Poison

by Jordyn Redwood

  Someone who could offer inside information on the others.

  Something about this suspect, however, didn’t quite gel. During the other robberies, he’d been working at this particular bank. So essentially, he was at least free and clear of having a presence at the other crimes. Second, he didn’t come across as a criminal mastermind. His police record was clean, save a few minor traffic violations. He’d been married for thirty years and active in volunteering at a local youth shelter for runaways. His children were college graduates with busy professional lives of their own.

  Keelyn was escorted down the hall to the interrogation suites, her long legs easily maintaining the pace set by the officer ahead. She pulled her shoulders back and smiled as she entered the small room. One officer stood adjusting the recording equipment and another sat behind him reviewing footage of the bank robbery. The one stopped fiddling with the recording equipment and turned to offer his hand.

  “Detective Sean Matthews. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  “Keelyn Blake.”

  “You were able to read over the details?” He released her hand.

  Keelyn looked through the glass at the suspect placed behind a table. “Yes. Did you get my request to have him seated so there was nothing in front of his feet?”

  Matthews leaned away. Already they were on the wrong foot.

  “Does it really matter?” he asked.

  Keelyn twirled the gold chain at her neck. “The feet are the most honest part of your body.”

  “Really.” The left side of his lip lifted in a sneer.

  “Think about it. From the time we’re young, we’re told to not give certain looks with our faces. Your mother serves you broccoli and you pout. She says something to the effect of ‘Don’t give me that face.’”

  He placed his hands on his hips. “Never thought about it that way.”

  “We’re instructed to smile at strangers. Tell little white lies to spare someone’s feelings while at the same time convincing them what we’re saying is the truth. Our faces have had a lot of practice at covering deception.”

  “Mike has an earpiece. Do you want me to get him to change the suspect’s position?”

  Keelyn wiped her sweating hands along her navy pencil skirt. “Let’s not interrupt him. I can work around it.”

  Keelyn neared the two-way glass. Sidlow was a slight man. His mug shot showed him to be barely taller than five feet, and she doubted he weighed more than 120 pounds wet. His eyes were wide, the white sclera clearly visible around the pale brown irises, and his shoulders huddled up near his ears, giving him the hunched appearance of a turtle taking cover within its shell. The detective was seated close to the suspect. Leaning in, he closed the gap in the man’s personal space. The suspect tried to edge his seat back, but he could only go so far.

  Everything set by design.

  The detective’s voice crackled through the intercom.

  “Mr. Sidlow, where were you before the robbery?” “At my post. You can check the video.”

  “Where were you during the time the armed men came into the bank?”

  Sidlow reached up and pressed his thumb and index finger into his closed lids then let his hand drop, smoothing his palm repeatedly over his thigh.

  Eye blocking followed by leg cleansing.

  Keelyn turned to Matthews. “There’s something about that question he doesn’t like. He’s blocking and follows it by using a self-pacifying gesture.”

  The man’s voice quivered through the speaker.

  “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I had to take a bathroom break.”

  “Where is the bathroom located in the bank?”

  “It’s to the right.”

  Yet the man motions with his hand to the left.

  “Mr. Sidlow, don’t you think it’s time to be forthright with the police about what really happened? I mean, don’t you find it awfully convenient that the moment you step away from the door, two armed men come in and steal close to three hundred thousand dollars? Did you have anything to do with planning this bank robbery?”

  “I swear I did not.”

  Hands relaxed. Lips exposed. Voice calmer.

  Keelyn turned away. “Can I look at the bank footage?”

  “Sure.” The man leaned to the side. Keelyn bent down to look at the small viewing screen. Walter was at the door, checked his watch, and then walked left.

  Matthews glanced up at Keelyn from his seat. “What do you think?”

  “He says he moved from his post to use the restroom, which sits to the right. Yet in the interview he signals with his arm to the left. He gestured in a different direction from his spoken one.” Keelyn pointed to the footage. “This is supported by the video as well. He goes left.”

  “So?”

  “The only part of the interview he’s having a problem with is his location at the time of the entrance of the bank robbers. What is to the left of that door?”

  The detective pulled out a set of printed building plans. “It looks like the manager’s office.”

  “That’s where he went. You need to explore that line of questioning. Ask him specifically what he was doing in the manager’s office.”

  Sean spoke into a small microphone. Keelyn could see Mike lift his head slightly as he listened to the instruction.

  “Mr. Sidlow, how well do you get along with the bank manager?”

  “Ms. Richmond?”

  “Curious thing happened when a friend of mine reviewed footage of the robbery. You headed in the opposite direction of the bathroom, toward the bank manager’s office. It’s the only thing in that corner.”

  Sidlow’s eyes narrowed and he rubbed at either side of his thin, pale neck. Keelyn couldn’t get the thought from her mind of a chicken’s neck across a stump of wood, exposed for the ax about to fall.

  “Is that anything?” Sean pointed.

  “The neck is aligned with several large arteries and nerves, particularly the vagus nerve. When people rub their necks, in time they will stimulate that nerve, causing their heart rates to go down. It’s a self-soothing gesture.”

  “He’s distressed by this question.”

  “Absolutely.”

  The tin voice from inside the room continued. “What were you doing in Ms. Richmond’s office?”

  His hand cupped his neck tighter. His face reddened.

  “Is Ms. Richmond involved somehow?”

  The man shook his head defiantly. “No, absolutely not.”

  The interrogator leaned closer. “Then what is the reason, Mr. Sidlow, that you left your post to go to her office approximately five minutes before these men burst into your bank? A man was killed doing your job.”

  His cheeks puffed as he slowly exhaled. He dropped his hands onto his lap and leaned forward, his head bowed.

  “We’re having an affair. We’d take . . . some time every now and then . . .”

  His breath shuddered as he began to cry.

  Matthews cracked open the door and signaled Mike out. “Let’s ring up the bank manager. See if she can verify his story.”

  He turned to Keelyn. “Ms. Blake, I wish I could say I was happy about this, but it seems you just cleared one of my primary suspects.”

  An hour later, Keelyn sat solo on a park bench. She could see the parking lot easily from this vantage point. Currently, her vehicle was the only one on the blacktop. The sunny morning now a gray afternoon—a typically quick Colorado weather change. Rain condensed on the wooden seat and streamed down the nearby aluminum slide like a waterfall. Her red umbrella did little to protect her from the nearly horizontal rain, and the ends of her floral scarf tugged at her neck as it was sucked into the wind.

  What was it with this strange, late-fall weather? Rain instead of snow? Keelyn huddled further into her turquoise raincoat and checked her wristwatch.

  Her client was late. Never a good sign when meeting an abuse victim.

  A strong gust pulled at the thin metal rod in her hand, a
nd the umbrella flipped outward. Rain stung her checks as she reached up to pull the wire undercarriage back to its original position. She would have preferred to put it away as the struggle against the wind further frayed her nerves.

  But then her client wouldn’t know for sure if it was safe and would drive right by.

  If she did as she was instructed.

  A vehicle came down the road from the left. A red Ford F-250, the water spray from the tires swift. Keelyn tightened her hand around the handle as the wind surged. Her body began to shake.

  The truck bothered her. A woman fleeing an abusive boyfriend rarely showed up in something so ostentatious. For one, she likely couldn’t afford it. And two, she wouldn’t want to draw attention to herself as she ran. No action should draw anyone’s attention.

  Keelyn thought briefly about lowering the umbrella and throwing it under the park bench. The move might give her plausible deniability.

  The truck rounded the corner, a faint squeal as it took the corner too tight. Keelyn slowly closed the umbrella and laid it on her lap. The driver’s door flew open. Out popped a man dressed in combat fatigues with a black ski mask over his face.

  Keelyn’s heart kicked up a notch. She braced her back into the bench. Her mind stumbled over the possibilities of what was taking place.

  The man yanked a woman over the console from the front compartment. Her red hair spewed from between the fingers of the man’s strong fist that gripped her head like a basketball.

  The door slammed. Water splashed from the man’s combat boots as he pulled the whimpering woman behind him. He pulled out a gun from the cargo pocket of his fatigues and raised it at Keelyn.

  Keelyn inhaled and held her breath, waiting. She set her arms to her side and gripped the cool, wet wood. The man’s index finger rested outside the trigger.

  “Are you Keelyn?” His voice boomed.

  “I am.”

  “I want to know where you’ll be taking her. We have some unfinished business.” He tossed the woman forward like a bag of trash. The heels of her hands hit the wet turf first, and she slid forward as she tried to press down for traction but flopped helplessly into the grass. She buried her face in her hands. Keelyn could see her back shudder as she sobbed.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  He placed two hands on the pistol. “I’ll follow you there.”

  Keelyn lifted one hand. “I’m going to reach into my pocket. I’m unarmed.”

  “What are you getting?”

  “An address for you.”

  The woman brought her face up, wet stalks of grass stuck to her face. A bruise encircled her left eye and cascaded down her cheek.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what it is?”

  “I want you to have something written so you won’t forget.”

  He circled the weapon a few times, permission to let her hand slip into her raincoat. She gripped the small remote and activated the button. It was an emergency beacon to 911 for these very circumstances. This park’s location was known to law enforcement. The distress call would immediately send police her way. She pulled the device out and held it between her thumb and index finger.

  “What is that?”

  “I just called 911.”

  “Right.”

  The man stilled as he heard a distant whine.

  “They’re coming for you. My suggestion would be that you put your weapon down, walk to your vehicle, and place two hands on top so they don’t shoot you on sight.”

  The sirens grew closer. The man twitched and lowered his weapon. “If she doesn’t pay, I’ll find her and then I’ll kill you.” He walked backward in quick strides, looked down the street before climbing back into his vehicle. The engine roared as he reversed, swung around, and sped down the street.

  Keelyn eased off the bench and crawled on shaky limbs a few feet to the woman. She placed a hand in the center of her back to ease the fear that kept her from looking up. Rain matted her hair to her head, and the temperature was dropping.

  “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

  Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Rebecca.”

  Keelyn’s hand paused in the small of the woman’s back. The auburn hair. The name matched.

  Was it possible the missing woman had just been dropped off at this park?

  “Rebecca Hanson?”

  The woman lifted her face, pushed with her hands through the sopping wet grass until she was seated on her legs. The pale green eyes injected with small, jagged red veins stared back.

  “How do you know me?”

  Keelyn stared at the woman; her mind froze at the implications. “Rebecca, where are your children?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Keelyn’s jaw dropped. The cold air hit the back of her throat and increased the tension in her neck. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and reached for the woman, helping her stand up. “Rebecca, you and your children were reported missing to the police by your husband three days ago.”

  Keelyn watched the woman’s face closely. If Rebecca’s children were missing and she’d just found out, her body should be a marionette moved involuntarily by the distress in her mind. The emotion of learning your most precious treasures on the entire earth were gone would have some effect.

  Rebecca’s face was flat, her eyes dull, not a hint of tears. Had there ever been any true tears? Keelyn grabbed her arms and shook her.

  “Rebecca! Where are your children? Bryce and Sadie?”

  A police cruiser turned into the lot. An officer stepped out, one hand steadied on his belt. Keelyn waved him over. The woman didn’t even turn at the sound of his boots against the pavement.

  Keelyn tried to pull the woman toward the park bench. Her hands on those shoulders felt like they were steering cold marble. The woman ran her tongue over her dry, cracked lips, then bit into a hanging piece of skin and pulled off a layer. Blood filled the gap and began to run in a single tract down her chin.

  “You okay, Keelyn?”

  She turned and recognized the young man. “Joel, we have an issue here.”

  He took in the young woman. His eyes bulged.

  “The kids?”

  Keelyn shook her head. The woman tilted to the side. The officer grabbed her by the arm to steady her.

  Rebecca began to tremble uncontrollably. She reached into her pocket and withdrew an envelope.

  The officer took it from her hand and opened it.

  “He said not to open it until he was gone.”

  Joel lip-synched silently as he read it. Then his eyes fixed into position. He slowly raised his head.

  “It’s a ransom note for the boy and girl.”

  “Rebecca, who was the man that brought you here?”

  The woman’s muscles went lax. She slipped from the officer’s grip, then thudded onto the ground, unconscious.

  Chapter 8

  LEE PUNCHED IN THE security code at the door of the domestic violence shelter where Keelyn served as a volunteer. As soon as a fellow officer had relayed the events at the park to him, he’d barreled his way to the safe house. A buzzer sounded, and Lee pushed through the heavy metal door. Nathan followed closely. A second door required a different access number, part of the multiple security measures in place to keep these victims safe.

  Or at least as safe as possible.

  The first time Lee entered the code at the second door, the lock refused to release. He punched harder the second time, with the same result. Without thought, like speaking louder at someone who doesn’t know your language, he began to pound on the frame, his concern for Keelyn’s safety overriding common sense.

  Nathan grabbed his forearm. “They’re going to call 911 if you don’t calm down.”

  His fist ached from slamming into the wood, but his mind crazed at the thought of Keelyn alone with a maniac who could have snuffed out her life with the easy pull of a trigger. Lee pushed away from the door and stepped aside. Nathan thumbed the punch lock, and the latch releas
ed. Lee breezed by him. Five steps down the hall and two to the right and he was in her office.

  Nathan stopped at the doorframe.

  Lee’s mouth froze, his words caught with surprise.

  Keelyn held the child in her arms, the girl they’d found at the diner. She pulled the toddler close to her chest and swayed side to side. Smoothing her lips together, Keelyn’s eyebrows raised in question. Lee took a deep breath and smiled, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

  Cool peace washed over his taught muscles at the sight of her thin frame strong and uninjured. She eased the child down onto her hip and the youngster happily took handfuls of her hair into her fists. The calm smile sparkling in Keelyn’s eyes quelled the sick feeling in Lee’s gut.

  He stammered as he tried to express his relief over her safety and the questions surrounding the toddler she cuddled. Why was the girl here and not in the foster system?

  Keelyn eased her hair from the girl’s clenched fingers. “The DNA tests came back. Your friend put a rush on it.” Her voice was calm and silky as though she were talking to a child to preempt a tantrum.

  His mouth dried. Keelyn tightened protective arms around the young child and nestled her face in the girl’s curls. Lee turned to Nathan. “Can we have some time?”

  Nathan bowed slightly and backed into the hallway. “I’ll make some calls to Teller County. See if we can narrow down a time frame on Officer Timmons and get some numbers for relatives.”

  Lee nodded and closed the door. He eased into the chair in front of her desk.

  Keelyn sat as well, her face bright with excitement, nearly matching the day he slipped an engagement ring on her finger. “I bought a car seat. Who would have thought I’d need one of those today? Isn’t she beautiful?” Keelyn settled the girl on her lap. “Looks just like pictures of my mother when she was a child.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “No one knows right now. They haven’t been able to find record of her birth. I guess we’ll have to think of one.”

  He ran his knuckles against the side of his head. “Can we back up ten steps, please? The park?”