Poison

by Jordyn Redwood

  She rolled her eyes at Louis. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It’s not a hard question, Mrs. Hanson. Most mothers can easily talk about these types of emotions.”

  “Look, everything wasn’t hunky-dory when Sadie was born.”

  “Did you want the pregnancy?”

  At that moment, Rebecca rested her hand over her sternal notch. A sign of discomfort. “Wanted? More my husband than me.”

  “You got pregnant for your husband’s sake.”

  “Let’s just say it was a failure of medication.”

  “So you didn’t want Sadie.”

  “It’s not a matter of wanting. I got pregnant. My husband wanted the child. I supported his decision and carried the pregnancy.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “She wasn’t the easiest baby. Cried a lot, especially at night. I couldn’t even work because she wouldn’t take a bottle for Steven. He’d call me at my job and beg me to come home.”

  Louis mirrored her position. “Must have been a terribly hard time.”

  “You. Have. No. Idea.”

  “But, did you love your daughter? Aren’t you concerned about her whereabouts?”

  The question hung in the air.

  Oliver turned Keelyn’s way. “See what I mean?”

  Keelyn swallowed heavily. Rebecca was showing signs of discomfort but there was an underlying disdain surrounding the children. The sneer from the video supported this. Was it more with Rebecca than just feeling put out by her children’s existence?

  “What about Bryce?” Louis asked.

  Another tense smile. “What about him?”

  “Did you feel differently about him than you did about Sadie?”

  “I was never really fond of the idea of having boys.”

  “But you didn’t really love Sadie, either.”

  “I’m not sure I was made to be a mother.” Rebecca crossed her arms in a self-imposed body hug and ran her hands up and down.

  Keelyn’s heart ached at the thought of those children as they grew up in a house with such open disdain. “Have him ask her about her photo albums, the videos. Who made them?”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know if I can explain it quickly . . . just have him ask for me.”

  A few moments passed as Oliver communicated the information.

  “I noticed you kept a lot of photo albums of the children. Was that your handiwork?”

  “My mother is crazy about taking their pictures. She’s the one who makes them.”

  “Satisfied?” Oliver asked Keelyn.

  Keelyn closed her eyes against the thought. The one piece of evidence Keelyn held onto as proof of a loving mother fell to the wayside. What emotional connection did Rebecca show for her children? She looked back at Oliver. “Sadly, yes and no.”

  Detective Hernandez pulled a photograph out from his folder and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this man?”

  “Should I?” Rebecca hooked her ankles at the floor. This sudden interlocking a tell for discomfort.

  “You don’t know him?”

  Rebecca raised one shoulder and left it there. “Doesn’t look familiar.”

  “Is she lying?” Oliver asked.

  “She’s not committed to that answer. He needs to explore this further.”

  Oliver spoke into his mike and Louis passed a finger over his ear.

  “Yes, but is it a lie?”

  Keelyn swiveled her chair toward Oliver. “It’s very difficult to pick up deception. I look for clusters of discomfort and pacifying behavior. Her blink rate is up, she’s chewing her gum like a starved cow, and her palms ought to be chapped with as much as she’s smoothing them over her legs.”

  “Interesting.” Oliver’s chair squeaked as he turned. “That’s the photo of the chap at the picnic table from the birthday party. The one you pointed out uttered the same phrase when she was dropped off at the park.”

  Louis’s tinned voice pulled her back to the interview. “We had someone review all those disks you gave us. Hours and hours she watched you. Want to know what she saw?”

  “So now the police are into cheap parlor tricks?”

  He thumbed his nose.

  Careful, Louis.

  “What she noticed is that you seem very comfortable with this man”—he pointed to the picture—“and not so comfortable with your husband.”

  “And how could she tell? I love my husband.”

  Louis fingered the picture. “As you sit next to him, you might as well be a stranger. Your body is turned away. Your arm is inches away from his. At one point, he brushes against you and you act as if you’ve been stung.”

  “So from this you conclude what?”

  “What she also noticed was your attraction to this man.” Louis pointed at the photo.

  “He’s an acquaintance.”

  Incongruent with her previous statement. She admitted knowledge whereas before she had denied knowing him.

  “Well, what she noticed about this acquaintance of yours is that you’re outright flirting with him.”

  Rebecca closed her eyes at the statement. “Really?”

  Louis softened his voice and slowly twirled the photo on the table. “You lean into him. Playfully swing your shoe on your toes when you talk with him. Movement attracts attention. You want him to notice you.”

  “All that from a short video of a birthday party.”

  Hernandez curled his hand into a fist. “Who is this man, Rebecca?”

  “I don’t know his name. He’s a friend of Steven’s.”

  “That’s funny. We asked your husband about this man, and he said he was a family friend but that you’d invited him to the party.”

  She pressed her lips together to the point of concealment. She smoothed her hands over her legs. “Of course he would say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s trying to insinuate I know something when actually I’m the victim. My children are victims.”

  “All I’ve seen is him defending you.”

  “In front of the cameras he’s a different man.”

  “You seem relatively unconcerned about Bryce and Sadie. Most mothers will demand we do something to find their missing children. You’ve not asked me once what I’m doing to bring them home safely.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Louis let the question fall unanswered, a swift dismissal of a hollow inquiry. “The woman who viewed your DVDs is the same woman you met at the park. Perhaps you don’t remember her, but she says that the man who dropped you off said a phrase to her he also says in the birthday video.”

  Keelyn watched Rebecca’s neck as she tried to surreptitiously swallow a lump in her throat.

  “Can you explain that?” Louis pressed.

  She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

  “Who is this man, and where are your children, Rebecca?”

  Rebecca looked up. There were no tears in her eyes. An icy glaze settled on her face. “I want to talk to a lawyer.”

  “Are they dead?”

  The smile that spread over Rebecca’s face convinced Keelyn that what she first believed was no longer true. At that moment, she knew there was no hope for the children. Keelyn blinked away the vision of her bleeding siblings. It wasn’t just fathers who killed their children; this mother had, too.

  Chapter 26

  THE WIDOW OF SHERIFF BENSON would be available only during her knitting group. After the two-hour drive to get to the remote church in Teller County, Lee found the group of older women in a basement room, sitting at several tables. It was easy to spot her as she was the only African American woman there. He waved, and she motioned him to her seat.

  Noreen Benson stood and enveloped Lee in a warm hug as she pulled his head down into her bosom like a grandmother to a grandson. He eased away, and her firm grip on his shoulder guided him into a rickety metal chair.

  “Ladies, this here is Lee Watson. He was
there that day when George was on that awful call where all those people died.”

  “Nice to meet you all.” He turned to Noreen. “I was very sorry to hear about George.”

  “Thanks for the condolences.” She motioned for him to set his arms wide and he complied. She tied a knot of bright pink yarn from the beginning of a skein to one thumb.

  “I must say I miss George a lot for this very reason.” After the knot was secure, she circled the yarn around his forearms. “So much easier to untangle yarn this way. He was a strong man and could stay in this position for hours.”

  The women nodded in agreement. Noreen motioned with her head. “That’s Beatrice.” The slight, older woman gave a friendly toodle-oo with her fingers. “And Gertrude.”

  “What brings you to our fine knitting group? We don’t get many men in attendance,” Beatrice asked, knitting with confetti-colored yarn in hues of blue and green. Only a few rows were completed, so Lee couldn’t make out the final project.

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to Noreen about George.”

  Gertrude clicked her tongue. “Such an awful thing that happened.”

  Noreen pushed Lee’s arms to keep the yarn taught. He straightened in his seat. “What did happen, Noreen? I was shocked when I called and found out he’d died.”

  Beatrice shook her head, her eyes heavy with sadness. Was she a widow as well? “So unexpected. He was strong as an ox.”

  “They make ’em strong in the South.” Noreen began to wrap the yarn in quick fashion. Lee was surprised her shaky hands could be so accurate.

  “Is that where you met?”

  Noreen tilted her head toward Gertrude. “South Carolina.”

  “So he hadn’t been sick?” Lee asked.

  Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know if I can say that. He hadn’t been physically ill. That call did something to him. Messed up his head. He retired from the department within the year.”

  “Did he do any other work?”

  “He’d just sit there for hours on end, watching television. I got so tired of the history channel I wanted to throw up.” She pushed Lee’s arms up again.

  “What did he die of?” Lee asked.

  “They say a heart attack, but they never checked for sure.”

  “You mean an autopsy.”

  “Exactly. I sort of pushed for one but they said the evidence medically was clear that his heart sort of blew up. All this medical language about cardiac enzymes and trip levels.” She motioned her hand in front of her face. “I don’t even know if those are the right words.”

  “What made you want to ask for one if they seemed clear on his cause of death?”

  Another gray-haired matron rounded the table with a tray of cookies. Lee’s stomach grumbled a request at the sight. He gave a sheepish grin and tossed his hands up a few inches. She smiled back and laid several different varieties on the table and then ruffled her hand through his hair. These women definitely needed a few more visits from their grandchildren.

  “Venus, you could at least get the man a napkin and show him we’re not uncivilized.” The woman obediently rearranged the cookies on top of a blue-and-white floral napkin.

  There seemed to be a pecking order among the ladies.

  Noreen continued. “Just something in my head said somethin’ wasn’t right. He’d had a physical about six months before he died. Even did one of those stress tests and whatnot, and they said he was the picture of good health.”

  “Did anything odd happen right before he died?”

  Noreen tossed the paper skein cover into the trash and began to form a ball with the yarn, her tiny fingers blanched as she tightened her grip on the threads. “Like what?”

  “Anything. A letter? A phone call? A strange visitor? Something that wasn’t part of his watching TV all the time.”

  Her eyes drifted off as she wrapped, then zeroed right on his chest. “There was one thing.”

  “On the day he died?”

  “Yes, he met with someone.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “He was real secretive about giving full details. I was just happy he was finally getting off his rump and doing something.”

  “There was nothing he said,” Lee clarified.

  “He did say it was about that event. That he was meeting an old friend. Someone he could talk to, to clear his mind about it.”

  “Did he say whether it was a man or a woman?”

  “He didn’t specify who it was exactly, but I have a hunch as to who it was.”

  Gertrude patted Lee’s knee. “Noreen’s always one for the dramatics. Watches those murder shows all the time.”

  “Dateline, 48 hours. The Bio ID channel is her favorite.”

  “Ladies,” Lee interrupted. “I’m interested in her theory.”

  “Do you remember the oldest girl who survived? Not the one who was his stepdaughter. The other one. Her real name was something you would never remember, but the hostage negotiator gave her a nickname—Raven.”

  Lee shifted uneasily in his seat. “Yes, I remember her.”

  “George became obsessed with her life. He would follow every news piece and TV story about her.”

  “And you think that’s who he was going to meet?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Noreen nodded gravely.

  “What makes you think they met?”

  “There was something about him. Hard to put my finger on. It was the most emotional I’d seen him since he left the force.”

  “Happiness?” Lee asked.

  “Expectation, I guess. But more than that. Sadness, fear . . .”

  “Fear?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said . . . something I couldn’t quite put a finger on.”

  “Do you think he went to ask for forgiveness?”

  “Did he need to?” The look in her eyes tore at his heart. Sherriff Benson had done what he needed to do.

  Lee inhaled deeply. “Mrs. Benson, I was there that day. There’s nothing your husband did he should be ashamed of. He called in the experts. We’re the ones who failed him.”

  She clucked her tongue. Her eyes glistened. “So dry here in this state, my eyes tear up all the time for no good reason. Should move back South.” The ball of yarn grew larger in her hands. The last wisp fell from Lee’s arms, and she pulled the knotted loop from his thumb. He leaned forward and drew her into an embrace as she began to weep.

  Chapter 27

  Sunday

  KEELYN’S BOOTS SLOSHED through the melting snow. She was alternating placing Lucent’s “wanted” poster and Raven’s “missing” flyer on the telephone poles that lined the street. The muscles in her hand shook in fatigue as she squeezed the heavy-duty staple gun for the hundredth time. She pulled up onto her toes to ease the tension in the arches of her feet.

  Her tired body began to match her drained spirit. Where was Lee? He wasn’t even returning her phone calls. At least Mrs. Linwood was available to watch Sophia.

  The sensation of being watched pulled at her subconscious, and she turned to look behind her. A man in a black leather jacket stood off in the distance and looked for something in the trash. Seemed a bit too well dressed for that.

  She continued on to the next pole but angled herself so she had a better view of the sidewalk from her peripheral vision. Next flier up, stabbed by the metal prongs into the wood. The man straightened and looked into the street. Keelyn walked to the next dead tree.

  It wasn’t unusual for Lee to be out of touch. Sometimes, SWAT assignments could carry over for a few days. But he wasn’t with SWAT now. He’d had a few scheduled days off. Normally they would be together. And he had not returned one phone message.

  She raised her arms and pierced the next piece of paper. The man had closed the gap by several feet and now leaned against a lime green Volkswagen Bug crusted with dirty snow.

  A police officer doing foot patrol happened by her on the sidewalk. She signaled for him. As soon as he angled in her direction, the man behind
her disappeared.

  “Can I help you?”

  Now what to say?

  “Sorry to bother you. I just thought I saw someone following me, but he’s gone now.”

  He glanced down the sidewalk behind her. “You know, this isn’t the safest part of the city. Can I walk you back to your car?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I need to finish hanging these.”

  “All right, but definitely get home before nightfall.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “I don’t want to see your face on one of these posters my next shift.”

  He bowed his head and continued on.

  Keelyn walked another few steps and pulled more pictures from her tote. At the next pole, she had to pull down several advertisements for less than high end establishments to make room for Raven’s picture. She fingered her lost sister’s face. Black ink collected on the tip of her index finger.

  Where are you? Did you leave Sophia on purpose? Are you even alive?

  The next few steps brought her to the corner. Steam rose from the vented city underground. She unbuttoned the top end of her coat. To her right was an alley where several homeless individuals gathered, their hands held over a large metal canister for warmth. Black smoke curled from the cracked crevices.

  What can it hurt?

  She approached the group at a slow pace. Her hands held up in small surrender in front of her so it was obvious she wasn’t carrying any weapons. The tote slid off her shoulder into the crook of her elbow. She reached in with the other hand and pulled out two fliers.

  “Excuse me.”

  The first man angled away from her, his head tilted up as he poured heavy gulps of a cheap, rank alcohol into his throat. The street smelled thick of urine and feces. Keelyn covered her mouth and nose to quell the bile that rose from her stomach.

  She inhaled deeply the scent of her fabric softener. It did little to replace the stench. A man approached her from the side. Startled, she jumped a step away from him.

  “Doesn’t look like you belong here.”

  A voice from the back of the group. “Hey, you don’t need to treat a lady that way.”

  Keelyn squeezed her hand tight on the paper to stop it from shaking. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I just need a few of you to look at these photos.” She pulled the pages apart and held them up like party favors. “Do you know either of these individuals?”