Don't Ever Forget (Adler and Dwyer)

by Matthew Farrell

  Tick . . . tick . . . tick.

  James yanked until the cord released from the wall and watched as the display went blank.

  “I’ll kill it!”

  He threw the clock against the tiled floor as hard as he could, listening as it shattered into tiny plastic pieces. The room fell silent but for the movie that continued to play on the television. James glared at the woman who was watching him, her mouth agape, the picture still in her hand.

  “Her name is Sonia,” she said calmly. “Does that ring a bell? Sonia?”

  “No,” James snapped, his chest rising and falling, his breath heavy. “It doesn’t ring a goddamned bell.”

  Cindy put Sonia’s picture back in its pocket and closed the book. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s this disease. It’s taking your life away from you, piece by piece. I’m just trying to trigger something you can recognize from your past. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I know.”

  She got up and left the book behind. “I’m going to leave this here. Look through it and see if anything sparks a memory. You wanted a piece of your past with you. Now you have something.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be down later, and we’ll clean that up. If you need anything in the meantime, just holler.”

  “Can we go outside? I need some air.”

  “We can’t. It’s raining.”

  “I love you.”

  He didn’t know where those words came from. He’d meant to say goodbye. She smiled and tapped her heart with her hand, then turned to leave. When he heard the basement door close and her footsteps cross the floor above him, he wheeled over to the table and picked up the photo album. He paged through it, the names she’d told him already fading as he asked himself the same question over and over.

  Who are these people?

  28

  Susan stumbled through the front door feeling the weight of the day on her shoulders. The rest of the afternoon had been spent extracting Rebecca’s body from the trunk of her car and transporting it back to the medical examiner’s office in New York. They put the car on a flatbed and towed it to the forensics lab to be further analyzed with the proper equipment. Statements had been taken, and a general canvassing of the area around that section of the lake had been executed until it got too dark to work. It was the break in the case she’d been hoping for, but at this point, there were still more questions than answers.

  Susan dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes, leaving both items at the foot of the coatrack. The house was quiet. No kids. Just the TV in the living room playing to an audience of empty chairs and an abandoned couch.

  Beatrice was at the kitchen table, a bottle of beer in front of her. Susan leaned against the wall near the refrigerator.

  “Looks like you might’ve had a worse day than I did. Where are the twins?”

  “In their rooms. I sent Tim up right after dinner. Casey decided to follow. We had an incident today.”

  Susan joined her mother at the table. “What happened?”

  “I took them to the park,” her mother began. “It was chilly, but the sun was shining, and I figured it would be good to get them some fresh air for a few hours. When we got to the playground, everything was fine. Casey was with a group of kids they know from school, and Tim was off by himself going up and down on the slide. I start reading my book, and the next thing I know, I hear screaming. I look up and I see Tim on top of another boy, and he’s hitting him over and over. Me and another mom rush over and pull Tim off, but Tim has this look in his eyes. This blank look like he doesn’t even know where he is. I finally snap him out of it, and he collapses into me and starts crying.”

  “Oh my god,” Susan muttered. Her heart was shattering with every word her mother said.

  This is your fault.

  “I smoothed things over with the other boy’s mom, and I called just before dinner to make sure everything was still okay. Luckily, they’re only six, so Tim couldn’t do much damage. Turns out the other boy, I forget his name, was more scared than anything else, and by the time I called, it sounded like the entire thing had been forgotten. I thought the mom might be upset, but apparently she has three older kids and had been down this road a few times already.”

  Tears welled in Susan’s eyes. “Did Tim say why he attacked the other kid?”

  “He said the other boy was going to hurt Casey, but when I asked Casey about it, she said they were just playing tag. Maybe Tim saw him chasing her, and he reacted?” Beatrice took a sip of her beer. “I told him that’s not the way we react to things, but to be honest, I think he already realized that on his own. He kept saying how sorry he was for the rest of the day. I made him go to bed after dinner. I felt like we needed to set some boundaries when it comes to fighting and the like. Hope I wasn’t overstepping.”

  “Not at all,” Susan replied. “You did the right thing. I wish you’d called.”

  “What good would that have done?” Beatrice asked, her voice no more than a resigned whisper. “I had it handled, and you were working. No need to bother you.”

  “Still, these kids are my responsibility. Things could’ve gone sideways if the other parent wasn’t so understanding.”

  “These kids are our responsibility. I got your back, lady.”

  Susan climbed out of her chair and kissed her mother on the top of her head.

  “Dinner’s in the microwave.”

  “I’m going to go see Tim first. I think we need to talk.”

  For a moment she thought her son was asleep. He was lying in his bed, the covers pulled up to his chin, the lights out, no noise. But as soon as Susan started to close the door, he sat up.

  “Mommy?”

  “Hey, buddy,” she said as she stepped into the room, leaving the light off. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

  “I heard you come home, but Grandma made me stay up here.”

  “I know. She told me about what happened at the park today. You wanna talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “I think we have to.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. It makes me feel bad.”

  “Because you were hurting that boy?”

  Tim nodded in the darkness. “I thought he was going to hurt Casey. I didn’t know they were playing tag. I just wanted him to stop chasing her. I’ll tell him I’m sorry in school, I promise. I feel bad that I made him cry.”

  Susan didn’t know what to say. She sat on the edge of her son’s bed and hugged him, running her fingers through his thick mop of hair.

  You did this. All of it. You’re away from your kids for hours at a time right at the age they need you the most. You should be guiding them and building their sense of self, but instead you’re inviting evil into your home and putting their lives in danger. What kind of mother are you? What kind of protector?

  “We’ll get you all better,” Susan whispered, not knowing what else to say.

  “I’m glad you’re home.”

  “Me too.” She pulled away and looked at Tim. “Do you like it here?” she asked. “Do you like our house?”

  Tim shrugged. “I guess.”

  She was afraid to push him with more pointed questions. She wanted to ask if he thought about what happened the night the bad man came for them. She wanted to ask what he thought about every time he came downstairs and saw the spot where the bad man died. She wanted to ask him if he cowered under the covers at night for fear the bad man would be standing in his bedroom doorway, silhouetted by the hallway light, watching him sleep, ready to take him. She wanted to ask all of that but knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t trigger the memories again. She had to let the psychiatrist do what he was trained to do, not interfere. She had to tread lightly.

  Susan kissed Tim on the forehead and helped him get back under his covers. “We don’t hit others, okay? Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Go to bed, and I’ll see you in the morning. When you wake up, we’ll forge
t this happened, but we won’t forget our rule.”

  “No hitting others.”

  “That’s right.” She stood up, wanting so badly to curl up next to him and listen as he fell asleep. “I’m going to go kiss your sister. I’ll see you later.”

  “I love you, Mommy.”

  “I love you, too, honey. More than you can ever know.”

  29

  The man came down the basement stairs holding a six-pack of beer in one hand and a bag of chips in another. James watched as he made his way to the bottom landing.

  “I brought you something to snack on,” the man said, walking into the living room area and placing the chips on the table. “Pabst Blue Ribbon and Utz potato chips. Your favorites.”

  “They are?”

  “They are.”

  The man snapped a can from the pack and placed the beer down next to the chips. He took the remaining five cans and put them in the refrigerator by the television. When he turned back around, he saw that the pictures from the photo album were scattered on the couch. The album itself was on the floor by the table.

  “You messed up all the pictures?”

  James looked at the photos on the couch but said nothing.

  The man smiled and shrugged. “I’ll tell you the truth: I really don’t care, but she gets pretty sensitive when it comes to these. The last thing you wanna do is start tossing them on the floor and taking them out of the album. She’s been known to have a bit of a temper, and you don’t want in on her bad side.”

  James watched as the man bent down and snatched the album from the floor. He sat on the couch and began gathering the pictures. James rolled over next to him.

  “I didn’t make that mess.”

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I believe you.”

  The man stopped when he got to the photograph of the little girl in blonde pigtails. The two red ribbons seemed to shine right through despite the age of the photo. James looked, too, focusing on the girl’s blouse, the tiny blue flowers scattered against the white fabric. The butterfly collar.

  “Sonia.”

  He said the name softly, without really thinking about it. It just came.

  The man looked at him. “What did you say?”

  “Sonia. Her name is Sonia.”

  “That’s right.” He tapped the picture with his finger. “You remembered.”

  “I guess I did.”

  The man got up out of his seat and walked to the bottom landing. “Cindy! Hey, Cindy! Come down here a sec. Hurry up!”

  James listened as footsteps thumped above him, then came down the stairs. The woman—Cindy—looked uneasy.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  The man handed her the picture of the girl in blonde pigtails. “Our boy here remembered Sonia’s name.”

  Cindy took the picture and walked over to James. She sat on the couch and held up the photograph. “You remember her?”

  “Her name is Sonia.”

  “That’s right. What can you tell me about her?”

  James shrugged. “I just know her name. You told me her name was Sonia, and I remembered.”

  “But what do you remember about her?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Think. Look at the picture and think.”

  He wanted to make something up just to satisfy them. They were both looking on with such anticipation, but he knew Cindy would recognize a lie. His mind began to cloud, just a thin line of smoke for now, but the fog was forming. “I don’t know her. You told me her name, and I remembered.”

  “Look at her face. You knew her. She knew you. Come on—you can do it. You can remember.”

  “I can’t. You told me her name so—”

  “Just do it!”

  It was the first time Cindy had raised her voice to him. Or maybe it wasn’t. They sat in the strained silence, the man standing in the background watching them both.

  “I’m sorry,” James whispered. Fear crept up the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” the man replied.

  Cindy got up from the couch and snatched the photo album off the couch. She stuffed the picture back inside, and for reasons James didn’t fully understand, he closed his eyes and braced for her to hit him.

  “You said yourself that you can’t force it,” he heard the man say.

  “I know,” Cindy replied. “But we need to start making progress at some point. We’re running out of time.” The photo album hit the coffee table with a thud. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. James opened his eyes when the basement door slammed shut. The man was still standing there.

  “I told you she could get pretty sensitive,” he said. “You remember me telling you that?”

  “Yes.”

  The man lowered his voice. “Good. Don’t ever forget that.”

  30

  Dr. Emily Nestor led the way down the long corridor that connected the lobby of the medical examiner’s office to the autopsy rooms. Susan followed behind her, a trip she’d taken more times than she could count. When they opened the door, the familiar scent of pine air freshener met her, always trying to mask the smell of blood and always unsuccessful in doing so. The very essence of what they did here—the autopsies and examinations—had seeped into the walls over time, becoming as much a part of the building as the mortar in between each brick or the wiring that snaked from floor to floor. Nothing would ever truly hide the scent. Nothing ever could.

  Rebecca Hill’s body had been placed on one of the two stainless steel tables that were bolted to the floor in the center of the room. She was faceup, a blue sheet covering her. It was easier to see the details of her features now that she was out of the trunk and somewhat dry. Her face was swollen and bruised. One eye was larger than the other, and her lips were double the size they should’ve been. There were a few large lumps on her forehead as well as one just below the left cheek. Dr. Nestor grabbed a file from her desk and stood on the opposite side of the table.

  “Autopsy is scheduled for either later today or first thing tomorrow,” she said, opening the file. “I’m still finishing with the report on the trooper.”

  “They tapped you for that?”

  “They did.”

  Susan pointed to Rebecca’s body. “Did you do a once-over?”

  “Yeah, when she came in. As you can see, she took a pretty good beating, but she was strangled to death. Dead prior to being placed in the trunk.”

  “You got a TOD?”

  “Hard to be super exact with her body having been submerged, but judging from what I see, and the state of rigor, I’d say she was killed about two days ago. Coincides with her body being in the trunk when the trooper pulled her car over. Once I get a look at the organs and see how the blood settled, I can confirm.”

  “But you’re sure about the strangulation.”

  Dr. Nestor nodded. “It’s the only COD I can find. No stab wounds. No bullet wounds. She has bruising on her neck that coincides with fingers exerting intense pressure. There’s also evidence of petechial hemorrhages, which is another sign of strangulation. Plus, we have the bloodshot eyes, and from what I can feel superficially, it appears her hyoid bone has been fractured. But again, I’ll confirm everything during the autopsy.”

  Susan pulled the sheet down Rebecca’s body. “Any other signs of trauma besides the face?”

  “Lump on the back of her head matches up with what I read in the report about the blood you found on the wall at James Darville’s house. She’s type A, which also matches, so our perp probably slammed her against the wall hard enough to leave the lump and cut. He beat her up and strangled her. I’d say he gained control quickly. No defensive wounds. It doesn’t look like she put up much of a fight. Maybe caught her by surprise. Knocked her unconscious.”

  “Any skin in the fingernails? Did she scratch him?”

  “Not that I could see.”

  Susan covered Rebecca’s body. “Anything with the two
teeth we found?”

  “Sent them both up for a DNA screen and general analysis. They’re not our victim’s here. I can tell you that for sure. She has all her teeth intact, and no prosthetics.”

  “Maybe James Darville’s?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Dr. Nestor walked back over to her desk. She closed the file and placed it in the cabinet that held her examination reports and then picked up a plastic bag. “I did as much as I could with this locket,” she said. “Tried to pull some prints, but it was ugly. No clean sets of anything. I’ll have the partials run to see if we get anything, but don’t get your hopes up. This thing is old. Rusted. Scratched up. Long shot on an ID for sure.”

  Susan took the bag and stuffed it in her pocket. “I’m heading back to the barracks to get Crosby caught up. I’ll place this in evidence.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  Dr. Nestor shook her head. “Not at this point. You’ll get my full report after we open her up and see what we can find.”

  “Thanks, Emily.”

  “No problem.”

  31

  Wilson Woods Park was on the east side of Mount Vernon, almost on the Pelham town border. Susan drove down the road past the wave pool and water slides, then turned right at the large fountain, all of which had already been shut down for the season. She stopped in a small parking lot facing a pond she didn’t know the name of and killed the engine.

  Maxine Hill and her son, David, sat on a bench facing the pond, their backs to her. A wool coat shielded her frail body, while a matching knit hat and gloves covered her head and hands. She leaned on David, who sat pin straight.

  Susan stepped over a guardrail and went to meet them.

  David got up from the bench and extended his hand. “Thank you for coming, Investigator Adler,” he said. His eyes were pleading. “It’s nice to see you again, although I wish it was under different circumstances.”

  It was obvious David hadn’t told his mother about his arrest. Susan shook David’s hand and played along. “Hello. Nice to see you too.”

  David’s shoulders relaxed.