Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1)

by A Wallace

  Charley detected he spoke of Annabelle in the present tense.

  More tears formed in Lucas’ eyes. “I’m just the ice cream guy, but getting attached to these kids in the neighborhoods is easy. They’re like an extension of my family. I go to the ball fields while they’re playing little league and watch their games. I’ve been part of their birthday parties. I’m watching them grow up.”

  “It’s disturbing. Did you see anyone with a mask?” Charley said.

  “A mask? Like a ski mask? In this heat?”

  “Not a ski mask, a masquerade mask,” Murphy said.

  “No, that’d be just weird.”

  “I have a few historical questions, Mr. Williams,” Charley said.

  “Sure, you mean like where I was on a certain day? That kinda history?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I use my cell phone to jog my memory? I maintain a work log.”

  “Sure. Where were you on Monday, the fourteenth of March?”

  Lucas removed his phone from his shirt pocket and placed it on the table. “I don’t even have to look. The company makes ice cream desserts and cakes. We had an order obligation of over a hundred and fifty desserts for St. Patrick’s Day. We worked eight-hour shifts around the clock to meet the deadline.”

  “Why?” Charley said.

  “A freezer died on us that afternoon. We were hustling, moving the contents from one freezer to the other. I called in an emergency repair with the company who does all our heavy appliance maintenance, which costs a damn fortune. The technician arrived around six that evening. Freezer was history. Nothing would bring it back to life. Those things are expensive.”

  “A freezer is expensive?” Murphy said. “I bought my chest freezer for around four hundred bucks.”

  “A walk-in freezer.” Lucas grinned. “They cost a little more.”

  “Ice cream company? I thought it was only a truck?”

  “It’s a good size business, year round. I have fifteen trucks and forty-two employees,” Lucas said.

  “For ice cream?”

  “We make our own ice cream, cold desserts, such as ice cream cakes for area restaurants. We’re the only one around that makes Baked Alaska. We do specialty work for weddings, birthdays, whatever. It’s a year round business. We don’t drive around for four months ringing a bell. That’s a small part of it.”

  Surprised, Charley said, “Go on.”

  “About five years ago, my dad made a proposal to all the independent ice cream guys. He’d buy them out, and they’d work for him. Some took the offer. Today, those guys are still company employees making ten times the income they did with their trucks.”

  “Are you saying you own every ice cream truck in the area?” Murphy said.

  “No, there’re other independent trucks. Most of them buy their ice cream from me. But we’re the only one of its kind.” Lucas squinted and tapped his chin. “Wait, there’s a new one… I saw him last month. I tried to talk to him, but he got into his truck and left before I had a chance.”

  “If we spoke with the company who repaired the freezer, would they verify the information you’ve given us?” Charley said.

  “They sure would.” Lucas removed a pocketsize flip top spiral notebook and a pen. He scribbled and handed the torn sheet to Charley. “The work order will show how long the work took. I have to sign for the technician’s hours so they won’t cheat on their overtime.”

  Charley pointed at the notebook. “What’s that?”

  “I write stuff while on my runs. So I won’t forget anything.”

  Charley held out her hand. “May I see it?”

  Lucas handed her the flip-top. Going through it, she found an interesting piece of information. “You were on Statler Avenue on Saturday the fourteenth of May. It’s behind Lawson’s Bowling Alley.”

  “A baseball field. Yeah, I was there, Pee-Wee league tournament. Funny, they call it a tourney, but all the kids get trophies. Competition is a dying art.” Lucas pointed at Charley. “That’s where I saw the independent ice cream guy. He was a strange looking fellow.”

  Murphy ears perked. “How so?”

  “He had the weirdest hair I’ve ever seen. Black, I mean black. To his shoulders. Shiny, but wiry, fuzzy looking. Hard to describe. His mustache was light brown, strange, considering his hair color. He had on those cheap sunglasses. The ones with the neon earpieces. Lime green.”

  Charley and Murphy eyed each other.

  “What was he wearing?”

  “That’s another thing.” Lucas shook his index finger. “He wasn’t wearing the traditional white uniform. He had on blue-jeans and a…” Lucas rubbed his chin. “His shirt… yellow, odd color for a man.”

  Murphy grunted. “I wear yellow.”

  “As big as you are, you can wear whatever color you want. I won’t argue with you.” Lucas grinned. “You’re about as intimidating as they come.”

  Charley snickered, glancing at Murphy her thumb pointed in his direction. “Him?”

  “You don’t find him a little scary? He’s a big guy. I don’t mean fat either. Damn, he’s tall… and,” Lucas waved his hands around his torso, “he’s built.” Lucas rose from his seat and leaned over the table. “How many six-packs you got in there?” He laughed, returning to his seat.

  “He’s about as intimidating as a panda,” Charley said.

  “Pandas are cute.” Murphy grinned, removing his cell from his pocket. He stood and walked to the other side of the room.

  Charley regained eye contact with Lucas. “Is there anything else you can tell us about him?”

  “He was a small man, skinny, about yeigh high, around five-six maybe eight. Shorter than me. I’m five ten.” Lucas leaned back on the metal folding chair. “Oh, shit, I get it now. The other little girl disappeared at the bowling alley.”

  Murphy stepped behind Charley, tapping her on the shoulder. “I called the refrigeration company. They verified the repair.” Murphy sat and reclined against the chair.

  “Good.”

  Lucas displayed a hint of fear. “You don’t think I did this, do you? I would never hurt a child. I have a seven-year-old son, a three-year-old daughter, and one on the way. I love these neighborhood kids. It’s because of them I won’t stop driving the truck.”

  “Mr. Williams, you aren’t a suspect, but a possible witness. We don’t believe you’re involved. Relax. Your information is valuable. We will use it to find who’s responsible for the deaths and kidnappings of the little girls,” Charley said.

  “My heart breaks for them.” Lucas’ lower lip quivered. “I know Annabelle, but not the others. I bet the other drivers do. I’ll ask them and find out for you. Is that okay?”

  “I would prefer the investigators talk with your employees.”

  “If any of them did this, I’ll kill ’em myself, no problem. Come to my business, unannounced if you wish, talk to them. I can’t believe any of them would do this. I’ve known most of them for years, even back to when I was a teenager.”

  “These types of killers have a tendency to hide in plain sight,” Murphy said.

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “Mr. Williams, I’d like to ask a favor of you?” Charley said.

  “Ask away.”

  “If you see the independent ice-cream truck again, would you call the authorities?” Charley scribbled the number on the flip-top cover. “Do not approach or engage him. Get the license plate number, take a picture with your cell phone anything, but do not engage him.”

  “Can I follow him?”

  “No. Do not do that,” Murphy said. “Let’s not tip the guy. Give him a reason to go underground.”

  “I’m not gonna let some piece of shit child-killer get away. I’ll do it with or without your permission.” Lucas slammed his fist on the table. “I’ll tell my employees to do the same.”

  “Please, don’t. Not until all of them are cleared.”

  Lucas slumped back his seat and rubbed his mustache. “That make
s sense.”

  “Mr. Williams, we both understand your frustration, but your safety and life are important. Do nothing that could place you or your employees in danger,” Murphy said.

  Lucas rubbed his face with his hands. “All right, but if I see this prick, I’m not gonna be responsible for my actions.”

  “Stop and think,” Charley said. “We aren’t sure if he is the subject. Let us do our job.”

  Lucas glanced at both them. “Okay, I’ll do as you ask.”

  Charley tipped her head. “Thank you, and the info you’ve given us is valuable. You’re free to go.”

  “I’m not ready.” Lucas raised his index finger. “There’s one more thing.”

  “What would that be?” Murphy said.

  Lucas grinned at Charley. “Agent Faraday, I’m disappointed. I’ve sat through this whole interview waiting for you to recognize me.”

  “How do you know me?”

  “We graduated from high school together.”

  “We did?” She studied his face, reducing ten years of aging. “You’re, Louie? But it says here your name is Lucas.”

  Murphy’s shoulders pulled back. Finally, a piece of the past she couldn’t control. Opportunity knocked, and it was loud.

  She flopped back onto her chair, bewildered. “Marching band, you played trumpet.”

  “Everybody called me Louie because of Louie Armstrong. I was never good.” Lucas leaned over the table, grinned, and wagged his finger at Charley. “You were the class clown and the prankster.” Lucas chuckled. “You pulled a few.”

  Murphy raised his hands, palms outward. “Wait.” He pointed at Charley. “This lady, the class clown. For real?”

  Lucas laughed loud. “She was a riot.”

  Murphy put his elbow on the table, propped his jaw with the palm of his hand, staring at Charley. “Care to share?”

  “We all grow up sometime.” She turned her attention to Lucas. “You own the ice cream company?”

  Lucas laughed. “Dad was the CEO, he retired a few years ago. He turned the ice cream business over to us.”

  “Us?” Murphy said.

  “Me and my wife.”

  “Her name?”

  “Before we married her name was Jeannie Ainsler,” Lucas said, eyeing Charley.

  Charley’s mouth opened with a huge smile. “Jeannie Ainsler?”

  “The one and only.” Lucas grinned. “We married when we were twenty.” His eyes darted to Murphy. “Jeannie was cheerleading captain. Who would’ve dreamed I’d end up with her?”

  “Jeannie was so pretty, long dark hair to her waist, beautiful blue eyes. Smart too. We had honors classes together.”

  “Yeah, but, Charley, none of the gals were ever you.”

  Murphy leaned in a little closer. “I gotta hear this.”

  Lucas wagged his finger at Charley. “This little lady, the prettiest gal in the school. All of us guys had the super hots for her.”

  “Really?” Murphy said.

  Charley’s cheeks blazed. “How is Jeannie? I’d love to see her.”

  “Man, did I get lucky. Even though we married and had our first child darn quick, she still finished med school at Georgetown.”

  “What area of medicine does she practice?”

  “She’s a trauma surgeon. Fancy term for she works in the emergency room.”

  “I don’t doubt she flew through med school. She was brilliant.”

  “I’m proud of her. There’s few who could juggle her responsibilities and still meet all her goals.”

  “Please say hello for me.”

  “I will.”

  “We’re done here. I’ll have Agent Dubuclet contact you to arrange for the investigators to talk with your employees.”

  “Hey, whatever you cops need. If I or any of my employees can help, we’re there.”

  “We appreciate it.” Murphy gave Charley the side eye.

  On his way out the door, Lucas turned and said, “Oh, Charley, how’s your aunt?”

  Charley rubbed her mouth with her fingers. “Aunt Bev died a few years ago. Thanks for asking.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I managed.”

  Lucas left the interrogation room while Murphy and Charley remained.

  “Aunt?” Murphy said.

  “Yes”.

  “You’ve never mentioned an aunt.”

  Charley shrugged.

  “That’s my cue to back off, isn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “Class clown, eh? Hard to believe.”

  “I was a kid once.”

  “What changed?”

  “Reality.”

  Chapter 30

  Quasipsuedo

  Burke, VA - Grant Home

  Wednesday, 15 June – 4:08 PM

  Joseph Grant led Charley and Murphy into a large living room with tan walls and beige Berber carpet. The large bay window emulated a framed painting, showing a perfect view of Rensselaer Park. Children scurried around, playing on the swings, and dipping their toes into the fountain as the water sprayed over them. Charley and Murphy stared out the window, then at each other.

  “Yesterday…” Charley shook her head.

  “Yeah,” Murphy said.

  “Like it never happened.”

  To the rear of the home, the large kitchen/dining room featured double French doors to the backyard. On the counter were several prescription bottles.

  Two sofas faced one another in the open design living room Charley and Murphy sat across from the Grants. Mrs. Grant clung to her husband, while he caressed her hand. This natural reaction expected, but a recent event proved comfort evolved into a fistfight. Charley and Murphy braced themselves for the possibility of grief-stricken parents turning into pugilists.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Grant, Agent Faraday and I thank you for speaking with us. Do either of you object to recording this interview?”

  “Please, Agent Murphy, call me Joe.” Mr. Grant placed his arm around his wife, resting his forehead on her hair. “This is my wife, Karen.” His watery red eyes diverted back to them. “Do what you have to do.”

  Karen’s soft gray eyes pooled.

  “It’s our understanding, Annabelle is a talented pianist?” Charley said.

  “She’s a natural,” Joe said, staring at the floor.

  Charley leaned forward. “How old was Annabelle when she began her music training?”

  “Four.” Karen sniffed, wiping her nose with a tissue. “She played before she could read.”

  “At first it was hard. We couldn’t afford a piano, but the neighbor had one. She let Annabelle practice every day, sometimes for hours,” Joe looked left, wiping his eyes.

  “A generous neighbor,” Murphy said with an approving smile.

  “She was. Mrs. Connors played for her church for over sixty years. One of the last things she did before she died was gift Annabelle her upright piano.” Joe pointed at the Steinway vintage piano.

  Charley looked over her right shoulder. “What a fine piece. Those were the warhorses of pianos. 1915?”

  “Yes.” Karen said. “You play, Agent Faraday?”

  “I don’t have your daughter’s talent,” Charley said, careful to speak of Annabelle in the present tense, not only was it considerate, but it eased emotional trauma and stress.

  Karen focused on the piano, and whispered, “Thank you for asking, no one else bothered.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Murphy noted Karen appeared distracted. “Some of the questions may seem repetitive, but it gives the two of us a different perspective which can be beneficial.”

  “We don’t mind. Ask us anything,” Joe said.

  “The two of you were sitting on your front porch while Annabelle played across the street in the park?”

  “She went into the grove after the ball for the other children, but she never came out. At first, we weren’t alarmed, but when the ball flew out of the trees, we knew something was wrong. There’s no way she cou
ld kick or throw a ball that hard.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “We dashed over there. Called her name many times, so did everyone else. That’s when panic hit. I called the police,” Karen said.

  “How long was it from the time Annabelle went into the trees until you called the police?”

  Joe wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Less than five minutes.”

  “She loves the gazebo. It’s been there about three months.” Karen wiped the corners of her eyes.

  Charley laid her hand on Murphy’s forearm, her cue. “The two of you seem calm.”

  The parents regarded each other and gestured in agreement. “Our doctors medicated us to ease our anxiety. Neither of us was doing well.” Joe hugged his wife. “He hospitalized Karen overnight. We arrived home this morning.”

  Charley patted Murphy’s forearm once, the signal to continue.

  “We should’ve been with her. We knew about the other girls, but as you’ve heard before, we never thought it would happen to Annabelle. She’s such an unassuming child.” Karen lowered her head and whimpered.

  “What do you mean unassuming?” Murphy said.

  “She’s a quiet, easy going. Annabelle is adopted.”

  This detail wasn’t in the case report.

  Murphy smiled. “When she was a baby?”

  “We adopted her from the state when she was four,” Joe said.

  “She was a foster child?”

  “Yes, and in the worst way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Annabelle experienced severe physical abuse as a child, sexually molested by her birth mother’s boyfriend. It was horrible. If you want to contact child services, they’ll give you the full story. If you don’t mind, I prefer to not say much more, it hurts too much.” Karen grasped the button-line of her shirt.

  Charley covered her mouth swallowing hard as she and Murphy studied Annabelle’s school portraits hanging on the wall.

  “I love my little girl.” Tears soaked Joe’s cheeks. “She’s my baby. I look at her and my heart, well, I’m not sure how to explain it. As the old saying goes, my baby girl is the apple of my eye.”

  “Good to hear,” Charley said.

  “How would Annabelle respond to strangers?” Murphy said.