“Sure thing, Detective.” The officer released Tommy from his metal bonds. “I’ll be at the front desk, you need anything. If you could let me know when you’re done—we’ll be shutting down for the night and the chief doesn’t like overtime.” He closed the door behind him.
Tommy remained standing, trying to assess Burroughs’ mood. The detective finally looked up, took in Tommy’s bedraggled appearance, and leaned back. “Sit.”
“Where’s Nellie?” Tommy didn’t sit. He’d been sitting around doing nothing for far too long. “I need to see her.”
“In due time. Which is after you sit down.” Burroughs snapped the last in the tone of a platoon sergeant.
Tommy hesitated, just long enough to make it clear he was taking a seat under protest.
Burroughs continued, “I went over the statement you gave the officer. Does this look familiar?”
He turned his laptop around so Tommy could see the screen. On it was a grainy black and white image of an SUV. The driver’s face was obscured by the rain on the windshield and a ball cap pulled low, but there was no mistaking the shotgun in his hands pointed out the window.
“You got lucky. New red light camera at that intersection, installed last week.”
“Did you find him? Is he under arrest?”
“No. The plate,” he clicked a key and a shot of the SUV racing away filled the screen, “was covered with mud. We’re working on other cameras in the area.”
“So he’s still out there.” Tommy was glad he’d called Gloria. “Where’s Nellie?”
“Down the hall in the break room with the secretary—whose shift is over, by the way. Gonna be up all night with the sugar rush.”
“I called her grandparents to come take her. She’s not safe staying with me.”
“Not if someone is really trying to run you off the road and aiming shotguns at you. The charges against you are dropped.”
“Charges?”
“Reckless endangerment of a minor, about a dozen moving violations.”
Then the rest of Burroughs’ statement kicked Tommy in the gut. “Wait. What do you mean, ‘really’ trying to run me off the road? You’ve seen my car—you can see the guy right there. Why don’t you believe me?”
Burroughs met his gaze, his face expressionless. “I see a guy. I see a guy so desperate to clear his name and keep his daughter he would do anything.”
“You think I
faked
all this? Hired some actor to terrorize my daughter? I would never—” He couldn’t even find the words to finish his sentence.
“A man who killed his wife would.” Burroughs appeared unmoved.
Tommy stood, his chest burning as he forced his fists to relax. “If I’m free to go, I’d like to be taken to my daughter, Detective. Now.”
THE BEST WASH
could do was locate Walter and Sarah Putnam’s address in Pittsburgh from two years ago when their baby died. To TK it didn’t seem much to go on—the new owner was a leasing company, so was closed for the business day, even if they had any information about the former owners. But Lucy seemed determined to find someone to talk to tonight. So here they were on a fool’s mission to knock on doors in the middle of a monsoon in the hopes that someone would remember neighbors from over two years ago.
TK had wanted to go alone, had argued that Lucy had a husband and daughter to go home to, but it was obvious that Lucy’s battle instincts had been aroused and she wouldn’t rest until they uncovered the truth. Didn’t help that no one had been able to reach Tommy yet.
Lucy had driven them across the river to the Putnams’ former duplex in Bloomfield. The rain hadn’t slowed but Lucy had seemed impervious to it, driving more aggressively than TK had ever seen her.
First they tried the neighbor in the adjoining half of the divided Victorian. No one home. Next, they tried the townhouse on the other side. There they got lucky. An elderly African-American woman with high cheekbones and silver hair opened the door.
“We’re trying to learn more about the owners who lived next door to you two years ago,” Lucy said, pitching her voice over the sound of the rain drumming on the porch roof and sounding very much like the FBI agent she used to be. Someone not to be trifled with. “A Mr. and Mrs. Walter Putnam? Her name was Sarah?”
“Why?” the woman asked. The mailbox beside her read: Barnett. TK tried a personal appeal.
“They’re not in trouble or anything, Mrs. Barnett,” TK rushed to explain. “Sarah needs your help.”
“We’re from the Beacon Group,” Lucy continued. “Sarah has had an accident, lost some of her memory.”
“I saw it on the news this morning. Barely recognized her, she’s changed so much. Different hair and all. I wasn’t sure if I should call or not. They said her name was Brown, and I thought maybe—” Barnett’s expression dimmed. “I thought with everything, she might have moved on, gotten remarried or the like…”
“So you remember them?” Lucy prompted. “Could you tell us what happened?”
“I guess. If you think it will help.”
“Yes, ma’am. At this point anything will help. You’ll have details that the police won’t, little things that could help her remember.”
“Are you sure she wants to? I mean, maybe it’s a blessing—”
“I’m not sure that’s for us to decide. Wouldn’t you want to know?”
“No. I don’t think I would. But, all right, then. Better you hear it from me than some lawyer or such. You’d best come in out of the rain.” She ushered them inside and settled them on a couch in the front room. “Would you like some tea or cookies?”
“Thank you, no.” Lucy sat still, arms open at her sides, palms up. TK realized that her body language was inviting the old lady to fill the silence, to trust her. She quickly uncrossed her own arms and tried to mirror Lucy’s posture.
“It was a terrible tragedy.” Barnett shook her head, looking puzzled, then smoothed her skirt across her knees. “Those two. Poor things. Absolutely devoted to each other. And to that baby.”
“Can you tell us what happened?”
“Well now, they’d only just moved here from DC. He had a fancy consulting job, was commuting to the capital, talking to senators and congressmen and such. Handsome man, sharp dresser. And how she loved to fuss over him. Straightening his tie, smoothing his hair. You could just see how it pained either of them to be out of the other’s sight. But he didn’t want his boy to grow up in DC, so they moved here right after the baby was born—I mean, they bought the house before, actually planned to have the baby here, but the Good Lord brought him early, threw a wrench in their plans.”
“A pretty stressful beginning, then?”
“Oh my, yes. That baby, so colicky—like so many of them born a bit early, you know. First three weeks he was home, I don’t think either Walter or Sarah got a lick of sleep. Then Walter had to go back to work, and it was only Sarah.” She folded her hands in her lap and sighed. “If they’d only let me help. But you know how it is, young, independent, new to an area, not sure who to trust. I offered, I did, but she insisted—”
“What happened, Mrs. Barnett?”
“Walter was due back that night, but his flight was canceled. Sarah had been up for days; the baby just wouldn’t settle. And I guess, it all just crashed down on her.”
“Did she do something to hurt the baby?”
“Lord, no. She fell asleep, that’s all. Perfectly understandable—and perfectly forgivable. She was only human.” Barnett paused. TK started to say something but heeded Lucy’s example and instead waited. “Walter finally got home in the middle of the night. He found them. Sarah asleep on the couch. The baby must have been nursing, had fallen between the cushions. Oh, the screams when he woke her. I ran out in my nightdress, thought the building was on fire. But it was Sarah. Holding her dear little baby in her arms, begging for someone to do something, shrieking, crying. It broke my heart.”
“Did an ambulance come?”
“I called 911, but they didn’t wait. Jumped in Walter’s car and drove to Three Rivers, carrying that poor baby. Sarah collapsed in the waiting room, I heard later. Burning up with fever—mastitis, infection from the baby not nursing. They rushed her up to OB—she was there for days getting antibiotics. I went to visit her. She kept asking about the baby, when were they going to let her see her baby.” She looked away and patted her eyes.
Lucy gave the old lady time to compose herself again before asking, “So they blamed the doctor at the ER for not saving the baby?”
“Well, now, that’s what I don’t understand. I mean, I know Walter and Sarah sued over it, saying the baby was still breathing and the doctor should have saved him. After she came home, Sarah even told me she thought they, the doctor and some social worker, were covering things up. She had this idea that they killed him, that it was all a conspiracy.” She shook her head. “Poor thing. That was before she went into the hospital the first time—not Three Rivers, Western Psych.”
“She was delusional, is that it?” Lucy asked in a neutral tone. “Or was there something to her theory?”
“Oh, no. Poor, poor thing. And she had him convinced as well. No surprise there, I guess—those two were inseparable, like two pieces of the same person. And he was so obsessed with her, of course he’d believe her rather than the truth.”
“What was the truth, Mrs. Barnett?”
“I thought you knew. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“I’d like to hear it in your own words. What did you see that night?”
“What did I see? Well, now, I’m no doctor, but it was obvious that poor baby had been dead for a long, long time. Hours, maybe all day. It was black and purple and its head and belly were swollen. Anyone could see that poor thing was long past saving—no sense blaming any doctor. If Walter hadn’t seen for himself that it was an accident, the way Sarah had fallen asleep, her body smothering the poor child, I think the cops might have thought she’d done it herself. Not that it was any consolation to either of them. Can you even imagine it? The pain? Knowing you’d killed your own baby?”
TK and Lucy exchanged glances and shook their heads.
Mrs. Barnett grasped one hand in the other as if washing them clean of the Putnams and their tragedy. “Something like that? It would drive anyone insane.”
BURROUGHS ESCORTED TOMMY
down the hall to a small break room where a middle-aged woman sat with Nellie at a table surrounded by empty vending machine-size cereal bowls. Nellie looked up, her face smeared purple and lime green. “Daddy, we’re having breakfast for dinner!”
“So I see. Guess you finally got your Sugar Loops.”
The dispatcher stood up. “Thought it was better than candy bars or chips.”
“Thank you. I very much appreciate you looking out for her.”
She nodded and left. Burroughs watched from the doorway, but Tommy ignored him. He took the seat beside Nellie. She was kneeling, bouncing, as she scooped cereal into her mouth with a plastic spoon.
“So, I called your Gramma and Papa. They’re coming to pick you up,” Tommy began.
“No Pizza Joe’s?”
He patted her belly. “Not tonight, sweetie. I don’t think you’d have room anyway.”
“You’re coming too, right? That way you can help me feed the horses and brush them in the morning and I’ll teach you how to rake out the dirty straw and poop and then you can watch me ride my pony.” Her words emerged in a rush. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the sugar or her anxiety. Until she dropped her spoon to squeeze his fingers tight, and he had his answer.
“No, sweetie. I think it’s best if you go with your grandparents alone. They’re going to take you on a fun trip.”
She shook her head, not releasing his finger. “Not without you, Daddy. The horses are okay without me. We can just go home.”
“I’m not sure when we can go home.”
“Because of the bad men?”
“Right. If you go with Papa and Gramma, then I won’t have to worry about you because I know you’ll be all right.” A thought occurred to him. The man in the SUV had followed him down the mountain, so probably knew where Peter and Gloria lived. Hell, a two-second Internet search could give them a map leading right to their front door. He turned to Burroughs. “Can we have a police officer go with them? Make sure the house is safe?”
Burroughs nodded and stepped outside.
Nellie met Tommy’s gaze, worry creasing her brow. “But what about you, Daddy? How will I know you’ll be all right?”
Her earnest tone almost shattered his resolve. Thankfully, Gloria and Peter arrived just then, bustling into the room, their coats dripping with rain.
“There she is,” Gloria exclaimed, crouching down beside Nellie to hug her tight. “I hear you had quite an adventure.”
Peter stood silently beside Burroughs, mirroring the detective’s scowl.
“I was just telling Nellie that she was going with you guys and that you’d be taking her on a trip,” Tommy said.
“Right. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Hershey Park. They have rides, and you can see where the chocolate is made, won’t that be fun?” Gloria gushed.
Nellie didn’t seem so certain. “Where will you go, Daddy? Why can’t you come with us?”
“I have some things to take care of here,” Tommy said, standing up to give Gloria his chair. He turned to Peter. “Maybe you could leave tonight?”
“Tonight? I thought you said you were the target.”
“I am. I just worry—”
“Don’t. Nellie will be fine with us.” He turned to Gloria. “Time to go.”
Tommy moved back to Nellie. “Give me a hug before you go.”
She bounced up in her chair, almost sending it toppling over as she hugged him fiercely. “Promise me you’ll be okay,” she whispered.
“I promise. You be a good girl. And remember, I love you.” He kissed each cheek and her forehead.
“I love you too, Daddy.” She wrapped her arms around his neck so tight that he couldn’t breathe.
Then Peter joined them, gently lifting her away from Tommy and into his own arms. “We’ll have tons of fun, won’t we?”
Nellie nodded. “Did you know you could have breakfast for dinner?”
Gloria joined Peter and Nellie. Tommy followed them out to the corridor. “Call me before you leave?” Tommy said. “And I’ll talk to you every day, Nellie.”