Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1)

by A Wallace

“She’s leery, due to her history. She has trust issues with adults,” Karen said.

  “What about persons of authority?”

  “Annabelle wouldn’t fear police officers, firemen, teachers, people she knows,” Joe said.

  “How about an ice cream man she doesn’t know?” Murphy said.

  Karen shook her head. “She wouldn’t go with anyone she doesn’t know.”

  “To clarify, you noticed no one suspicious or didn’t belong in your neighborhood?”

  “No. We talked about it a lot and nothing was outta place.”

  “May we visit Annabelle’s room? We want to find out who your little girl is and what she loves,” Charley said.

  “I can tell you, she loves her daddy.” Karen smiled at Joe. “You’re welcome to visit her room. It’s the second door on the right, past the bathroom.”

  “Thank you,” Charley said as she and Murphy stood. “Karen, Joe, you’re welcome to come along.”

  “No,” Karen said with a rush of tears. “We don’t want to interfere.”

  “If you change your mind, it’s okay,” Murphy said as the two of them sauntered towards the rear of the house.

  The first room contained a full bath. Charley stepped inside. She crunched her hands under her chin, scrunching her shoulders. “Look at this, it’s so adorable. The border and curtains have teddy bears. That’s so precious.”

  “Char, sometimes I do not understand you.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “You walk into a child’s bathroom and gush, and yet you don’t want children.”

  “So?”

  “I dunno, it seems… well you’d be a great mom. As good as mine.”

  “Your mom is awesome.”

  “Yes she is.”

  “So is your dad, even though it’s like looking into the future.”

  “What?”

  “You’re so much like him. Everything about you two. Same hair, same eyes, and those eyebrows. You’re a cookie cutter of your dad. The right side of his upper lip curls same as yours when he smiles. I love it.”

  Murphy covered his mouth hiding the upturn of his lip.

  Charley moved his hand away from his mouth. “Don’t. It’s endearing. It means you’re happy.”

  “You like it?”

  “Yes, I like it, now stop hiding it.” She dusted his shoulder with her hand. “C’mon, let’s go to Annabelle’s room.”

  The young girl’s room was conventional, clean, and neat with stuffed animals covering her canopy bed. Decorated in yellow, Annabelle’s favorite color, it was bright and feminine. Handmade, yellow gingham curtains with tiebacks covered two large windows overlooking the back lawn. On the walls, posters of famous composers, Mozart, Chopin, and Bach, while on the dresser were busts of Beethoven and Tchaikovsky.

  “I love this little girl, no Beebs.” Murphy laughed, putting on vinyl gloves. “She’s tops in my book.”

  “Tell me about it,” Charley said, doing the same. “She loves her music.”

  Murphy pulled the knob on the center desk drawer.

  “Stop. We can look, not search.”

  His piercing eyes targeted her. “This, coming from the one who lifted hair samples from the Senters’ bathroom.”

  Charley flitted her hand into the air. “That was different. The Grants may not mind, but let’s not.”

  Karen walked into the room, holding two glasses of iced tea. “Here, I brought this for you.”

  “Thanks,” Murphy said.

  “Thank you.” Charley took a sip. “This is delicious.”

  “I put a tad of raspberry flavoring in my tea. Glad you like it. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “You’ve done enough,” Charley said.

  “I’ll take my leave. Search her room if you wish.”

  “Thank you,” they said as Karen left.

  Charley clicked her mouth. “I need some of those drugs they’re taking.”

  Murphy grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “I have permission.” He plundered the drawers of Annabelle’s desk, each one offering little, containing nothing but school supplies and many photographs of her playing a piano. Under some graded school papers, all with excellent marks, he found a yellow folder. Murphy opened it, in the pocket an unfinished musical score written by Annabelle. “Wow, she composed her own songs.”

  Charley nudged by him. “Wow, is right. She knows more about music theory than I do.” Charley slid a handwritten music piece from the folder. Her eyes running across the quavers and crochets, she hummed the notes.

  Murphy stood back, mesmerized by the bob of her head, her hand conducting, as she hummed the harmony. Her soft tone laced with elegance, she presented the delicate tune. She glanced at him and smiled. “What?”

  He could do nothing but stare. His mouth opened and closed. “Would you play your piano for me someday?”

  She returned the sheet music to the binder.

  Murphy placed the folder into the desk. One more file drawer to inspect, he pulled the handle. Resistance. He yanked it several times without success. With a tight grip on the handle, he pulled hard. It released with a whomp, sending Murphy tumbling backwards onto his butt.

  Charley laughed.

  On his back, with the drawer on his stomach, he latched onto her eyes with a smile. She leaned over him grinning. He raised the drawer. “Got it.”

  “Sometimes, you’re too cute.” She put her hand on her hip. “Nothing there except blank sheet music. If the drawer is difficult to open, how did she do it?”

  Murphy tapped his finger on the opposite side of the drawer. “Child safety latch.”

  “Interesting.”

  Murphy’s chin pressed his chest. He smiled and pointed to the interior of the desk. He rose and placed the drawer to the side as he put his arm through the opening. “What do we have here?”

  Attached to the back panel, he spied a shallow tray, inside… a book. He removed it. Plopped on his butt, he crossed his legs, placing the yellow gingham decorated book across his lap. He motioned for Charley to join him. She huddled next to him and peeked inside the opening. “Annabelle is one smart little girl.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “It’s a journal.” Charley scratched her forehead. “This is so wrong, but we have to read it.”

  “Let’s hope there’s a clue. It may tell us whom she talked to, confided in. Someone who wanted information about her and her habits.”

  “Go back three months.”

  Murphy did as she asked. His finger jabbed at a page. “Right here, no name, but she talked to someone about having nightmares.”

  “Someone at school?”

  “No name.”

  “How about a gender?”

  “No, she refers to this person as Star.”

  Charley craned her neck to view the journal. “What else does it say?”

  “A week ago, she talked to Star. This person asked her lots of questions about what she likes to do.”

  “Star may be a child, a girl. Does she say if this person is an adult or a child?”

  “No.”

  “The investigators need to check the school class rolls for a person with the name Star. It could be a first or a last name, a teacher, or nickname. Anything else interesting?”

  “No. Television shows, books, movies she likes. Generic kid stuff.”

  “Put it inside the drawer. I’ll notify forensics to retrieve it.”

  “Will do.”

  Charley stood. “Don’t forget your tea. Let’s drink it before we leave the room.”

  Murphy pushed himself from the floor. “Consider it done.”

  They left the bedroom, to the hallway where they found the Grants on the sofa. Joe had his wife in his arms, stroking her hair, singing into her ear.

  “The Normans could take a few lessons from these two,” Murphy said as the two of them watched from the hallway.

  “For sure.” She reached for his glass. “I’ll take these into the kitchen.” Murphy handed
his to her.

  Behind the Grants, out of their view, Charley placed the glasses into the sink. She glanced towards the living room to ensure they were preoccupied while she read the prescription bottles. She grinned and mumbled, “No wonder they’re doing so well. Wait until they stop taking these. They’re in for an awakening.” Charley placed the two prescriptions of Xanax back where she found them. She returned to the den. “Karen, Joe, has Annabelle mentioned anyone by the name of Star?”

  “No.” Karen’s head remained on her husband’s shoulder.

  “I’ve never heard her mention the name,” Joe said. “Should we?”

  “We believe she spoke with someone by that name, but we haven’t figured out who,” Murphy said.

  Karen and Joe were quiet.

  “Not a common name,” Joe said. “Is it a first or last name?”

  “We don’t know,” Charley said, sliding in front of Murphy.

  “We will see ourselves out,” Murphy said.

  “Thank you, Joe and Karen.” She faced Murphy. “Let’s go.”

  Convinced they had a grasp on Annabelle, the person, the next task; find out whom Annabelle referred to as Star.

  “Sean?” Charley buckled her seatbelt. She grabbed his upper arm with both hands and shook him. “Star, Sean, Star. The DVD we found in Natalie’s room had a gold star on the corner of the cover.”

  The gleam in his eyes increased as Murphy tapped his foot. “Wait, a second. Your adage to Robin at the morgue. Olivia had glow stars on her ceiling. The DVD in Natalie’s room. Now this.”

  “There’s our connection. Stars.” Charley tapped the speaker and phoned Ms. Ingram.

  “Hello.”

  “Ms. Ingram, this is Agent Faraday. The stars on Olivia’s ceiling, where did they come from?”

  Charley waited for the answer.

  “She brought them home from school one day.” Ms. Ingram stalled. “She said a friend gave them to her.”

  “Has she ever mentioned anyone by the name of Star?”

  “Uhm, no. Is it important?”

  “We’ll call you if we need more info,” Charley said. “Thank you, Ms. Ingram.”

  Murphy’s wrist dangled over the steering wheel, he shifted in his seat turning towards her. “Maybe star isn’t a who, but a what.”

  “Besides the kind in the night sky, how many others are there?”

  “I don’t know, but this is a clue.”

  Chapter 31

  Brain Banging

  Lorton, VA – Faraday Farms

  Friday, 17 June - 1:33 PM

  Murphy and Charley sat at the console in silence, studying the available evidence, reports, and images regarding the kidnappings and deaths of the girls. Both accepted responsibility, along with the other investigators, for failing to identify a prime suspect.

  Murphy raised his hand to his mouth and studied Charley’s profile. Certain she had been the prettiest girl in high school. He couldn’t imagine her as the class funny girl. Since meeting her, Charley never displayed comedic behavior. Sarcastic humor on occasion, and a few one-liners, but for her to pull pranks, unbelievable.

  He tried to envision her whirling through the halls overexcited, bursting with uncontrollable laughter, while she planned the next trick to play on a friend. Somewhere along the way, she changed into the complicated result of a woman who stared into the distance, her past a locked door, and moments of longing in her eyes. She’d reach for him and snap her hand away when he wished she would follow through. He wanted to learn the turning point in her life, which he had reason to believe occurred eight years ago.

  His affection for her grew with each passing day, but they couldn’t be anything more than colleagues.

  Rules sucked.

  “First, the good news,” Charley said. “Doobie called before you arrived, Olivia’s abduction location and where the detection dogs lost her scent are different.”

  “How so?”

  “The Cape Cod for sale across the street, contractors stripped the old laminate leaving behind raw wood. Forensics recovered Olivia’s touch DNA from the kitchen counter.”

  “The advances in forensic science are mindboggling. Imagine extracting DNA from a few epithelia, or skin cells. This proves Oliva had been in the house.”

  “It’s hard to keep up sometimes.” Charley bobbed her head with an insightful smile. “The compromised lock on the sliding glass door leading to the kitchen would agree. The real estate agent had a prospective buyer the night before Olivia vanished. An hour before the appointment, the realtor straightened the house. The builders left a mess due to the remodeling. She locked and cleaned the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard.”

  “Who found the lock broken and when?”

  “The real estate agent went to the house to check on the progress of the kitchen counters last week. The contractors hadn’t been there since they stripped the laminate.”

  “Let me guess, no fingerprints.”

  Charley smiled, tapping her fists. “Hang on, there’s more. On the interior of the sliding glass door next to the counter, she spotted a small handprint. Olivia’s.”

  “And?”

  “The smudge alarmed the agent. The sellers don’t have children. Aware of Olivia’s kidnapping, she called the police, and they called the task force.”

  “He lured her into the house.”

  “Possible. On the paper towel holder, forensics found a second set of fingerprints. After running them through Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System (IAFIS), no matches.”

  “He’s never been arrested.” Murphy tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’ll never forget the weird vibes we experienced on our second visit.”

  “Me either.”

  “We better be careful, Char, we may have a hive-mind thing going on between us.” He laughed.

  “That’s one way to view it.” She snickered. “Anyway, we have three dead girls and one missing. There are no personal connections between them. They all existed in different worlds. The abduction locations, let’s review those.”

  Murphy raised his finger into the air, outlining the map points on the overhead screen. “Resembles the letter J.”

  “Remember when I suggested he knew we were in the tree line behind the bowling alley and you disagreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “I reviewed all the photos from the crime scene.” She clicked and enlarged the image. “What is that?”

  “An ice cream truck. Lucas Williams’?”

  “Nope. He was at the baseball park, and I asked. There’s no name on the truck, but there’s a logo of an ice cream sandwich on the side. Lucas’ trucks have… you ready for this… a strawberry ice cream cone.”

  “Okay, so you’re saying the killer was there.”

  “Natalie was in the truck.”

  “I can see another theory coming.”

  “Consider this. After Natalie’s abduction, eight days passed before the discovery of her body.”

  “Olivia, thirteen days.”

  “Robin, he kept her fourteen days before displaying his handiwork. He’s escalating, requiring less time from the time he takes them to when he kills them, which means, he’s becoming comfortable with his behavior.”

  “You expect Annabelle will be found in a matter of days?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any news on the masks?”

  Charley raised her finger. “Good question and presents proof.”

  “Proof?”

  “You betcha. The mask the investigators found in the trashcan, the lab results show the only DNA present belongs to the four girls. The abductor didn’t put it there. Annabelle did. The suspect didn’t know until after he left the scene with her. To return and retrieve it would have been too risky. He had no other option except to leave it.”

  “Annabelle left us evidence.” Murphy stroked his jaw. “How about this? He forced Annabelle to wear the mask, or showed it to her to gain her attention. She sensed the threat and deliber
ately placed the mask into the trashcan. Annabelle is smart. She protected her journal in ways beyond the thought processes of the average child. If she knows how to hide, she knows how to show.”

  Charley’s hand covered her mouth as she shook her head. “The killer used it to snare each child. Annabelle struggled when he grabbed her. While he subdued her, he didn’t see her tossing the mask.” Charley’s eyes widened, revelation sprung as her tone exasperated, “She knew what would happen to her. Annabelle’s an abuse survivor. She would recognize the signs.” Charley snatched her phone from her back pocket. Frantic, she called Doobie.

  “Doobie, the mask, have it tested for residual chemical agents, such as paint thinner.” Charley ended the call.

  “Good thinking.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, she left us valuable evidence. Now we know for sure the same person kidnapped the girls.”

  “Will he make another mask?”

  “I suspect it’s what he uses to hide their identity. If a child wore a mask, most wouldn’t give it a thought. Kids do silly things.”

  “Yeah, the mask made it fun. He lured them using ice cream and a ruse.”

  “He’s operating on a child’s level.” Charley tapped her lips with her index finger. “I want to reanalyze this guy. Something doesn’t fit. You begin.”

  “Let’s start with the basics. He’s Caucasian, twenty-eight to thirty-three years old, and you say he’s white collar, but I don’t.”

  “Your reason?”

  “Statistics indicate half of known child murderers are unemployed, or hold unskilled jobs.”

  “What I find interesting is the distance from the murder and the dumping site. Statistically, most child abductions and murders occur in less than an hour and within two hundred feet. This one is different, abducted, held captive, murdered, and dumped near where they were kidnapped. In cases like this, molestation is the motivator. However, neither of these factors comes into play.”

  “Wherever he holds them is where he kills them. Most of the time the abductor lives near the child. This guy is everywhere.”

  “His job takes him to those places.”

  “Maybe he’s a craftsman, courier, a delivery guy.”

  “Blue collar. I’m convinced he’s isn’t blue collar. You disagree with me and it’s okay. If you had to guess, which child does he live closest to?”