Double Vision (16 page)

M
olly poked her head through the railings at the top of the stairs. She couldn't see Dr. Ramey, but she could hear her voice. She was with another woman this time. Thank goodness. Liam did
not
like that Agent Dodd from before, even though Molly thought he was a nice enough man. Maybe he'd just had a bad day the other day, the same kind Molly had had the day her friend had kicked her in the shin accidentally while their class was learning how to play soccer at PE. She'd been grumpy all afternoon the day that happened.

“Ladies, I'm trying to be hospitable, but this is getting a bit ridiculous and excessive,” Liam's voice echoed from the foyer. “What could a six-year-old possibly know about a crime scene that others couldn't undoubtedly tell you more about?”

Molly resisted the urge to blow a raspberry. Six was a perfectly fine number to have as an age. Sure, it was a devil's number to some people, but it was also the number of geese a-laying in “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Geese were neat birds. It was the number of legs insects were born or hatched with, the number of cans in a regular pack of soda, and the atomic number of carbon. Nothing wrong with six. She knew a lot of things about a lot of different subjects as a six-year-old!

She shouldn't have taken Dr. Ramey into Liam's office that day during their tour. That was all there was to it. He didn't even really like
her
looking at his art, like the rock collection imprints and the painting. No wonder he'd acted like Dr. Ramey bugged him after that. He'd never said anything to Molly about it, but she'd known as soon as he'd come in the office while they were talking that day that she shouldn't have been there, brought a guest inside. The heat had crept up her neck to her cheeks the same way it did anytime she went in his office to look at the artwork when he wasn't in there. The very first day she'd noticed the artwork, stood to admire it, Liam had come over and talked to her about the painting the same way she had discussed it with Dr. Ramey. But after that time, he hadn't been happy to have her visit the office and look at the art. She guessed she didn't blame him. She wouldn't want other people staring at her stuff when she wasn't there, either. It just felt creepy.

“Mr. Tyler, we believe Molly can answer certain questions for us based on where she was located inside the building at the time the shooting occurred,” the unfamiliar female said.

Her stepfather let out an audible sigh.

One. Two. Three.

“Fine. I'll call her down. But let's keep it short this time. Okay, ladies?”

Molly jerked her head back through the rails and sprinted the few steps down the hallway back to her room.

“Molly? Hon? Can you come down for a few minutes?”

She closed her door as she came out so it would sound like she'd been in her room all the time. She took the stairs one by one at a hop, all twelve.
Twelve in a dozen, twelve dozen in a gross. Twelve months in a year. Twelve edges on a cube, like her Rubik's cube. Force twelve, the maximum wind speed possible for a hurricane.

She landed on both feet at the bottom. “What's going on, Liam?”

“Dr. Ramey and Agent Ovarez came by to talk to you. Is that all right?”

She glanced past him to the foyer, where she saw Dr. Ramey smile and wave as well as the lady with darker skin and almost-black hair pulled into a ponytail who stood beside her. “Sure.”

“You know you don't have to if you don't want to, right?” Liam asked.

Molly nodded. Never mind that he didn't think she could help. “I know. I want to.”

Liam turned and gestured for the two agents to come over. Molly followed as he led them into the kitchen, poured them both a cup of coffee and Molly a glass of juice.

“Well, you ladies let me know if I'm needed. I'll be in the living room,” he said.

Dr. Ramey thanked Liam, and he left.

Molly did like Dr. Ramey. The doctor was fun to talk to, mainly because Molly could tell Dr. Ramey thought of her as any other person. Not like a lot of adults.

“So, Molly, how have you been doing?” Dr. Ramey asked.

“I'm okay,” she said truthfully. Everyone had been worried she would have bad dreams after the grocery store or be really upset over the ordeal, but really, the only things about it she'd given much thought were Mr. Beasley, the man in the cereal aisle, and how much she missed seeing G-Ma almost every day. She really did miss G-Ma. A whole, whole lot.

“I'm glad. This is Agent Ovarez. She's working with me on this case,” Dr. Ramey said, nodding to the darker-skinned lady, who flashed a smile and put out her hand.

Molly let go of where her own hand lingered on her juice cup and stretched it across the table to shake Agent Ovarez's brown hand. She liked that the new lady wanted to shake hands. Maybe she was a lot like Dr. Ramey.

“Hi,” Molly said.

“Nice to meet you, Molly,” the agent replied.

“Molly, we need to ask you a few more questions about the day of the grocery store,” Dr. Ramey said. “Anything you happened to notice is important, so tell us whatever pops into your mind. Sound good?”

Molly nodded.

“All righty, then. Molly, I need you to think about being in the store
before
the bad stuff started to happen. What you and G-Ma were doing right before the loud noises and yelling started, before you called nine-one-one. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Molly said, sure of herself. She had a good memory.

“Great. Now, I brought some pictures with me. Some of the people in the pictures were in the grocery store while you were. Other ones weren't there at all. I need you to look at the people in the pictures and tell me if you recognize any of them, and if you do, anything you might've noticed about them while you were there.”

“Like what color shirt they were wearing?” Molly said, her heart beating faster. She couldn't tell why, but she was almost excited about this responsibility. She didn't know what made it such an important job, but if they came all the way out here to ask her to tell them things she noticed, it had to be. She needed to do it right.

“Let me explain a little more,” Dr. Ramey said.

Molly leaned in, elbows on the table.
Concentrate. This is big.

•   •   •

J
enna leaned forward, mimicking Molly. She could tell the little girl was eager to please, but explaining what it was they wanted her to detail to them without leading her in any way would prove tricky.

“We'd love for you to describe what they were wearing. Sure, that could be something you'd notice. You could talk about clothing or anything else about the way they looked that day that the picture doesn't show. But this can include anything you noticed about them in addition to how they looked, too. You could tell us if you saw an item you remember being in their grocery cart or if you heard them talking at all, what their voice sounded like, the topic they were talking about . . . anything like that. You can tell us if you felt a certain way near them, or if they seemed friendly, reminded you of someone you knew . . . made another person nearby laugh, walked faster than you did . . . anything,” Jenna continued.

“Or if they had lots of groceries in a cart or were carrying a full basket and lots of stuff in their arms, too? Or if they had a basket, but it only had a few small things in it, probably not even enough to need a basket. That's one thing I noticed about Mr. Beasley. That's the reason I knew he was missing from the back room where they kept the witnesses that day. Because I'd looked at him and his basket, talked to him.”

Jenna had to suppress the urge to snicker so she wouldn't interrupt or insult the little detective in the making, but it wasn't easy. Molly's stepfather might be trying with everything he had to keep Molly from any further involvement with the case, but the kid had different ideas, as the team had found out recently. After Eldred Beasley's call to Jenna, Teva had followed up with Eldred's daughter, who at first couldn't tell them much if anything—her dad hadn't told her he remembered being at Lowman's at all, and she said she couldn't imagine why he'd had the seemingly random, isolated moment of clarity regarding the incident that he must have had the night he'd called Jenna.

But this morning, the daughter had called Teva back. She'd been at her father's apartment to drop off some takeout for him to have for lunch when he'd mumbled something about talking to “that little girl” on the phone.

It hadn't taken much digging after that to find out that Molly's interest in numbers had given her a leg up in her amateur-sleuthing pursuits. Somehow, Molly had managed to obtain Eldred's phone number despite not even knowing his name. Apparently, she'd been concerned when she realized he hadn't been in the back room of the grocery store where the witnesses who'd seen the shooter were held until the police could talk to them. So she decided to make sure to get the involved parties in touch with each other since they were all very busy doing other important things and consequently it might get put off without their realizing.

What else did you see in Eldred Beasley that we haven't yet?
But they'd get to that later. First, a control question.

“What was the first thing you noticed about the first person you saw when you and G-Ma entered Lowman's that day?”

“It was more crowded than on other days we'd been to that store at the same time of afternoon. G-Ma told me it was senior citizens' discount day, and we started produce shopping. One old man who was older than G-Ma seemed almost shorter than me, but he wasn't really. He was just hunched over. I noticed he didn't have many things in his cart, but by how slowly he walked, I wondered if he got a cart instead of a basket so he could lean on it for support walking.”

Jenna's stomach flip-flopped. She
knew
this kid had instincts. The team was driving the stepfather crazy and probably seemed to be talking to the child in his home more than the other witnesses combined, but call it whatever he liked, this little girl might be their most valuable witness. She seemed to be the only person able to sift through lots of information without thinking solely about the crime.

“Perfect, Molly. That's just the kind of thing I want to know. You ready?”

Molly nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Saleda slid the flip-book of pictures they'd compiled across the table. It contained photos of patrons from the grocery store, a few random mug shots, a few pictures of police officers in street clothes. They needed those controls so they could be sure Molly was remembering the right people and for the right reasons, rather than pointing to every photo and telling them things about the person that she may or may not remember simply because she knew they wanted to hear information. Such a fine line to walk with kids: leading them versus not, determining which of their observations constituted magical thinking about people versus solid thoughts based in reality.

Molly opened the book and glanced at the pictures one at a time, her gaze scanning the page slowly from left to right.

She pointed to a picture of a female with a short brunette bob. “This lady was there. She walked like she was hurt.”

Jenna looked to the picture. Indeed, it was one of the witnesses in the store. “Why do you say that?”

“She limped,” Molly said. “And she was slow. G-Ma wanted to pass her in the fruit section when we were behind her but felt bad, so we just walked slow awhile.”

The girl went silent again, taking in the photos. She turned a page.

Her finger landed on the first picture on the next page: another grocery store patron.

“He was on his cell phone. He talked loud.”

Jenna felt rather than saw Saleda making a note on her legal pad next to her. Good. Mr. Too Loud on Cell Phone
was
a possibility. It was rude to talk on your cell phone in public. But he was also a man, and other than what she now thought to be bystanders in the grocery store at the wrong time during the massacre, the Triple Shooter had only killed women.

She ignored the voice in the back of her head trying to tell her that this was a total shot in the dark. Sure, even if Molly remembered a lot of these things and they could check the potential victims more in depth, it didn't narrow down the target pool entirely. The girl couldn't have seen every person in the store or gotten a bead on their habits. But still, something told Jenna that Molly could help. A lot.

Molly had moved on to a photo on the third line of that same page, which happened to be a photo of Eldred Beasley. She tapped it with her pointer finger. “Mr. Beasley is probably the one you need to be talking to. He has trouble remembering stuff, but doesn't that maybe mean he's the one person from the store that day who hasn't gotten a chance to tell you everything he saw?”

“We're in touch with him, Molly. We'll be interviewing him soon. Thank you for that,” Saleda replied.

Jenna leaned in, brushed Molly's shoulder with hers, then winked. “Though, for future reference, it's always best to either tell your mom or Liam and they'll contact us or for you to contact us yourself when you remember something like that instead of contacting a stranger. You did a great job, but it helps us do our jobs better if we're in the loop, and even though Mr. Beasley is a nice man, not everyone involved in cases we tend to lurk around is, you know?”

Molly smiled sheepishly but nodded her assent. “I'll call you next time.”

“Good deal,” Jenna replied. “But back to Mr. Beasley. What do you know about him?”

The little girl nodded. “He's a nice man. When he told me he remembered some things, I told him he really needed to call you. I'm glad he did before he forgot to again,” she said thoughtfully, maybe even a little proud of herself in the aftermath of Jenna's previous slight scolding.