by Domino Finn
Annabelle appeared at peace. Eyes closed, deep breathing. Sunlight crept through the blinds and cast her in a warm glow. The girl had been cleaned up a bit. Her face held a pinkish hue and her light-brown hair had been brushed. It was good to see her sleeping so soundly.
Last night had been a different story. Annabelle had been through an ordeal in the woods. She was severely undernourished. After the paramedics and nurses took over, Annabelle became increasingly agitated until a panic settled in. It must have been scary for her, to be probed and prodded. Admittedly, Maxim added to that burden.
He'd questioned her as much as he could, but the girl stopped talking. It got to the point that the doctor didn't appreciate his presence, so the detective had gone to his desk downstairs and gotten some research done. With only a first name and the inability to appeal to the public in the middle of the night, he didn't turn up much.
Annabelle was a mystery. Just a girl who'd appeared out of nowhere in the forest. Three days, she had mentioned before getting in the ambulance. Three days in the woods. Three days, yet nobody had reported her missing.
"I'll never catch them now," came a cool voice. Maxim almost jumped. Annabelle's baby-blue eyes were open now, affixed to him. Her words were calm. Difficult to read. Not a trace of sarcasm or pain.
Maxim Dwyer cleared his throat. "Don't you worry about that, Annabelle. I'll be the one doing the catching. You just relax."
His words were meant to soothe. To create sympathy with her as a victim. But the girl just blinked plainly at him.
"Do you feel like talking?" he asked carefully.
Annabelle's face tensed. "I don't have anything to say to you."
Maxim nodded, acting as if he understood. She didn't trust him, and it would be difficult to get quality information from her if he pushed too hard.
"Are you mad at me, Annabelle?"
She turned her head and stared at the featureless ceiling. "I don't have anything to say to anyone."
Maxim realized he was leaning forward, gripping the armrests of his chair. Over eager. He relaxed backward and composed his words before speaking.
"I'm a detective with the Sanctuary Marshal's Office. I need to ask you some questions about where you've been and what you've seen."
Annabelle refused to face him. "I can't tell you."
"This is important."
"I don't remember. It's all like a dream. Even right now."
"Annabelle," he said patiently, "this is very real."
Her eyes narrowed. "I mean everything's foggy. It's all behind a sheet of plastic, you know?"
Maxim tried to hide his puzzlement. He knew the doctor had prescribed some medication, but he wondered if illicit drugs had been involved before the hospital.
Annabelle jerked her head from side to side. "Where am I?"
"Shh," he said. "It's okay. You're safe now."
The girl noticed the restraints on her wrists and ankles. They agitated her more and she began to buck and twist on the bed. "Where am I?" she screamed.
Maxim stood and secured her shoulders. "You're safe now," he said over her struggling. "You're safe now in Sanctuary."
A nurse peeked in the open door and called for help.
"Annabelle," urged Maxim. "Calm down."
It was no use. He easily overpowered the young girl but she refused to relax. The nurse came and held her down. Soon, the female doctor entered and did a brief examination.
"She needs to be sedated," she concluded. "She's still awfully weak. You're working her up."
"I'm sorry," said Maxim.
"Yet you're still here."
"I need to know what she knows."
One of the nurses returned with a syringe. Annabelle thrashed. The nurse injected the medication into her IV. Maxim held tightly until the girl calmed. After a moment, the nurse helping restrain her was satisfied and let go. Annabelle looked up, at them but no one specifically, without focus.
"I don't want to be in Sanctuary," she said.
Maxim's brow furrowed, his confusion evident this time. Something was clearly troubling the girl, but she wouldn't tell him what.
The nurses exited the room at the doctor's insistence. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a wicked eyebrow at Maxim. "You too, Detective. You're riling up my patient."
Maxim had a moment of indecision as his eyes locked with Annabelle's. He saw them losing their clarity as she grew drowsy. But she still had enough power to speak.
"If you cared about me, you'd let me go."
The detective was speechless. He became aware of his hands, still on the girl's shoulders, bracing her against the bed. He released her but didn't step back, still intent to capitalize on her last minute of consciousness.
"I do care, Annabelle. Please. Just tell me where you live. At least tell me your last name."
Her soft eyes closed. He heard a sharp hiss from the doctor's direction, and he knew he was wearing on her patience.
"Tell me your last name," he repeated, still leaning over the bed.
The girl's breathing slowed and became regular.
"Hayes," she whispered, with melancholy.
As she drifted to sleep, something about the girl's sadness latched onto him.
Chapter 7
Maxim pounded on the door again. It was heavy wood, Spanish style, with a decorative grate over the small window. The yard was teeming with such old-world accents: a roostered weather vane, a brick gate, a lawn jockey. The centerpiece of the entry was a large, two-tiered stone fountain. Water streamed into the air and splashed into the top tub where it dribbled from fish mouths into the bottom. The lawn was well tended, the house paint crisp and clean. It was like standing in the American Dream.
Maxim had expected nothing less. Sanctuary wasn't big enough to have real neighborhoods, but this was definitely the nicest street in town.
"Mrs. Hayes," he called out, knocking again. It was early, not yet 7 a.m., but he knew this couldn't wait. "Mrs. Hayes!"
The lock clicked and the large door swung open. Maxim wasn't prepared for what he saw.
The woman was in her early thirties, with a stylish blonde bob still soaking wet from a recent shower. A bathrobe hung loosely around her shoulders, Her exposed skin, still glistening, had the tan of a woman who'd just come back from a tropical vacation.
"Mrs. Hayes?" asked Maxim, struggling to remain professional.
"Yes." She answered with annoyance. This was an interruption for her, not a curiosity. Her face was pretty, even when upset.
Maxim cleared his throat. "Yeah. I'm Detective Maxim Dwyer, ma'am."
"It's early," she said bluntly. "Don't you think we could've done this at a better time?"
The detective chewed his lip and offered an inquisitive look.
"The Land Rover," she said. "You came about the vandalism."
Maxim sighed. "Can I come inside, Mrs. Hayes?"
"It's Ms. I've been divorced going on seven years. You might as well call me Olivia." The woman let go of the door and let her shoulders sag. The bathrobe fell open slightly and Maxim caught a glimpse of her chest as she turned around and led him inside.
"Sheesh," whispered Maxim, unsure if he should enter.
The robe she wore was plush, but it couldn't hide her slim figure. The woman had the confident walk of the hottest girl in the bar. She had no idea what was about to hit her, but at least Maxim's news was mostly good.
She led him to a large living room and pointed to the couch. "Well, you might as well sit down. I can make you some tea or coffee or—"
"I'm here about your daughter, Ms. Hayes."
The woman froze with her jaw open. The gears turned quickly, but Maxim saw her expression switch from confusion to horror. "Annabelle?" she asked softly. Then she strode up to him. "What happened to my daughter?"
"She's fine," he said. "Please don't be alarmed. She's okay. We found her in the woods last night, lost."
Olivia was incredulous. "What do you mean, lost? Where is she?
"
"Annabelle's at the clinic on Main Street. She's a little malnourished and received treatment for minor bruises and scratches, but there's nothing serious to mention. She was lucky."
"Lucky?" she asked with disdain. "Why wasn't I notified immediately? I want to see my daughter right now!"
Maxim had only known Olivia for a few minutes and already her bossiness overwhelmed him. This was a woman used to getting what she wanted.
"Slow down," said Maxim firmly. "You daughter was near catatonic when we found her last night. She didn't tell us much, not even a last name. I had no idea who you were until thirty minutes ago, which is why I interrupted you so early."
Olivia nodded and was about to say something but Maxim spoke over her.
"And your daughter is currently medicated and getting some sleep. Rest is the thing she needs most right now. So we'll get you right over to the clinic to see her, but I need you to answer a few questions first. Is that okay?"
Olivia drew her lips taut and nodded.
"Annabelle is twelve, is that correct?"
Olivia nodded again.
"And she lives here?"
"Yes."
"When was the last time you saw her?"
The woman trembled. She dried her arms against the bathrobe and pulled it tighter around her. "Her father had her for the long weekend. Annabelle's school has holidays for Good Friday and Easter Monday, so she was supposed to be back today. I was going to pick her up from school."
"And the last time you actually saw her?" he asked patiently.
"Friday morning. I dropped Annabelle off with her father in Bellemont."
Maxim nodded. The town was just off the Interstate and the closest civilization to Sanctuary. "I'll need his name and address before I leave. Do you know what activities they had planned? Was this a special occasion for Easter?"
"Not really. Annabelle sometimes visits him for a couple days at a time, but with the holiday she wanted to extend it."
For all of Olivia's bossiness, when Maxim had asked her to cooperate for the sake of her daughter, the woman had complied. Her concern appeared genuine.
"Did her father warn you that anything was wrong?"
Olivia hissed. "Not at all. He should've called me about this."
The detective grunted in agreement. "And what about you? Do you think anything was wrong?"
The mother was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"With Annabelle. Was there anything strange about her behavior when you dropped her off?"
Olivia put her hands on her hips and scoffed. Again the bathrobe fell open slightly. Maxim wanted to look away but didn't. "Just what are you implying about my daughter, Detective?"
"Nothing," he answered, turning to face the room, strangely turned on and feeling guilty about it. He gazed down the hall and saw the grand wooden staircase and realized they were alone in the large house. "It's just that Annabelle was awake for days. She was exhausted but overly tense. Is it possible she was abusing alcohol or drugs?"
"No." The sharpness in Olivia's voice commanded Maxim's attention. Her face was flushed, and thankfully the bathrobe was tied tightly around her waist now.
"What about any medication?"
"Annabelle is perfectly healthy," insisted Olivia. "What happened to her, Detective?"
Maxim softened his voice. He had to ask these questions. It would be negligent not to. But he knew: of all the lenses to view a person through, a mother's eyes were the most stringent. The mere mention of impropriety, however likely, always caused offense.
"We're not sure yet," he said. "Some minor exposure to the elements. It doesn't look like she was hurt or... anything else. But she's been mostly sleeping since we found her so it's hard to say. There's another child that went missing yesterday, close to the same area. She was staying at a campsite between Bellemont and Williams. The Coconino County Sheriff's Office is looking into it, but I'm heading up Annabelle's case. We'd like you and your daughter to cooperate. When she's healthy, of course."
"Of course," returned Olivia, nodding. "Annabelle and I will answer any questions you have. But talk to Gulliver first. That bastard. I bet he had something to do with this."
"Your ex-husband, ma'am?"
The scorn in her expression was confirmation enough. "He should have told me something was wrong."
Maxim recorded the man's address on his smartphone and put it next on his mental to-do list. He hated when spousal disagreements endangered children.
"What did you say your name was, Detective?"
"Maxim Dwyer."
"Maxim," she repeated in a distracted tone. "I hope you won't object to me putting some clothes on and seeing my daughter at the station. I can tell you anything else you want to know then."
The detective put his phone away. At this point, the immediate concern was the father. Anything else from Olivia Hayes could well wait.
"Of course," he said. "But there was one more thing. When you first saw me you mentioned something about a vandalized Land Rover?"
"Yes," she said, dismissively. "I called the police last week. I usually park in the garage, but I was in a rush last Wednesday and left the car outside. Someone had thrown a brick through my window." Olivia headed for the stairs.
It was clear, given the circumstances, that the incident was now an afterthought.
Chapter 8
Maxim hadn't yet reached his car when the call came in. It was the marshal himself, probably expecting a progress report.
"Hello, sir. I just spoke with the mother, but it looks like Annabelle Hayes was in the custody of her father when she went missing."
"I see," he said with a measured tone. "Where is he?"
"Close. He lives in a condo in Bellemont."
Marshal Boyd jumped quickly. "So the Coconino County Sheriff's Office would've responded to the missing persons call. They should have notified you."
"That's if the disappearance was reported at all," countered Maxim. "According to Olivia Hayes, the husband never contacted her."
Maxim could hear the marshal's disappointment. "We're still dealing with too many unknowns."
"Not for long," said Maxim, slightly annoyed at the marshal's impatience. Boyd asking about the case was harmless enough, but Maxim hated not having the answers. Frankly, it surprised him that Boyd was on top of the case this early in the day. Usually the dawn hours were Maxim's time to be alone. "I'll see you at the station after I pay him a visit."
"That needs to wait," asserted Boyd. "I need you in the front office to address the press."
The detective stopped outside his personal car, an Audi TT coupe. "The reporters can wait until we have a bead on this. A 'no comment' should do for now."
"It will not, Detective. I've already scheduled the press conference. It's in half an hour."
"What?" Maxim thrust his head into his hand. "Annabelle's barely said ten words to us. I just now talked to the mother. This case is only a few hours old."
"Perhaps Annabelle's involvement is, but Hazel Cunningham already has traction countywide. This is a hot button in the community right now. An Easter weekend tragedy. The discovery of Annabelle Hayes only makes this more newsworthy."
Maxim grimaced. "Can't we let Coconino handle the press for now?"
"This isn't just a county concern any longer. Now that the Sanctuary Marshal's Office is involved, we need to put a face on it. We need to let the public know that our office is doing everything it can for our children."
It made perfect sense. Marshal Boyd was a politician. Managing appearances for his father the mayor was his primary concern. Sometimes Maxim feared it was more important to the man than solving the crimes, that the semblance of preserving the peace trumped actual peacekeeping.
"So you want a two-minute fluff job. 'The marshal's office is putting its full weight behind this.' That sort of thing."
Boyd didn't answer immediately. He lived in a world of bullshit, comfortably padded by its confines. Stripping it away made him
feel naked.
"Yes."
"Fine. But I need to keep it quick. Wrapping up Annabelle's involvement will be a piece of cake, but it isn't the only matter here. Hazel Cunningham is still out there."
"I am confident you can manage," returned Marshal Boyd. "You're my best detective."
Maxim snorted. "I'm your only detective." Then he hung up the phone.
Chapter 9
Diego sat on his bed wearing nothing but an old pair of jeans. He leaned forward, elbows on tattered knees, fists clamped together in front of his face, waiting in silence.
It was a meager apartment, barren of all the little things that made life a joy. Devoid of color and personality save for a single picture of his sister Angelica; to Diego, the space was just a few rooms with a kitchen and a bed.
It suited him because he hated being cooped up inside. Riding his motorcycle on the open road was his thrill, his escape from the ordinary. Now, that's what his life was. Ordinary.
Diego had been awake for a while, but his thoughts paralyzed him. A series of wild memories had turned into a series of dead-end jobs. Leaving the service, abandoning Detroit, landing in Sanctuary—it all seemed so far away now. Worse, it all seemed so pointless.
It wasn't easy to think about, but he forced himself. So he sat there, unmoving. Taking stock.
Diego knew he was on the edge of something. He knew he had a choice. Julia Cunningham needed him. He'd promised he would help her. But even if he kept to his intentions, he wondered what good they were.
He swiped his phone from the nightstand and dialed Maxim. After a few rings it went to voicemail, and he slammed the phone down in disgust.
Diego hopped to his feet and nervously paced the room. This wasn't him. Mulling over options.
Thinking.