape. Several yards away, she spotted Murphy’s truck. She eased the Volkswagen behind it, parked, and left the vehicle.

  She scanned the area buzzing with police and emergency vehicles lining both sides of the treeless street. Built during the mid-1980s, most of the modest homes were single-story, with brick or stone facades. Front porches and double car garages upped the prices enough to consider it middle class.

  Murphy approached her. “Doobie’s over there.”

  Her eyes followed his finger to where Doobie stood, jotting in a small flip-top notepad. “Let’s head over, find out what’s happening.”

  As they trotted across the street, Doobie turned and waved. “Over here.”

  Charley noted the bus stop sign next to him. “Hey, Doobie.”

  “Evidence is sparse. We found her bracelet in the front yard of the corner house where Olivia turned to walk home. So far that’s it.”

  “Who verified the bracelet belongs to Olivia?” Murphy said.

  “Fleming. He spoke with her mother, Celeste Ingram,” Doobie said. “She confirmed it’s her daughter’s. She’s a mess.”

  “Who saw the child last?” Charley said.

  “Erin Stokes, a friend of hers. She and Olivia are the only children who use this stop.”

  “Did you talk to her?” Murphy said.

  “Yes, but, she’s twelve. We couldn’t pry much out of her. I want you to talk to the little girl.” Doobie slid his hand over his salt and pepper hair. “You two did well with Justin.”

  “We’ll interview her.”

  “How far away from Olivia’s house was the bracelet found?” Charley said.

  “About two hundred yards.”

  “Any idea at what point she vanished?” Murphy said.

  “Kinda, we used the dogs. They lost her scent in the grass next to the sidewalk where a forensic tech found the bracelet.”

  “Perhaps she lost it due to a scuffle?” Charley said. “No one heard her scream, nothing?”

  “Charley, you don’t understand kids and their behavior leaving the bus. The hellions scream all the way home. It’s normal. Doubtful anyone would be alarmed by a child yelling after leaving the bus.”

  “You’re right. I did the same as a kid. Walk me through the scenario.”

  “Olivia left the bus with Erin. They walked north on the sidewalk toward the Ingram home.” Doobie indicated west. “Erin lives in the two-story house with the stone front and tan siding. She said Olivia turned left at the end of the street toward her home. No one saw her afterwards. Heritage Hall Circle is a cul-de-sac. Olivia is the only child who lives in the circle. A handful of residents were home.”

  “Others verified Olivia was on the bus?” Charley said.

  “We spoke with the bus driver. He told us all buses are equipped with cams. Olivia is on the video sitting with Erin Stokes two rows behind him.”

  Charley glanced at Murphy. “I want to talk with Mrs. Ingram first and afterwards Erin Stokes.”

  “Okay,” Murphy said. “Let’s take the same route as Erin and Olivia.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll talk later, Doobie.”

  Charley and Murphy strode north on the sidewalk, stopping in front of Erin’s home.

  She viewed the perimeter. “The two girls stopped and talked here, then said their goodbyes. The rest of the students were already home.”

  “It’s warm for April. Cooped up all day at school, most kids eat their snack, grab a drink, and go play.” Murphy directed his hand toward the intersection. “Many will head to the playground.”

  “Heritage Park.”

  Fleming and other forensic techs were busy searching for physical evidence. Residents stood on their front lawns or peeked out the windows. Curiosity, fear, and concern marked their faces. Law enforcem
ent controlled the entrance into the community, patrolling on foot and in vehicles.

  They reached the intersection of Heritage Hall Circle and Legacy Drive, Olivia’s last known whereabouts. They turned left and continued to the cul-de-sac.

  Charley identified the evidence marker for the bracelet nestled in the grass about twelve inches from the curb. “Let’s figure out on which wrist she wore the bracelet. Let’s say she wore it on the left, unaware the clasp broke. I’ve lost several that way.”

  “My mom complains about that too, even with necklaces, regardless of how expensive they are.”

  She stood, staring at the evidence marker. “No kidding. I buy chains long enough to slip over my head, I glue the clasp.”

  “Necklace.” He pointed at her chest. “You wear it every day.”

  Charley shrugged. “So.”

  “It’s unusual, a crescent moon with two kids sitting on the edge, holding hands.”

  “You’re observant.” She clasped the charm between her fingers. “Let’s continue. If she wore the bracelet on the left wrist, and the assailant was on her right, he wouldn’t reach in front of her to grab her left hand. If behind her, he would be left-handed.”

  “How do you figure?”

  Charley scooted behind him to demonstrate. “This is assuming Olivia wore the bracelet on her left wrist and he was behind her. The abductor would extend his dominant hand. If left-handed, he would grab her left hand. If right-handed he would grab her right hand.”

  Murphy turned to face her using his hands to exhibit. “If he was in front of her, his left, Olivia’s right, his right, her left. If he’s left-handed that could eliminate right-handed suspects.”

  “It’s a minor detail. I’m left-handed, but I eat and shoot with my right, so it’s not exact, but it gives us something when we interview and interrogate.”

  “Ten percent of the world’s population is left-handed.”

  “And thirty percent of us are mixed.”

  “You mean ambidextrous.”

  “Nope, a misconception.” Charley held out her hands as if balancing something. “A person who is ambidextrous uses the right and left hand equally for any task. Mixed handedness is cross-dominance, where one hand is more efficient than the other with certain motor skills.”