“Rebecca, my name’s Jack Ridge; I’m a police detective. Can I ask you a few questions?”
Rebecca didn’t answer. She looked up into his eyes in a way that made him uncomfortable; not an easy feat, considering Jack could stare down the barrel of a gun without flinching.
Suddenly his chest tightened, he felt that tickle in his throat. He coughed hard and loud. Not now.
He dug into his pockets quickly for his pills, breathless, like a deep sea diver fumbling for his mouthpiece. He shook two pills into his hand and swallowed them dry. His head and neck vibrated a little from the effort to force them down.
“You take pills too?” Rebecca asked.
Their eyes locked in a staring contest.
“Sometimes.” Jack took out a picture of Angelina from his inside jacket pocket.
“Do they make you sleepy?”
“Sometimes. … Rebecca, this is a picture of—”
“You look funny.”
“I do?”
“You look just like my grandfather did before he died.”
Jack stiffened a bit, not sure how to react to that. Her comment cut deep, without intention, the innocence of a child. Jack ignored it and continued.
“This is a picture of a girl named Angelina. She’s been missing a long time. A lot of people are looking for her. It’s my job to bring her home.”
He showed Rebecca the picture. She stared at it with indifference.
“Do you recognize this girl?”
She lifted her head and nodded. A rush of hope and excitement blasted through Jack’s body and, for a moment, he felt no pain.
“Where did you last see her?” Rebecca took a good look and considered her answer. She could tell how important this was to him.
“On TV,” she said softly.
“…TV?”
She nodded. The air left the room. Jack put the picture back into his pocket, disappointed. “Is there anything else you can tell me?” She shrugged. “Maybe something you felt uncomfortable telling someone else? Her family is worried sick. They’re afraid something bad might’ve happened to her. I promise, if you tell me, nothing bad will happen to you.”
Rebecca withdrew, her eyes fished around the room for something to stare at. Jack feared he was losing her. She turned and looked out the window, exhaling through her nose. “Rebecca, I hear you have terrible nightmares. Is that true?”
That got her attention.
“About a girl? About something bad happening?” Rebecca turned inward, like a child when you ask to see the cut on their finger and they clench their fist into a ball of marble.
“Do you think you’re having these dreams because of something you saw on TV?” Jack said in his best nice guy voice. No response. “Okay… Well—”
“How do you know I have nightmares? Did my mother tell you?” She caught Jack off guard, he didn’t want to say yes or no, and he certainly didn’t want to reveal it was her psychiatrist who sold her out, especially after promising Leonard at least an attempt at discretion.
“I appreciate you taking the time out of class to come and talk with me, Rebecca.”
She shrugged. “We were doing fractions.”
They both stood up. “You like math?”
“Not really.” Rebecca pushed her chair in like they’re taught to do.
“Why not?”
“The teacher yelled at me.”
“She did? What for?”
“Correcting her.”
Jack smiled and opened the door. Even though the conversation was pretty one-sided and uneventful, his gut told him he would see her again.
Aaron Phillips was waiting just outside. He slapped his hands together with a glad that’s over smack. “Well, all set then?”
The sun had broken through, children outside at recess played ball and tag; screaming, laughing, calling each other names.
Jack watched them through the breezeway window, enjoying the sound of children’s laughter and happiness. A profound longing and emptiness welled up inside, but not enough to sour the moment.
Jack was halfway down the hallway when he realized he had made a wrong turn. He doubled back and caught a glimpse of Rebecca walking back to class. A young boy passed her by, making an effort to bump shoulders with her, hoping to knock her off balance. Rebecca went backwards with a wince, but didn’t fall. The boy laughed it up as he skipped down the hallway in Jack’s direction. Jack thought about sticking his leg out to trip the little bastard.
CHAPTER 12
It was that transition just after dawn, light gradually replacing darkness. Jack squinted, his eyes still adjusting to the new morning light. He wanted to get to the Ann Arbor precinct early. He found he got more cooperation from people at the start of their shift rather than after their daily routine had engulfed them. Frost covered the ground, the wet conditions making the roads slippery.
On the seat beside him was Leonard’s file on Rebecca. He couldn’t subscribe to the idea that someone could witness something as horrific as murder and not be able to recall details from the experience. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t intrigued, especially after meeting her. He’d heard of instances where a person’s mind chose to bury traumatic thoughts and memories it couldn’t process; he’d done that himself. Part of his job dealt with people who suffered from momentary lapses in reason. Husbands who’d strangled their wives in a fit of jealous rage, then later couldn’t recall doing it, denying it even happened. Shit, there were mornings he awoke still holding onto a bottle of beer, unable to remember how he got into bed.
He passed the faded green sign for Ann Arbor and took the exit.
Jack stood in Sheriff Miller’s brown wood paneled office, flipping through the contents of a murder report. It was extensively detailed and annotated. Every crime scene photograph had a cross reference of where it was taken, by whom, during what time of day. Jack read the name on the cover, Lisa Delgado. He stood up and spread the documents across the top of the desk.
Sheriff Miller stood in the corner of the room sipping coffee from a giant #1 Dad mug. His kids had painted it for him — 14 years ago. He was completely bald with a wrinkle in his forehead that ran vertically up into his crown, making his head look like a cracked egg.
“Illegal, no family, ’least none that have come forward yet,” Sheriff Miller said. “No missing person report was ever filed. Probably scared.”
Jack sifted through picture after picture of grizzly crime scene stills. They’d found her body just days after it was disposed of. The carnage in the photographs was fresh, Jack could almost smell the stench of blood and decaying flesh, something he never got used to.
“A runner found her along the side of the road; not even an attempt to conceal the remains. Just left for the elements, stripped naked, no prints, fibers, nothing. The skull was smashed, teeth removed. She was a Jane Doe for a few weeks.”
“How long ago?”
“Four years? Cause of death was asphyxiation. Stabbed first, but purposely cut where it wouldn’t be lethal. So she’d suffer.”
Jack started to write it all down when the sheriff interrupted him. “It’s all in the report. I’m not offering any insight the coroner hasn’t already made in his notes.” Jack put his pen away and started stacking pages of the report.
“Anything unusual or… different in his report?” Jack asked.
“Did find indentations along the bones of her hands and feet. Some kind of sharp wire that cut deeper the harder she pulled. Torturous scumbag. The damage occurred over a period of time, erosive, like when you leave an animal in a cage too long.”
“Held over a period of time,” Jack said.