by A Wallace
“Sean, it isn’t necessary.” Her eyes fixed on his. “He kills during a major holiday. The next one isn’t until Labor Day. If he returns that’s when it will happen. Until then he won’t strike. It’s against everything he has ever done.”
“I don’t like this. Tangerine is a part of you. He’s inside you. I don’t want him there.” His fingers tightened on the counter as he pressed further into her.
“Tangerine cannot survive without me. He feeds off me.”
“He owns you, Char. No one should own you but…”
“But what?”
“Uhm… but you. Tangerine is a parasite, but you feed from each other. Your survival depends on it.”
“You’re giving him way too much credit.”
He flipped her nose with his finger. “I’m staying… with you.”
Charley trembled.
“Are you afraid of me?”
She swallowed deep as her eyes searched his. Her voice was soft and weak, “No.”
“You’re shaking.” He stepped back. “I frightened you.”
Charley rubbed her arms. “You didn’t frighten me.”
“I’m sorry, Char, but I have to do this.”
“Let me consider it.”
“Think all you want, Char. I’ve decided.” His shrug, a cue his decision wouldn’t change. He stepped back, grabbed the glasses, and placed them next to the plates. “One thing’s for sure, he’s right on schedule. Fourth of July weekend is coming.”
“He’s seasonal, near a major holiday.” She sat at the bar, bowing her head. “Why my panties?”
Murphy took a drink. “It’s a significant detail, Charley. He’s targeting an intimate garment.”
“He has never left a calling card.”
“The poem, what does it mean?”
Charley took a bite of her sandwich. “I’m not sure.”
“Is it okay for me to check out a pair of your panties?”
“Uhm… okay.” She motioned for him to follow her.
Charley led him into her bedroom to the chest of drawers. She pulled out a pair of her Leavers lace panties and dropped them into his hand.
“They’re all lace, not just the trim.” He glanced at her. “These are pretty and lace is rough and stiff, these aren’t.”
“Now you’ve seen them.” She turned to leave the room, stopped, turning to face him. “Sean, how does he know what type of panties I wear? Has he been in my house? I don’t see how that’s possible. I review the feeds every day. My security hasn’t been compromised.”
Murphy inspected the fine detail of the lace. “Good question. Let’s explore.”
“Where do we start?”
He examined the fine mesh. “These are expensive, but they aren’t durable. Do you throw them away?”
“Yes, after I receive a new shipment.”
“How often is that?”
“Every three months or so. It depends. These aren’t the only ones I wear. I wear others.”
He coiled the garment into his hand. “How about billing, paying for them?”
“I order them online.”
“What about packaging, packing slips, you toss them, right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s possible he went through your trash on pick-up day.”
“Why my panties? Why not something else?”
“Panties are personal. He believes this is sensitive for you.”
“How? How would he know my sensitivities? They’re underwear. I don’t understand the big deal.”
“Not sure, Char. It’s not as if you’re a serial dater. It doesn’t take long to learn that. In the last couple of years, you could’ve spoken with him. He may have asked you to dinner, you declined. Maybe he offended you, and you said something that gave him the ammo he needed.”
“What… I met him in the produce section at the grocery store?”
“Why not?”
“That has happened, but I ignored it.” Frustrated, she returned to her lunch.
He tossed the garment on top of the chest before leaving the room to join her. He sat next to her, clamped the sandwich in his hands filling his mouth with tuna. After swallowing his food, he continued. “Seriously, Char, I’m concerned about this guy and your safety. He knows too much.”
“I agree.”
“Hillary, he didn’t place her in a provocative pose.”
“That’s another thing.” Charley rubbed her jaw. “I say I’m not the target. I’m supposed to know the target.”
“You think so. I don’t.”
“What’s your theory?”
“The panties are the key. I’m telling you, Char, it’s a man thing. Let me explain. There’s something sexy and provocative about a beautiful woman in sensuous undergarments. It turns us on quicker than if she was naked.”
“Every time you see a woman in her bra and panties on a television commercial it’s an instant erection? How do men survive the beach?”
“Not the same.”
“How? A two-piece swimsuit is nothing more than a bra and panties, please explain.”
“Sure, we ogle and drool at the beach. It’s normal. The woman we love, it’s different.” Murphy pointed across the kitchen at the trash compacter. “That’s how he knows.”
Charley gazed at the counter. “Makes sense.”
“Remember, Carmichael said Tangerine used lavender body wash to bathe Hillary. Your scent.”
“Explain how he would know?”
“The trash or he’s been near you.” Murphy eyes widened, he grabbed her shoulder. “Char, Breckenridge. Could he have been Tangerine?”
Charley shook her head. “No, he said I ruined his life. I haven’t affected Tangerine’s. Not yet anyway.”
“We have provocative lace panties, and lavender body wash, definite sexual undertones.”
“Outside his methods, something changed.”
“Whether you want to admit it or not, he’s still a man.”
“I’m aware.” Charley lowered her head. “Panties, poem, panties, poem, tick, tick, tick.”
“I don’t see what the two have in common.”
“Me either. Somehow, they complement each other.”
“They symbolize something.” Murphy chugged his milk.
Charley tapped her finger on the counter. “Possible. The key is in the poem.”
“Nope, it’s all about the panties. Trust me.”
“Panties, poem,” she said, “tick, tick, tick. A clock. Somehow a clock figures into this.”
“It’s time, not a clock,” he said, chomping on his sandwich.
“Why?”
“He wants to take your time.” His index finger pointed at her. “Meaning, your life.”
Charley shook her head hard. “No.”
Murphy cleared his throat. “Where am I sleeping tonight?”
“Guestroom, upstairs.”
“Too far away,” he said, looking at her from the corner of his eye.
“Take it or leave it.” Charley pushed her empty plate away. She slumped over and placed her forehead on the counter. With her fist, she pounded the surface. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?”
“You trust me.” He tousled her hair. “You make the best tuna sandwiches. Uhm, mmm.”
Chapter 36
Revelations
Lorton, VA – Faraday Farms
Saturday, 9 July - 11:00 AM
Ten days had passed since Tangerine’s reappearance.
On Wednesday, three days ago Charley convinced Murphy to return home. After a two-hour confrontation, he relented, objecting to her decision, proclaiming it was a mistake. Not hearing from him, she concluded she had injured his ego and crippled his need to protect her.
Emptiness and sadness lingered in the house after he left. She mulled over if separated couples experienced the same. Charley accepted she missed his helpfulness. Their evenings included making checklists of necessary repairs around the house; a leaky faucet, tighten kitchen cabine
t doors. He had her Volkswagen and Denali serviced and replaced the tires. He cleaned out the storage room in the garage and organized it, labeling containers, and boxes.
The night he begrudgingly went home, she settled into the office to surf the net. Sleepy, she turned out the desk lamp. A glimmer of light shone from overhead, hundreds of glow stars sprinkled the ceiling. Overwhelmed by his actions she released an ecstatic squeal.
He listened.
She missed him being there, his empty chair seemed lonely and unwanted.
The office door flung open, bringing her back to the present.
“Char, I need to talk to you.” Murphy’s swift entrance was jarring.
She directed her hand at his vacant chair. “Sure, sit.”
Murphy shook his head. “Uh huh.” He paced in front of the console. “I kinda stole something of yours. But for a good reason.”
“What?”
“A photograph. I found it in a box in the storage room. It’s a picture of you and your dad when you were little.” He handed her the photo.
She studied the photo and glanced at him. “Why did you take this?”
Murphy swung his finger at the photo. “When was this photo taken?”
“The day my parents died. Why did you take it?”
“First, let me ask you a few questions.”
“Okay.”
“The date?”
“March fifteenth.”
“The ambulance transported your parents to Community Hospital, now the Regional Medical Center.”
“Yes, but—”
Murphy waved his hand for her not to interrupt. “You waited in the lobby of the emergency room. A boy sat next to you.”
“Yes. Sean—”
Murphy shook his hands to tell her to stop. “You had on the same shirt in the picture. Purple, the two bottom buttons were missing. You lost them running home from the school bus. You fell, ripping the knee of your jeans.”
“Sean, how do you—”
“Wait. You and the boy played outside on the hospital grounds. You climbed a tree, played chase, and you tackled him. When you did, you told him he tackles like a girl. In the tree the two of you climbed, you both carved your initials.” He pointed at her. “You lied. You said your name was Abby, short for your middle name Abigail. He told you his name was Alex. The initials you and he engraved were A F and A M.”
Charley stood, exasperated. His words punched her, and shock pushed its way to the forefront of her mind. Bewildered, she couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth, but nothing would come out. Another attempt, the words loosened. “Sean, how—”
“That was us, Char.”
“No way.” She dropped into the chair. “Alex lived in San Diego. You’re from here.”
Murphy shook his head. “No, Char, remember, my parents were Navy doctors. We lived in San Diego. Three years later, we moved to Norfolk.”
“Why were you in Virginia?”
“A wedding. My mom fell while dancing and broke her arm. I’ll tell you something else. I was at the emergency room. Your dad, he needed blood. My dad overheard the nurses talking. He donated his.”
“AB negative. Our rare blood type.” Her eyes wavered, staring at the floor introspective. “But his name was Alex.”
“As a child I went by Alex. I’m Sean Alexander Murphy IV. My parents called me Alex to avoid confusion. My grandfather went by Sean. When I was older I chose Sean.” He waved his arms out to the side. “And, here I am, Abby.”
“But—”
Murphy shook his finger. “Abby and Alex pinky swore to each other. Forever.”
“Infinity.”
Their eyes locked as they spoke simultaneously. “Sideways eight.”
Eyes wide with astonishment, she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my gawd, it was you.”
“I never forgot her. When I found the photograph, I couldn’t believe it. I crammed it into my back pocket. Your unique, emerald green eyes. Our blood type. I checked everything, the tree with the initials. They’re still there. I asked my mom what day she broke her arm. Anyway, the following day we returned to California. I didn’t know your parents died.”
“You moved back to Virginia three years later? If you never forgot me why didn’t you contact me?”
“You never told me your last name or where you lived.” Murphy plopped his hands on the console and leaned towards her. “The name you gave me. Abby. Why did you lie about your name?”
“I’ve never liked my name, so…”
“Does this mean anything to you?”
“Yes, it does. It’s a great memory intertwined into the worst day of my life.”
“That’s not how I want to be remembered.”
“You were my comfort.” She placed her hand over her heart. “Deep inside I knew my parents were dead. You were my distraction, an excellent one. I never forgot. You were a great help that night.”
She handed the photo back to him. “Keep it.” Charley lowered her head. “We were quite the little dumplings weren't we?”
“Dumplings? As in apple dumplings?”
“No, as in dumplings, children. My grandfather called me his little dumpling when I was a young girl. I haven't thought of that in years.”
“Seems sad to me.”
“Why?”
“I dunno, Robin, Olivia and the other girls, dumplings, they were dumped.”
Charley gazed at him, her eyes wistful. “They were someone's dumpling. I was someone's dumpling. My grandfather loved me.”
Not for the first time, Murphy witnessed the sadness in Charley's eyes. Another reminder of all she had lost. “You’re sure you want me to keep the photo?”
“I want you to have it. I have the digital image.”
“Until now, I never understood my obsession with the infinity symbol.”
“Same here.”
Murphy crammed his hands into his pockets. “When Justin gave me the symbol he and Robin made, something clicked.” He knelt in front of her. “We’ve been carrying each other around since we were kids.”
They stared at each other as they contemplated their connection. So many years had passed between those moments at the hospital and this realization. Both had experienced personal tragedies and life-changing mistakes. It wasn’t until they heard the dreaded beeping from the computer they broke eye contact.
“Let me guess.” Her hand clasp the mouse.
Murphy covered her hand with his, shaking his head. He sat on the console. “Not yet. This is serious, significant. This is our time.”
Charley dropped her head. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“You seem sad, or disappointed.”
She shook her head. “Overwhelmed.”
“You never thought of the boy again?”
“I did.” Charley sniffed back the tears. “Every March fifteenth.”
He stood and presented himself. “He’s right here.”
She smiled. “I’m glad he’s here.”
Murphy smiled, viewing the monitor. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Gradually, Charley stood from the chair. “Hold a second, I’m a little rattled over our conversation.”
“Imagine my reaction when I saw the photo. But I said nothing till I checked.”
Her eyes found his. “Sean.” She leaned into him, slipping her arms around him. He returned her embrace.
“Char, I know.”
Chapter 37
Stars and Bananas on the Side, Please
Oakton, VA - Floriano’s Pizza Parlor
Saturday, 9 July - 2:45 PM
Murphy drove into the parking lot of Floriano’s Pizza Parlor. Local law enforcement controlled the traffic and the overabundance of gawkers. The press congregated in a separate location, crowding the barricades and forcing uniformed police to push them away from the cordoned scene.
“Talk to us about Sinclair, Agent Faraday,” a reporter yelled.
Charley clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth as she and Murphy left t
he truck to enter the restaurant.
“Char, they ask the same question every time.” Murphy opened the entrance door for her. “What do they want?”
She nodded a thank you. “Nothing.”
“It has to be something.”
“Someday, Sean, someday.”
Murphy shifted in front of her stepping backwards. “Now, Char.”
Charley shook her head. “Not now.”
Murphy returned to her side. “I will remind you.”
“Figures.”
The quaint restaurant had an Italian atmosphere. On each side of a lengthy, stainless steel counter at the rear, sneeze guards protected the buffets. On the left side of the island, patrons could place an entrée order. Dark wooden chairs pushed underneath red gingham clothed tables. The red and white tiled floor, offset by the white walls, one would expect The Godfather to enter. A jukebox sat to the left of the register by the hallway leading to the restrooms.
Doobie stood at the counter speaking to the chef hat-wearing manager. Doobie turned and gestured to them. “Hey, you two. Here’s the background information. Lydia Edwards, age ten, from Oakton, daughter of William, a minister, and Kathryn, a systems analyst. Lydia, mixed race, has dark brown hair and hazel eyes. The last visual of her, she was walking towards the restrooms.”
“Restroom, again?” Murphy said.
“Guy has a thing for restrooms. She excused herself to wash her hands before she ate.”
“Let me guess,” Charley said. “She vanished.”
“Yep. You’re smarter than you look, Char.”
“Is there an ice cream truck?” Murphy said.
“No ice cream truck this time. Forensics is in the restroom now.”
“Where did she attend school?” Murphy said.
“Claxton Barrow Elementary. Fourth grade.”
“Floriano’s is a favorite hang-out for kids.” Charley eyed the pizza slices under the glass shields.
“The restrooms aren’t viewable from the main dining area. There’s an exit at the end of the corridor. We believe he left with her from there.”