Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1)

by A Wallace

“Damn,” he mouthed. “Where do you two go from here?”

  “Uh, nowhere, somewhere, I don’t understand the question.”

  “He’s divorcing right, so everything is left open.”

  “Oh, my gawd, Sean, he’s my brother. That’s… just… sick.”

  Murphy shook his finger. “He’s not your brother.”

  She patted her heart. “In here he is and there he will stay.”

  “There’s little room in that heart of yours.”

  “I love my brother. He’s brutal, but I love him.”

  “What do you mean brutal?”

  “He’s honest with me. He doesn’t let me get away with anything. Makes me crazy sometimes. Anyway, I go to breakfast. He gives me a hard time. I come home and you give me a hard time. This isn’t fair.”

  “Why did he give you a hard time?”

  “He doesn’t appreciate my life decisions.”

  “Could you be a little more specific?”

  “No, it’s… it’s…” Charley shook her head unable to lie. “It would bore you.”

  Murphy folded his arms across his chest. “Did you tell him about me?”

  “We work together.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We work well together.” She dropped her head. “You don’t think I’m crazy.”

  “Oh, I think you’re crazy. But a good crazy.”

  Charley huffed and sighed. “You and Jake are alike. Just keep pressing that button. Don’t let up, press, press, press. Stop it, Sean, I already have a Jake. I don’t need two.”

  “I don’t wanna be him.”

  “Good, so quit badgering me.”

  “I’m trying to understand you.”

  Charley waved her hand in the air. “Well… stop it.”

  “No.”

  She flipped her hands. “Jake would say the same thing.” Charley froze and gazed at him. “You assumed I was…” She covered her mouth. “Oh, my gawd.”

  Murphy rubbed his mouth. “Yeah, I did.”

  Charley trembled. “I’m not like that.”

  Murphy covered his eyes. “I know.”

  “How dare you think of me that way.” Charley opened the truck door and slid her feet to the ground. “O’Shea’s.”

  Murphy sighed. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 28

  Sidelined Red Shirt

  Springfield, VA – O’Shea’s Pub

  Tuesday – 14 June - 8:45 PM

  With one elbow propped on the bar, Charley knocked back a shot of bourbon. “Doobie scared the crap outta me today.”

  Murphy tipped his shot glass. “Ahhh.” He slammed the empty glass onto the counter. “Agreed.” He raised his hand motioning to Bart, the bartender, for another round.

  Charley raised her finger. “Give me the usual.”

  “Kentucky bourbon, coming up,” Bart said. “How about you, Murph?”

  Charley leaned her shoulders away from him, her left brow arched.

  “I’ll take another Jack, neat.” Murphy raised his eyebrows. “What?”

  “Bart knows you?”

  “Sure. This is a public bar. You don’t own it.”

  Bart slid the glasses over to them. “Uh, yes, she does, Murph.”

  “Wait… what?”

  With a snarky grin, Charley said, “You better behave or I’ll have you tossed.”

  “That changes everything.”

  “If you two want anything else, signal,” Bart said, strolling away to tend to other customers.

  “Guess you won’t be bringing your…”

  “My what?” Murphy said, taking a sip.

  “Never mind.”

  A man in tight jeans and a red t-shirt tapped Charley’s shoulder. “May I interest you in a drink, pretty lady?”

  Murphy’s chest expanded, he glared. “Move along.”

  “The husband?” The man’s eyes remained on Charley ignoring Murphy’s comment.

  “You should do what he says.” She clicked her mouth and nodded.

  “No harm in trying,” the man said as he walked away.

  Charley waved her hand in front of her nose, an attempt to rid the air of cigarettes, cheap whiskey, and sweat. She blinked repeatedly, covering her nose, avoiding his rank body in need of a shower. “Whew.” She removed her tablet from her satchel, updating the points on the map with the locations of the girls’ abductions. “Now, the grid looks like a checkmark. A sign of things to come?” She put her head back, closing her eyes.

  Murphy swirled his glass of whiskey. “They all fit in the same category: middle-class, educated, live in nice areas.” He took a swig. “The more things are the same, the more different they are.”

  She tilted her head. “What do you think?”

  Murphy held his glass between his palms, spinning it back and forth on the bar. “The girls are artsy, sporty or both. We have basketball, tennis, soccer, and baseball. Art and music. These are active children.”

  “We have a common denominator.” Charley took a drink. “These are well rounded kids. Excellent students. None of them know each other, different schools, and neighborhoods.”

  “Any hunches?” He stared at their reflections in the mirror behind the bar. His brows narrowed as he rubbed his mouth with his fingers, sighing, he switched gears. “Do men approach you a lot?”

  Her head twitched at the unexpected question. “Yes.” She flapped her hand. “I’m still convinced the girls know him. The six degrees of separation theory. Everything and everyone are six points or less within familiarity. The parents have met several times since and there’s no connection between the girls.”

  “Dispels that hypothesis.”

  “The grieving parents. Can you imagine how hard it is for them?”

  “No, I can’t.” He rose from the bar chair. “Excuse me, Char, men’s room.”

  She flipped her hand. “Go.”

  Charley stared into the glass, mulling over details, she wrinkled her nose, winced, and covered it. An arm slid across her shoulders. She turned and leaned back. “What the hell?”

  “Why don’t you ditch Mr. GQ and get yourself a real man?” the red t-shirted man said. “Baby, you don’t want a guy like him.”

  “Really?” She gulped in an effort not to gag. “Why?”

  The man scanned the area. “You haven’t noticed all the women are twisting in their seats digging him.”

  Charley’s eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah, baby.” The man tapped his fingers on the bar. “He’s a collector.”

  “A what?” She pressed against the back of the bar stool to reduce the stench burning her nasal hairs.

  “He collects women, keeps them until he tires of them, and throws them away.”

  “Does he?”

  “Yes, he does.” His sleazy grin revealed yellow teeth.

  Charley leaned further away. “You know him?”

  “No, but I know his type.”

  Charley smirked. “Want me to introduce you?”

  The man invaded her space and licked her cheek. Charley drew her fist and punched him in the ear. The man rocked on his feet before ramming his hand into her hair, twisted her locks into a wad, and yanked back her head.

  “I’m tired of men grabbing my damn hair.” She spit in his face.

  The man attempted to force his mouth onto hers.

  Charley crimped his hair with her left hand, pulled his head back, and rammed her right elbow into his mouth. The man lunged back rubbing his mouth, smearing blood over his chin. His arm recoiled and backhanded her cheek.

  Bart ran to her.

  Charley flipped her hand in the air. “I’ll take care of this.” She pushed the man out into the aisle and hopped from the barstool, bouncing backwards as he wiped blood from his mouth. The target locked, in a smooth three-sixty, she landed a sidekick to his head. “Steel toes.”

  The man careened backwards. He lost his balance and crashed onto a table a split-second after the three patrons rescued their b
eers. They pushed him off their table and laughed.

  He staggered towards her, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna fucking beat the fuck outta you, bitch.” He spit blood onto the floor.

  Charley pulled the corner of her mouth back. “Come and get me.” Her palms skyward she motioned with her fingers.

  He charged, grabbed her arm, and attempted to twist it behind her back. Successful, he crooked his other arm around her neck.

  Charley gurgled a laugh. “I have you where I want you.” She gasped. “Let go.” She pulled at his arm around her neck. “If you don’t I will not be responsible for the results.”

  “Fuck you, bitch.” He wrenched her arm behind her back, trying to wrestle her to the floor.

  Murphy rounded the corner from the restrooms. “Not again.” He sprung forward as she yanked the man’s ears and stomped his foot with the heel of her boot. Charley whipped around, lifted her knee, crashing it into his groin. She grabbed his hair and drilled his nose into her knee.

  Murphy stepped backwards, smiled, and leaned against the wall to watch the man lose his ass and dignity.

  Bent over, his hands clinched his crotch. “Argh.” He grunted and punched her in the stomach.

  “Oof.” She grabbed her abdomen and massaged it. “That’s it. Humph.” She winced. “The lady has left.”

  Blood dripping from his mouth, he said. “You ain’t no lady, you’re a fucking slut. How much you charge?”

  “You’re an idiot. Sluts are free, whores charge.”

  He lunged at her.

  Charley stepped back, stopped, and parted her feet. Her arms by her sides she shook her hands. She cricked her neck and rolled her shoulders. Relaxed and on her toes, she sprang, landing her heel into his face. His head snapped back, bone and cartilage crunched beneath the impact as he staggered backwards, crumpling, and colliding onto the floor.

  Curled into the fetal position upon his side, the man groaned and moaned, writhing in pain and embarrassment.

  Charley stepped to his side. “Allow me to introduce you to my other steel toe.” With her foot dug into his spine, she rolled him onto his stomach. Charley ripped two twist ties from her pocket, stooped, and handcuffed him.

  The patrons cheered as she stood and dusted her hands. She turned to Bart. “Call the locals.”

  “You got it, Charley.”

  Murphy beamed, striding towards her. Bart held a white towel in the air while he strode the bar aisle and without missing a beat tossed it to him. Murphy raised his hand, the cloth landed in his palm. He corralled Charley, his arm around her shoulders he pressed her against him and wiped the blood dribbling from her nose and the corner of her mouth.

  “Thank you.” She panted.

  Murphy gave her a short meaty kiss on the lips as he embraced her. “You’re my hero.”

  As Charley’s arms locked around him, she concluded his kiss was nothing more than congratulations. Uncomfortable, she shimmied away from him, returning to the bar. She gobbled her drink, climbed upon the barstool, and jiggled her glass in the air. “Give me another, Bart.”

  Murphy plunked beside her, smiling. “Remind me not to piss you off, Char.”

  She wiped her mouth. “Give me a second.” She rubbed her eyes and face. “Okay, back to business. What were we talking about?”

  Charley accepted another round from Bart.

  “Uhm, does time of death matter?” Murphy said.

  “For ruling out suspects, alibis, and such. It’s rare for me to ask for the time of death. With what I do, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Ever?”

  “If a murder is committed every Thursday at two-sixteen in the afternoon, yes it matters.”

  “You were right about when the next child would be abducted. It’s the middle of June. We’re bordering on the edge of creepyville.”

  “Too close.” She swirled her bourbon and placed the glass on the counter. Charley removed an item from her pocket.

  “Why do you have Justin’s token?”

  “Token? You consider it a token?”

  “Gift.”

  “Infinity means forever.”

  “Yes it does,” he said, sensing tension.

  Charley propped her elbow onto the bar, raising her hand, she cushioned the bend of her neck with her palm.

  He circled his finger, referencing his neck. “You put your hand over the scar on your neck a lot.”

  She lowered her head, moving it back and forth. Unable to reply, she placed her hand on the faint, fine-lined, translucent scar below the jawbone on the left side. “It’s nothing and old.”

  “I can tell it’s been there a while.” He stretched out his hand. His fingers on her chin about to move her head for a better look, she moved away.

  “Ladies room.” She slid off the stool, crammed Justin’s token inside her pocket, stalking towards the restrooms.

  Murphy kept his eyes on her until she disappeared. Sensitive about the scar, she was defensive. A definite knife wound. He recalled their conversation when she mentioned being lost in the woods. She injured Jake with a knife. Murphy deduced the D2 knife she carried on her belt caused the scar.

  “Something bad happened to her,” he mumbled, as she returned and sat next to him.

  “What?” Charley said.

  “Nothing. Forever, what did it mean to Justin and Robin? Kids have a poor sense of time.”

  “I want to know if they made the promise.” She sipped her whiskey.

  “What promise?”

  Charley crooked her little finger. “The pinky promise.”

  “I haven’t thought of that since I was a kid.”

  “Me either until recently.” Once again, she removed the token from her pocket.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.” She stared at the purple talisman. “But there’s something about this. I get this weird vibe.”

  “What kind?”

  “Nostalgic maybe.” After admiring the symbol, she closed her hand around it as the entrance door slammed. Charley turned her head towards two police officers, who stepped from the foyer, almost tripping over the bleeding man on the floor.

  An officer pointed at the injured man. “Charley’s here, isn’t she?”

  The patrons laughed.

  She raised her hand, waving her fingers. “Hello, Moynihan.”

  “Charley, did you do this?”

  “Yep, you know the drill.” She smiled.

  “Damn, do I need to arrest you for assault?” the other officer said.

  “No, he started it. There are about thirty witnesses. Have at it officers.”

  “You want to press charges?”

  Charley shrugged. “I humiliated him enough. Hold him overnight.”

  “All right. You’re sure?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Murphy’s grunted laughter converted to a snort. “You gotta love this woman.”

  Chapter 29

  Everyone Loves the Ice Cream Man

  Fairfax, VA – Fairfax Justice Center - Task Force Command

  Wednesday, 15 June – 9:06 AM

  The morning news blared from the television while the ice cream man ate his morning breakfast. A slice of toast between his front teeth was forgotten when a photograph of an ice cream truck identical to his appeared on the screen. The newscaster stated authorities were searching for a person of interest connected to Annabelle Grant’s disappearance. Police requested this individual to come forward.

  He choked on his toast and spit it onto his plate. Authorities were seeking him for questioning. Yesterday he worked the zone where Annabelle went missing. He tossed the toast onto the table, gulped his coffee, jumped from the chair, and grabbed his phone and keys. He kissed his wife. “Honey, I need to talk to the police. Don’t worry, everything is okay.” He stole one more kiss on the way out the door to the address given on the screen.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Charley and Murphy gobbled their cranberry bagels on their way to the in
teragency command center. The ice cream man had called the number provided by the news station, informing them he will arrive within the hour.

  Advised the man was in interrogation room two, Murphy trailed alongside Charley. He opened the door, she beckoned thanks while slipping through, and he filed in behind her.

  Classic gray subway wall tile and black and white checkerboard floor tile decorated the barren room. They sat across from the mustached man who folded his hands on the table.

  Charley gave the man an indifferent stare as she opened the folder Doobie handed to them when they arrived. She assessed his overall appearance and demeanor. Average height, pudgy, with grey eyes, his thin lips had an easy smile. Light-brown hair streaked by the sun draped over his forehead. He did not appear nervous or anxious.

  “Your name is Lucas Williams?” Charley said.

  “Yes.”

  Calm, he exhibited no signs of stress around the eyes. Relaxed, his hands were steady, he leaned forward, a sign of attentiveness.

  “I’m Agent Charley Faraday. The gentleman to my right is Agent Sean Murphy. We have a few questions regarding a crime that took place yesterday at Rensselaer Park on Grenadier Drive.”

  “Awful, isn’t it, the little girls? Breaks my heart. I have a three-year-old daughter. I can’t imagine what the parents are going through,” Lucas said. “How can I help?”

  Charley calculated how mournful Mr. Williams appeared. “We’re hoping you can help us. Yesterday, you were in the area where Annabelle Grant disappeared.”

  “I didn’t know about it until a police officer asked me to move my truck. I obliged and gave him an ice cream. I asked him what was going on. He refused to offer any details.” Lucas blinked and sniffed. “I found out it was Annabelle this morning while I watched the news during breakfast and I hauled ass here.”

  Murphy crinkled his brows. “You know Annabelle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual at the park?” Murphy said.

  “No.” Lucas lowered his head, wiping the corner of his eye. “Would you give me a second?”

  They gestured in agreement.

  Lucas removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed his eyes again. “I went to pieces while driving here. She’s a talented little girl. Every time she wins an award for her piano competitions, I give her an ice cream. She’s such a sweet little thing.”