Lost Innocents

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Lost Innocents Page 7

by MacDonald, Patricia


  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Might have been blue.”

  Frank studied her through narrowed eyes, and suddenly it came back to him—how he knew her. Now he remembered. It was a while ago. She had reported that a guy had grabbed her, tried and failed to rape her. She’d scared him off by screaming. They never found the guy. “Miss Sewell,” he said.

  “Miz,” she corrected him.

  “I’ve been thinking that you looked familiar to me. Didn’t you report an assault a while back?…”

  Julia Sewell blushed but didn’t flinch. “Yeah,” she said. “Two years ago. And a fat lot you guys did about it. Anyway, what difference does that make?”

  Frank looked over his notes and shrugged. “No real difference,” he said slowly. “I’m a little concerned that you may not have perceived the situation clearly because of your own experience. We aren’t interested in wasting precious hours trying to hunt down some fellow who stopped to ask Rebecca Starnes for the time.”

  Julia Sewell regarded him with a combination of scorn and outrage. She started to retort, then stopped herself. Her first reaction was to lash out at him. But something more important was at stake here, and even these cops, she reminded herself, were trying, in their own blundering, overbearing way, to do something about it. Besides, she felt guilty. Definitely guilty. She should have intervened. She should have walked up and confronted the man, told him to leave the girl alone.

  Julia thought carefully and composed herself before she replied. “He spoke to her, then he sat down next to her on the bench. Then he offered her something. I don’t know what. After a minute she seemed to take whatever it was. Then he began to get closer to her. You’re right. I was suspicious of him, although my own experience was a little bit different. In my experience, I was walking along and a guy grabbed me from behind and pulled me down into the bushes.”

  There was a brief silence in the interview room. After a moment she continued. “She had a funny look on her face. Like she was uncomfortable. Then she got up and walked away.”

  “She got up and walked away?” Frank asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And what did the man do?”

  “He sat on the bench for a while. Just long enough to pretend that he had some reason for being there. Then he got up and walked away, too.”

  “In the same direction?”

  “Yes.”

  Frank and Pete Millard exchanged a solemn, apprehensive glance.

  “Did you see what happened after that?”

  “No,” she said in a low voice, lowering her eyes. “I should have followed them. I wish I had.”

  “You had no way of knowing, Ms. Sewell. All right,” he said briskly. “We’d like to try and get a composite sketch from your description. It may give us a picture of the suspect. You may remember this procedure from your own experience. Do you think you could work with our artist on this?”

  “Yes, sure,” she said.

  “Now,” said Frank, peering down at his notes. “What about other people that might have seen this man? Did you notice anyone else in the park? Anyone who might be able to ID him for us?

  Julia sighed and looked at the imitation stuccoed surface of the dropped ceiling. “There were a couple of women with kids. One woman walking her baby in a carriage. A couple of joggers, I think….” She shook her head. “Wait, a guy doing tai chi…that’s a series of exercises…a martial art, I believe.”

  “I know what it is,” Frank said irritably. “What did he look like?”

  “He was Asian. Young—late twenties, probably. He was wearing warm-up clothes.”

  “That’s a good place for us to start,” said Frank, standing up. “Thank you for coming forward. If you remember anything else…”

  “I’ll call you,” she promised.

  He hesitated, then added, “I only wish someone had done the same for you.”

  Julia stopped at the door. “I hope it’s not too late,” she said sincerely.

  “So do I,” said Frank in an edgy voice. “So do I.”

  Chapter Eight

  The banner headline on the Taylorsville Tribune proclaimed MISSING over the photos of a pretty high school girl and a laughing, curly-haired baby. Ellen Henson stared at the photos and read the caption: “Six-month-old Justin Wallace and fifteen-year-old Rebecca Starnes…”

  “What’ll it be, lady?” the man in the kiosk asked.

  Ellen looked up at him, startled by his abruptness, then held up pack of mints. “These…and the paper,” she said.

  The man toted up the price indifferently, and Ellen stuffed both the paper and the mints into her purse. She walked down the block, gazing into windows as she passed by. She was so preoccupied that she scarcely registered what she saw. Finally she found herself standing still, staring into one window for a long time. She read the name of the shop on the window and felt disoriented. How long had this store been here, she wondered. She rarely came to town, but still…It was not there when she…when Ken was a baby. She was sure of it. She pushed the door to the Precious Littles Shop open and took a cautious step inside. The walls were painted a creamy yellow, and wallpaper bordered with ducks and dancing letters of the alphabet substituted for a molding around the ceiling. Ellen looked around, wide-eyed, at the racks of frilly dresses, footed sleepers, and tiny pastel sweaters. She was reluctant to touch anything. She walked around the store, gripping her purse as if it were likely to be stolen, although there was no one else in the store except for the young salesgirl, who was sitting behind a glass case, full of baby bonnets and silver rattles.

  The salesgirl was folding hooded terrycloth bath towels into neat piles. She smiled at the gaunt, graying woman who stood helplessly in the middle of the shop.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” she asked.

  “I’ve just come to get a few things,” Ellen said.

  “Grandchild?” the girl asked pleasantly.

  Ellen stared at her as if the question were somehow confusing. “No,” she finally said. “No…just a baby.”

  If the salesgirl was surprised by Ellen’s response, she didn’t show it. “How old is the baby?” she asked smoothly.

  Ellen looked at her blankly for a moment. Then she unconsciously glanced at the newspaper sticking out of her purse and said, “Uh…around six months.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Boy,” said Ellen.

  The salesgirl came out from behind the counter and led Ellen over to the rack of crayon-bright outfits appliqued with fire trucks or puppies or baseballs. The assortment was both dazzling and daunting. Gently Ellen parted the hangers, her eyes alight at the various cunning outfits.

  “Does he like giraffes?” the girl asked, pulling out a pale green sweatsuit adorned with jungle animals.

  Ellen gazed at the little suit. “He loves all animals,” she said.

  “What about cars? Is he into cars yet?” the girl queried, liberating a royal blue and canary yellow combination with a race car motif.

  “He’d like that one, too,” Ellen said.

  The girl went down the row, selecting a half dozen outfits, all of which Ellen agreed to purchase. Pleased but a little surprised by the malleability of her customer, the salesgirl brought them back to the counter to tote up the prices.

  “His mother’s going to be thrilled with all these,” the salesgirl said.

  Ellen looked at the girl warily. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean you’ve got a whole wardrobe here, practically. And all very nice outfits. If there’s anything she already has, or wants to exchange, just tell her to bring it in. We will cheerfully exchange it.”

  “That’s nice. I’ll…tell her,” said Ellen.

  “What’s his name?” the salesgirl asked.

  Ellen squared her shoulders. “Ken,” she said. “His name is Ken.”

  “That’s a nice name,” the girl said placidly, laying the clothes on the counter. She removed the tags from each outfit with a tiny nail sc
issors. “Which card will you be using?”

  “Cash,” Ellen said hurriedly, digging through her purse for her wallet. She took out the newspaper and laid it on the counter, the headline and pictures facing up. At last she found her wallet, while the girl carefully folded her purchases and placed them in a pale blue shopping bag festooned with curling white ribbons.

  The salesgirl glanced down at the paper. “Terrible, isn’t it?” she said, shaking her head. “About that missing baby….”

  Ellen looked up at her, startled. “What?” she asked. “Oh yes,” and she handed the girl a wad of bills, knocking the paper to the floor in her nervous haste. She bent over to pick it up.

  “Who would do such a thing?” the girl said, shaking her head as she took the bills over to the register. “It’s unbelievable. Those parents must be beside themselves. I don’t know what this world is coming to.” She spoke in the world-weary tones of the elderly. “I don’t understand it,” she went on absently as she entered the prices from the tags in her hand into the register.

  The girl finished her transaction and turned to give Ellen the receipt. The customer and the package were gone. The salesgirl frowned and shook her head. She knew what would happen. Sometime next week the mother would come in, looking to exchange four of the outfits without the receipt. “Why are people so careless?” she asked aloud to the empty store. Shaking her head, she picked up her feather duster from behind the counter and started to flick it over the display of photo frames. As she dusted, she suddenly noticed the expensive-looking, cognac-colored wallet lying on the counter. The doorbell jingled and the salesgirl looked up, expecting to see the woman, who had surely realized her mistake and returned. A pretty young blond woman came into the store, pushing a stroller, and began to browse as the salesgirl picked up the wallet and looked inside.

  Chapter Nine

  Maddy walked down the hospital corridor, looking at the numbers above the rooms. She had dropped Bonnie and Sean off at the hospital this morning and had now come back, as promised, to pick them up. Maddy stifled a yawn. It had been a long night, with Sean fussing and Maddy hardly able to sleep for worrying about the insurance situation. She felt completely exhausted by the events of the last few days, she wished she could just go away somewhere and hide from the world. Unfortunately, she did not see any hope for escape on the see on horizon.

  At room 304 she stopped, craning her neck to look inside. There were no visitors in the room. The man in the first bed was sitting up, reading a newspaper. He was balding and pudgy and looked to be about forty. His roommate was lying in the other bed, his head turned toward the window. All she could see of him was longish black hair and a tattoo on his upper arm. She turned to the reading the paper.

  “Mr. Lewis?” she asked.

  The man inclined his head towards the other bed, with a slightly bemused expression his face, then went back to his reading.

  Surprised, Maddy tiptoed over to the other bed. “Mr. Lewis?”

  When he turned his face to her, Maddy could scarcely conceal her surprise. Bonnie’s husband was not at all what she had expected. He had a broad, high-cheekboned face that would have been handsome had it not been pitted with acne scars. He had a thick, black mustache, peppered, like his hair, with gray, and the bandages across his forehead completed the look of a pirate. A silver crucifix hung from a chain around his wide neck and rested on the flimsy cotton of his hospital gown. His eyes were unfocused, heavy lidded from painkillers. He shifted around in the bed, and Maddy could not fail to notice the well-defined, almost cartoonishly large muscles of his upper body.

  “Are you Mr. Lewis?” Maddy asked. She heard, with a shade of embarrassment, the incredulity in her own voice.

  “That’s me,” he said, attempting a smile that revealed small, crooked teeth.

  Maddy could not keep herself from staring at him. She would never have imagined that plain, prim Bonnie had a husband who looked like a Hell’s Angel. She realized he was waiting for her reply. “Urn…My name is Maddy Blake. Your wife and son…are staying with me.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Hi there.”

  “I’m terribly sorry about all this,” she said helplessly.

  “That was real decent of you to take in my family,” he said.

  “Well, it seemed the least I could do.” She thought of the insurance problem and added quickly, “I was glad to do it. Really.”

  He shifted his weight in the bed and winced.

  “How are you feeling?” Maddy asked anxiously.

  The man laid a hand gingerly on his abdomen. “I’m hurtin’ a bit, I have to say. Doc says I need to take it easy. But my spirit is strong.”

  Maddy nodded uncertainly. “Well, I’m sure with that good outlook you’ll make a quick recovery.”

  “I hope so,” he said with a sigh. “Did Bonnie tell you about…us…our situation?”

  “She said you’d just arrived here to see about a new job.”

  A vague look of sadness crossed his face. He nodded, looking away. “That’s right,” he said.

  “I feel just terrible about this,” said Maddy. “Will they hold the job for you? I mean, I’d be happy to call your prospective employer and explain what happened. Are you going to be able to work? Did the doctor say?”

  Terry shrugged, then winced again. “He said no liftin’. That’s gonna be tough, ’cause I’m a laborin’ man.”

  A wave of guilt passed over Maddy at the thought of the Lewises’ predicament. A man in between jobs, a new baby. It seemed so overwhelming. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be sorry for me,” he said. “I’m a lucky man. The good Lord looks out for me. The rest of it’ll work itself out somehow.”

  Maddy forced herself to smile. “Do you happen to know where I can find Bonnie and Sean?”

  Terry’s glazed eyes achieved a sparkle. “I think she was takin’ him out to feed him. Whadda ya think of my boy?” he asked proudly.

  Maddy was able to smile back without reservation. “He’s a. fine boy.”

  Terry smiled at a picture of Sean, just newborn, his tiny eyes not even open. The photo was propped against the water carafe on the tray table across his bed. “I never tire of lookin’ at that picture. Proudest day of my life—the day my son was born.” He looked up at Maddy. “You have any children?”

  “We have a daughter—Amy,” Maddy said, a little surprised that Bonnie hadn’t mentioned her. “She’s three. She’s at preschool right now.”

  “God’s greatest gift, ain’t they? No matter what happens to you, you just keep them always in your heart…” He reached out and stroked the baby’s face in the picture with a stubby forefinger.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Maddy. This macho man, so unabashedly in love with his child, made her feel wistful. Doug never talked that way about Amy. Maybe if Amy had been a boy, she thought. She knew that some men felt a special bond with their sons….

  “I hope we’ll have a little girl one of these days, too,” Terry commented. “A little princess I can carry around on my shoulders. If the Lords wills it….”

  His words pierced her rationalization. “Well,” said Maddy, squaring her shoulders, “I’m going to go hunt up Bonnie and Sean and take them home.”

  “Could you hand me my Bible before you go?” he asked, pointing in the direction of his bedside table. “I can’t really reach it.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  She scanned the surface of the table, then opened the drawer and saw the book sitting there. She took it out and handed it to him. The skin of his fingers felt rough and cracked.

  “Oh, here they are now,” said Terry with satisfaction.

  Maddy looked up and saw that Bonnie had appeared at the foot of the bed, holding Sean against her shoulder.

  “Madonna and child…” He sighed.

  Bonnie flushed furiously, avoiding Maddy’s curious gaze, and came to his side to kiss him.

  Maddy drove home with Bonnie sitting silently besi
de her, staring out the window at the gloomy October day. In the backseat, Amy sat next to Sean, pretending to read to him from a picture book she had brought home from preschool, while Sean squirmed in her old infant car seat and made little noises of protest.

  Every so often Maddy stole a glance at her passenger. Bonnie was wearing a long gray-pleated skirt and a shapeless purple turtleneck that looked as if it had been washed a hundred times. She had on running shoes and sweat socks, and her curly, dull hair looked as if it could never be tamed into any kind of style. Although her hands lay in her lap, they were not at rest. She folded and unfolded her thin fingers in a constant, restless motion. Her gray eyes darted from side to side as if she were perpetually assessing her surroundings. Maddy thought about Bonnie’s placid, tattooed, Bible-reading husband and wondered how in the world these two had ever gotten together.

  “Your husband seems to be doing pretty well,” Maddy offered.

  Bonnie started, as if awakened from a disturbing dream. Then her face settled into a worried frown. “Better, yes,” she said.

  “Did the doctor say how long he had to stay in the hospital?”

  “Probably another day or two,” said Bonnie. “Do you want us to leave?”

  “No,” said Maddy, a little put off by the abruptness in her tone. “Stay as long as you need to.”

  “We’ll be going soon,” Bonnie said firmly. “We’re anxious to get started on our new plans.”

  “I’m sure you are,” said Maddy. “But this will give you a little chance to rest up. You must be tired,” she added. “Sean had a pretty tough night.”

  “What do you mean?” Bonnie asked.

  Maddy heard the defensiveness in her tone and tried to backpedal. “Well, the poor baby had a hard day—the accident, the hospital, a strange house. It didn’t sound like you two got much sleep.”

  “He’s fine. We’re both fine,” said Bonnie.

  Maddy sighed. She wasn’t being critical, but Bonnie seemed to take offense anyway. “That was good news about the van,” she said, trying another subject. They had stopped at the garage and learned that the only damage was that the oil pan had been ripped off. The mechanic promised it would be replaced, probably by the end of the day.

 

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