Lost Innocents (12 page)

“How did she die, Doc?” Frank asked.

“She was shot, actually. In the head, at close range. Judging from the entry wound, I’d guess a small handgun, although we need the slug to say for sure,” said the doctor.

“She was awful bruised,” said Frank.

“She’d been dragged here. She didn’t die right away.”

“Nice,” said Frank, thinking about the girl’s mother clutching her daughter’s school picture. “Sexual assault?”

The coroner shrugged. “It looks likely. But we won’t know for sure until we get the lab results.”

“Those sickos are usually more fond of knives, or better yet, strangulation,” Frank observed.

Dr. Tillis sighed. “True, but judging from the condition in which we found her…”

“Right,” said Frank. “How long till we know?”

“Tomorrow, I’d say.”

“Well, light a fire under these people. I want them yesterday,” Frank snarled.

Dr. Tillis did not take the chief’s anger personally. “Will do,” he said.

Pete Millard walked up beside Frank, and together they watched the shrouded body being placed in the back of the county coroner’s van. “So, what have we got?” Pete asked. “Was it a sex crime, or were they just trying to get the baby?”

“Can’t call it yet. Looks like a sex thing, but we have to wait for the lab.”

“But if it was sex…,” said Pete.

“Right. Any sign…?” Frank asked.

Pete understood his boss’s shorthand. He was referring to Justin. “They’re combing this place,” he said.

“We were too late,” said Frank.

Pete nodded.

“Shit,” said Frank. “That poor woman.” He was dreading it. The moment that lay just ahead, when he would knock on Sandi Starnes’s door and have to find the words to explain what had happened to her beloved, smiling girl.

“Maybe we’ll find the kid,” Pete said hopefully. “If he’s not right here, that could be a good sign.”

“Yeah,” Frank snorted, his gaze roving restlessly over the trees in the quiet woods. “Great.”

H
eather Cameron sat alone at a table for six, her lunch tray in front of her, pretending to read a book. She tried to appear oblivious of the fact that the other kids were avoiding her. She imagined that there was a murmur running through the noisy lunchroom, with her name discernible through the din. She did not intend to look up, not even once. She would not give them the satisfaction. Her heart began to hammer with fear when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, two people approaching her table. She fixed her eyes on the book and prayed that they would veer off in another direction. Instead two trays were set down, one across from her and one beside her. Feeling ambushed, she tried to hide her stinging tears. She ducked her head as if to avoid blow.

A voice above her said kindly, “Hi, Heather.”

Heather looked up warily. Karla and Richie, who had walked to school with her this morning and chattered along as if unaware of Heather’s disgrace at being officially branded a liar, were now surrounding her at the empty table. Richie faced her, and Karla stood beside her.

“Hi,” Heather mumbled. She regarded the pair suspiciously. This morning she had just figured they were being nice. After all, she and Karla had grown up in the same neighborhood. Since Karla had always been pretty and had boyfriends, it was easy for her to be nice, Heather thought. This, however, seemed a bit too nice. As if Heather were being set up for something. She saw them exchange a collusive glance.

“Can we sit with you?” asked Karla.

“Sure, if you want to,” said Heather. But she didn’t smile.

Karla settled herself into the seat, tamping her straw on the tabletop to unwrap it. “Did you hear about that girl from Perpetual Sorrows?” she asked.

Heather frowned. “What girl?”

“The one that was missing with the baby.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Heather.

“They found her. Your father was on TV.”

“Is she okay?” Heather asked.

“No,” said Richie. “She’s dead.”

“Oh, God,” said Heather, closing her book. The three sat in silence for a moment, stunned at the idea of someone their own age, in their own town, meeting such a fate.

“I heard they questioned Mr. Blake about it,” said Richie. “Your dad brought him in.”

Heather’s face flamed. She wished that the cafeteria floor would open up and swallow her. “That’s stupid,” she said.

“Why? He’s a perv,” said Richie. “You said so yourself.”

Karla gave Richie a warning glance. Heather picked up her book and opened it again.

“What are you reading?” Karla asked pleasantly.

Heather had to look at the book to be able to answer the question. “Algebra,” she said. She peered at Richie, who was popping the top of his soda can, avoiding her gaze. Then she looked at Karla. “How come you two are being nice to me?” she said.

Richie looked up innocently, as if hurt by her question. But Karla did not bother to feign innocence. She slipped her straw into her milk carton and swished it around.

“You must have some reason,” Heather said stubbornly.

“Can’t we just be nice?” Richie protested.

Heather made a face. “Don’t try to jerk me around. I’ve been jerked around enough. First you walk me to school. Now you’re sitting with me. Everybody knows I’m some kind of leper because of this thing with Mr. Blake.”

“Okay, Heather. You’re right. Well, we are being nice,” said Karla. “I mean, we don’t mean you any harm. I promise.”

“But you want something.”

Richie sighed and began to eat his pizza.

“Sort of,” said Karla.

Heather felt her heart sink. Even as she insisted to herself that she knew it, she had entertained a secret hope that maybe, maybe these two beautiful people wanted, for some reason, to be friends with her. It wasn’t a big letdown, because she’d only had the morning to hope for it. Still…

Karla placed a small, perfectly formed hand on her forearm. “Look, Heather. I’ve known you for most of your life, right?”

Heather nodded, temporarily unable to circumvent the lump of disappointment that was lodged in her throat.

“I believe you, Heather. Well, I mean, sort of.”

Heather shrugged, as if this were what she’d expected.

Richie leaned across the table. His fine green eyes regarded her earnestly, and Heather felt her stomach swoop. What must it be like to have a guy like this really like you? she wondered.

“Look, Heather, I know everybody thinks Mr. Blake is a cool guy and all, but I don’t think so. He gave me a D last term and it kept me off the football team.”

“Did you deserve it?” Heather said sarcastically.

“I missed a test because I was out with an injury from practice. He wouldn’t let me make it up. He said it was an automatic F.”

“Why didn’t you just bring a note?” Heather said dully.

“I did bring a note. But he said if I was that weak, I didn’t belong on the team anyway. He’s a bastard.”

“Why didn’t you tell your mother or the principal?”

“Yeah, like you did,” said Richie.

Heather sighed. “But why? Why did he do it?”

Richie made a face and squeezed his Coke can until it started to dent. “I think he was trying to get to Karla,” he said.

“Oh, come on,” said Heather.

“Really. He asked me all these questions about her. He said how she’d probably want to help me make the team.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Heather protested. “He doesn’t…”

“Doesn’t what? I thought he forced you into it for a grade.”

Heather shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

“We were really hoping he was going to get fired for what he did to you,” said Karla.

“Yeah, well, me too,” said Heather.

“He probably would have if you hadn’t kept changing your story,” Karla said severely. “Why did you do that? Why didn’t you show up in court and all?”

Heather stuck her jaw out and stared at the tray. She felt her face flaming, and she wished that they would just go away. “Never mind,” she said.

“You liked him, didn’t you?” said Karla.

“No,” Heather whispered.

Karla and Richie exchanged a glance. “The thing is, Heather, I’ve heard rumors about him before,” said Karla. “Nothing definite. Just talk, you know….”

Heather snorted derisively. “Try and prove it.”

Karla leaned toward her and gripped her arm. “That’s what we want to do,” she said. “We want to get him, and we think we know a way. We have an idea, anyhow.”

Heather’s heart suddenly hammered with excitement and something weird. A kind of hopefulness. She hadn’t realized, even all during the court thing, how much she really wanted to get back at him. The decision to accuse him out loud, in public, had been more like a moment of madness than anything else. She had never realized that it would go so far. But now that she had made such a total muck of it, and everybody else looked at her like a fool—now she realized her mistake. She gazed in wonderment at these promising new allies. “You do?” she said.

“Yes,” said Karla. “Would you like to help?”

P
aulina Tomczuk looked at her watch and frowned. She had been hunting for Ellen for over an hour now, but she’d had no luck. It was frustrating. She could be anywhere. Paulina had already tried a few of the places she thought she might find her her — the greenhouse where she got her plants,the few stores where she infrequently shopped. She had slowly trolled through the busy streets and parking lots of Taylorsville, but there was no sign of Ellen’s red Jeep.

I’m a cook, not a detective, she thought irritably as she turned into the gates of the cemetery where Kenny had been laid to rest. The gloomy, windswept expanse was silent and empty. Dry leaves drifted across the still green lawn, coming to rest against the stark, gray markers for the dead. Paulina drove through the winding roads of the graveyard, stopping for a moment to look down at the plot where the child was buried. They had chosen a spot beneath a dogwood tree, which was lovely in the spring. Now, in the October gloom, its bare branches reached out plaintively, protectively, over the headstones, like a mother’s arms.

This time of year the Mr. H was always worried most about his wife. Right around the birthday. The birthday was always the toughest. Paulina thought that Ellen had seemed all right on the birthday. Almost as if she weren’t thinking about it. She had been preoccupied and jumpy, which seemed to worry Mr. H more than if she had been weepy. Paulina was beginning to agree with him.

Not that she was any expert on mental problems. Paulina had raised four children who were all healthy and normal, thank God; likewise her grandchildren. But they had never had to suffer what Ellen had. It was not something a woman just got over. Anyway, when she got to work this afternoon, and Mr. H called, there was no sign of Ellen anywhere. He said he’d been calling on and off all day, to no answer, and he sounded just about frantic. She knew why—Ellen hardly ever went out, and when she did, it was usually after hours of deliberation and she was back in no time. Paulina had agreed to drive around and look for her. She had removed her apron, climbed into the car, and here she was, an hour later, and no luck.

“I’m not a mind reader,” she said aloud. She was annoyed. Annoyed that she had been sent on this assignment and annoyed that she had failed. “I’m not a detective,” she declared to the inside of her car.

Maybe she’s back home by now, Paulina reasoned. Maybe I just missed her. And I have a pie to finish for supper, she thought ruefully. I’m going to head back, she decided.

Just as she was turning out of the cemetery exit, Paulina had an inspiration. The vet. Ellen was so concerned about those new kittens—perhaps she had gone to the vet for something. One more try, she thought, swinging the car in the direction of the River Road. A few minutes later, a glance at the parking lot of the vet’s clinic told her that this was not the answer, either.

“I’ve got to start my pie,” she said aloud. She couldn’t just drive around all day. Paulina glanced at the statue of the blessed Virgin that rode on the dashboard. “You’re going to have to look out for her, Holy Mother,” she said as she drove along the winding River Road. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she spotted a flash of red alongside the shoulder. She slowed down and pulled up behind the red Jeep, which was parked at a lopsided angle. Paulina pressed her lips together anxiously as she got out of her car. There was no one anywhere in sight. The car was empty.

“Mrs. H,” she cried. “Ellen.” Except for the crackle of leaves and the plaintive cry of birds, the woods were quiet. Black skid marks were visible on the road, and a curl of rubber from a tire rested in the brown grass up ahead. “Ellen,” Paulina cried again. She whirled around when she heard rustling in the bushes behind her.

When she didn’t see anyone, she assumed it must be an animal. Then, from the trees, she heard the crunching sounds of someone moving through the ground cover and a soft, muffled sob. Paulina was not an exceptionally brave person, but she felt a sudden, fierce determination on Ellen’s behalf. She started into the mass of evergreens that bordered the road. She had taken only a few steps into the trees when she saw her.

Ellen was on her hands and knees, crawling along the ground.

“Mrs. H,” Paulina cried. She ran toward her, branches and vines catching at the ankles of the half stockings beneath her double-knit pants. Her low-heeled, navy blue shoes were not meant for trudging through the woods, but she plunged on toward the frail woman on the ground ahead of her.

Ellen looked up, and Paulina could see that she was frantic. She raised her arms like a child, and Paulina reached for her with her large hands, still powdery white with traces of flour. “What in the world?” Paulina cried.

“I’ve been looking for the kitten,” Ellen said, grasping Paulina’s hand.

Paulina looked at her in complete confusion. “What kitten?”

“The one I gave to the little girl,” Ellen said earnestly.

It took Paulina a few moments to realize what her employer was talking about. “Well, what makes you think it would be here? Don’t they still have it?”

Ellen clutched at the sleeves of Paulina’s car coat. “The kitten ran away. Nobody looked for him. He’s too little. I was the one who gave him away. I should never have given him away. I’ve been looking and looking. I have to find him…”