Part Six

Val Cornwell

Skinny was the first of all the people I had called to reach the office. She was wearing a crisp suit which made a sharp contrast to her tousled hair. The only sign of make-up on her face was a deep burgundy shade of lipstick that was probably supposed to avert attention from her tired eyes and pale skin but had the opposite effect.

“Man, what did you do to yourself?” I asked her, brushing her arm lightly. We usually didn’t exchange pleasantries or hugged when we met, but today I felt like a bit of human contact and sensed that she might feel the same.

“I’ve spent all day throwing up. Would you like to hear the details?” she responded in our usual rapport, but looked just as distracted as I felt.

“Well, let’s hope your stomach is empty now because this won’t be easy.”

She nodded and folded her arms in front of her chest defensively.

“So fill me in,” she told me in a neutral voice.

“You remember Charles Baxter, I presume.”

“Yes of course, since I fainted during his trial.” The look on her face bordered on disgust for a moment, then it returned to a neutral expression. “What is it with him? His trial has been adjourned to Wednesday.”

“They released him on bail after that turmoil your little episode caused and now he’s here, saying he’s got information about Donald.”

Miss Parker frowned and then voiced what had been exactly my thoughts when I had first been told by Will about what Baxter claimed he knew. “He is an organized crime sort of criminal. He defrauds banks and sells stolen goods but I am sure he would never hurt a child.”

She was right. Charles Baxter had an impressive criminal record but nothing had ever really been pinned on him. We owed it to Will's great investigative skills that we had been able to drag him into a court room with what little evidence he had left behind. For decades he had been working in the open, having other people commit the crimes for him, but then he had made a mistake and we had rejoiced. He was clearly capable of kidnapping someone, but not a child. He would tell his gorillas to shake people up, but he would not harm an innocent person- it simply didn’t seem to be in his nature.

“Well, let’s see what he’s got to say.”

I stepped aside and gestured towards the interview room, deferring her entry first. My eyes on her back, I had one last look at the dusk settling outside, wrapping the trees up in darkness, then followed her.

Miss Parker

Charles Baxter was not your average villain. Having worked at a corporation more evil than most people can grasp and then switching to the good side of the law, I had seen my share of criminals. If I had learned one thing, it was that everyone had a weakness- and people who appeared invincible were usually the weakest if you just discovered their deficiencies. I had always had a knack for seeing these insecurities in people and while back in my old life, I had used them to find the right way to scare and affront people, it had become my strategy to be good in my job.

And I knew I was good. Nobody had climbed the ranks in the DA’s office as quickly and swiftly as I had and although I couldn’t deny that I was proud of it, I also knew that I owed my success to a very dark part of my personality.

Last year, a young woman, cute as a button and more polite than I would ever be capable of being, had been accused of murdering her husband, since she had been found knitting in the living-room while he lay dead in the garage- stabbed. Her fingerprints had been all over him and the knife, so they had gone to trial. While everyone had expected it to go away because of reasonable doubt, I had systematically tried the woman. My instincts told me that she had killed her husband and although nobody had believed me - not even Val who’d said she could understand why I didn’t like Barbie, but needed to let it go - it had somehow been crystal-clear to me. It had taken me lots of pointless meetings with the defendant until I had finally found it. The couple hadn’t had children, but two upstairs bedrooms had been empty, but painted in cheery colors. I had deliberately picked up Sammy’s picture on my desk while talking to the woman and I had seen her gaze immediately. I had burned itself into the photograph of my little girl, sitting on my lap and beaming at the camera. Her face had hardened, which I had never seen in her before and like an animal that had almost caught its prey, I had caught a whiff of blood. That next day in trial I had cross-examined her, systematically led her through the questions I was sure her attorney had prepared her well for. I had seen her relax in the witness stand, I had seen a smug smile forming on her attorney's face while the jury members had begun to scribble down notes. Val, watching from the sidelines, had looked as if she was going to kill me for giving such a weak performance. I had stepped back behind the prosecution table, pretended to shuffle around my papers, then looked up and had added, as if spontaneously: “Well, Mrs Truman, you don't have any children, do you?”

I could tell that the question unsettled her, caught her extremely off guard and so, when she shook her head, I rounded the table quickly, closing in on her. Her mask of innocence had slipped and I had blurted out the next question in the growl I had once so successfully used on Broots: “But there is nothing you want more, is there?” And before her equally surprised attorney had gathered his wits, I had fired more questions at her, too close together to allow either an answer or an objection. “Can’t you have any?” “When did you find out your husband had a child with another woman?” “Did he refuse?” These questions had been somewhat unrelated, like brought up associations, but I had hit home with one of them. Her placid little face had turned from rosy to scarlet and her fists had closed around the chair’s armrests so that I could see her knuckles turning white. I had been right. She had a weakness and I had just dragged it out into the open. My hunch had been right. She wasn’t half as sweet and innocent as she pretended to be, and act like that usually tend to blow when you cannot afford it.

“The bastard!” she had blurted out, much to the surprise of her paling attorney. “How could he?” Tears had sprung to her eyes and I had taken a step back, still focusing on her. “He knocked that other woman up and had a baby with her while he knew all the time that I couldn’t get pregnant!”

She had been trembling by then, a very familiar madness shining inside her blue eyes, her pretty face suddenly a grimace of pain and violence.

“So you killed him,” I had stated firmly and neutrally.

“Objection!” The defense attorney had been on his feet instantly, trying to rescue her, but it had been too late.

“Damn right I did, that mean bastard!”

And that was that.

Everyone had a weakness and if you knew about it, you could destroy them. I knew, because they had used my weaknesses against me in the Centre constantly: My dead mother, my hope that my father would one day love me and the fact that I had allowed myself to care for Broots and Sydney.

The problem with Baxter was, however, that he did not seem to have a weakness and if he did, I couldn’t find it. That day in court, right before I had fainted, I had seen a female jury member look at him from the corner of her eye, blushing slightly and I had known that I didn’t stand much of a chance. We had been lucky to finally be able to pin something on him, but although the evidence spoke for itself, his simple being there was putting everything we’d worked for in jeopardy. He was charming, polite and I had discovered that I actually liked him. Well, he stood for everything that was wrong with society: The rich getting richer, people finding loopholes in the law, power making criminals untouchable to law enforcement and money buying everything one wants. Still, I had enjoyed talking to him and I had hated myself for that.

Now that I entered the interview room and approached the table he was sitting on, it hit me once again. Charles Baxter was a very attractive man. He was in his late fifties, his hair already a perfect white, wearing a dandy light brown suit with a tasteful tie and polished shoes. He could have starred in a gangster movie. His features were vaguely reminiscent of Al Pacino, most notably his intense dark-brown eyes. His skin was slightly bronze, so I doubted that he was actually American, but the accent he spoke in could have been anything since it was surprisingly neutral, making one unable to pin any ancestry on him whether national or international. As far as the authorities were concerned, he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the seventies, conquering the local scene within months.

Will, too much a rough cop still to be fooled by the man’s charms got up when we stepped in, running a hand through his unruly hair in exasperation. Contrary to other suspects in his position, Charles Baxter rose too, a perfect smile curling his full lips and extended his hand towards me.

“Miss Parker, how very pleasant to meet you here.”

I shook his hand, slightly unsettled by the thought of it and sat down next to Will. Val ignored his hand and snorted. She was immune to male charms. Lucky her.

“Well, Miss Parker. I do hope you have recovered from your unlucky accident,” he opened the conversation and, while playing his charms, had effortlessly put himself in charge of the conversation- which was unusual if you considered his position on the interview table. He played people like puppets and they graciously allowed him to.

“This is not what we are here for, though, is it?” I replied, placing my hands on the table, crossing them at the wrists.

“Indeed, indeed. I see that as usual you know your priorities, Miss Parker.” He gave me a mischievous smile that made me regret my harsh reply until I called myself to order.

I simply lifted both my eyebrows as to indicate that I did not wish to exchange further pleasantries and instead wanted to get down to business.

Charles looked straight into my eyes as he began telling his story and I began to feel as if we were the only people in the room, which, of course, was what he had intended. I was not fooled, but decided to play along.

“I regret to inform you that one of my...” he paused deliberately. “... business associates has crossed to the dark side.” The dark side. Charming. If they were working with or for him, they were obviously on the dark side alright. “He has been working for me for a little over two months and I did notice a certain edginess in him, but I assumed it was down to his occupation.” Probably a contract killer.

“Well, lately he seemed out of sort so I had one of my men follow him and discovered that he seemed to be burning things.” His silky voice softened for the first time and there was regret showing in his eyes. “When my employee moved closer, he discovered that he seemed to be burning the remains of a dead body. A small body.” His dark eyes looked really sad now.

“My employee returned to me at once, since he didn’t want to be caught up in such business. When we returned later, we only found the ashes and a few smaller bones. The fire took it all away,” he ended it.

I felt my heart contract in my chest. He was either a very good actor, or this was as painful for him to tell as it would have been for any model-citizen.

“I had two of my man stay there in case he returned. I haven’t heard of him since. I assume he has moved on.”

“What was his name?” Val chimed in, pen poised over paper.

“Well, you know we don’t work with full names in my area of business.” The way he said it, it sounded as if he was an artist rather than the head of organized crime in the area. “I can only tell you the first name he went by.”

I knew what was coming before he said it.

“Which was Kenny.”

I suddenly felt sick again, so I took a sip from the water Will had slid towards me over the table earlier. It helped immediately and I hurried to quickly and inconspicuously wipe away the thin film of perspiration from beyond my upper lip.

“What did he look like?” I asked, feeling my insides wrench at the same time.

“It’s not easy to tell, Miss Parker. He was wearing dark clothes, a wide coat mostly so I can only tell you that he was tall, but cannot make an assumption concerning his built. He was mostly wearing an old-fashioned hat which shaded his eyes. I guess his hair was of a light color. Blond maybe, since I saw glimpses of it once. We only ever met in darkness, which he insisted on, so I believe there was something wrong with his face.”

“Sounds like Freddy Kruger to me, fellow,” Val said. “Can’t you give us any more details?”

He shrugged and shook his head regretfully. “My being a witness to a crime and actually telling the police about it is as new to me as it is to you, but I really cannot remember more about him.”

“What about his voice?” I asked.

“Oh, how smart of you to ask. I did not think to mention that.” He gave me an appreciative smile and I felt like a little girl who had received laud from a favorite teacher. “His voice was husky, sounded hoarse most of the time. As if he had trouble breathing.”

His accent really bothered me. It was so smooth and non-obtrusive that I couldn’t even tell whether it was closer to British or American.

Jarod

I had told her. I had finally told her and was now waiting for her to reply. Naturally, I had expected her first question: “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “I... I thought you’d be upset.” She shook her head. “I still am.” She turned away from me and walked towards the window, her back turned to me.

“I don’t think I can do this. I told you I was afraid this would happen and I very well understand why you’d want to do this, but I can’t. I simply can’t live with it.”

I approached her and wrapped my arms around her body, trying to hold her, but she stepped away.

“I can’t be with you anymore, Jarod.”

“But...”

“You must understand.” Her eyes were tear-filled now and I knew this was forever, when she pressed a kiss to my mouth and walked away.

“Parker!” I called after her, desperately, but she vanished out of sight. I wanted to run after her, but my legs wouldn’t move. I tried. I tried so hard and began to shout after her with growing distress. “Parker! Parker!”

“Sch-sch, I’m here.”

I snapped out of my nightmare and found myself sitting up in bed, the covers thrown to the floor, my body covered and sweat, panting with panic. Parker was on her side of the bed, dressed in her suit, the lipstick worn-off a little, holding on to my arm. I tried to calm down and recover my breath, then leaned forward to grab the covers.

“No, no. Let me do that.” Before I knew it, she had rounded the bed and picked up the covers, straightening them, then tucked me in again. She shrugged out of her jacket, then climbed under the covers with me and slid her leg over mine. I could feel the tights on her leg and the rim of her skirt that was riding up with the motion while she wrapped one arm around me and popped her head up on the other.

“Bad dream?” she asked, her voice tired, and with a quick glance at the alarm-clock, I realized it was five in the morning.

“Did you just come home?” I asked, touching her cheek.

“Yes,” she replied simply, then put her head next to my shoulder and closed her eyes. “Just in time to save you. Was it about the Centre again?”

Contrary to her, I didn’t have many bad dreams about the Centre. New memories from my happy life had seemed to wash away the old dread and when I thought about the old times, it was with a detached feeling, as if these things had happened more than just a few years ago.

“Yes,” I replied, feeling guilty about lying. This was not the moment to tell her the truth. I pulled her closer to me and buried my face in her hair. “I love you.”

She just smiled and kissed me gently. She never said “I love you, too” claiming that the words were too precious to be uttered as an automatic response, so she only ever said it herself.

“What took you so long?” I asked, but she failed to answer, having already fallen asleep. She would probably not be able to sleep in that next morning, so I let it go and contended myself with just holding her in my arms. I just hoped I would still be able to when I had told her my secret.

Miss Parker

When I stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen the next morning at eight, having slept for roughly two hours before I had dragged myself into the bathroom to shower and apply countless layers of make up to hide the dark circles under my eyes, Christine was sitting at the kitchen-counter, playing cards with Samantha. She was wearing a stylish light-blue jogging-suit complete with matching running-shoes and a sweatband that looked somewhat ridiculous on her.

“Oh my god, it’s Monday!” I exclaimed, having completely forgotten about the fact that we had decided to meet again for running this morning.

“Never mind, pal.” Christine smiled. “I just heard from your lovely husband that you got home at five this morning. So I will just contend myself with losing at card-games to your daughter.”

“You’re playing poker?” I lifted one eyebrow. Sammy beamed. “Yes! I always win!”

She really was her father’s daughter.

“You can join my canasta club if you want,” Christine offered, but I cleared my throat loudly enough for her to understand that I preferred my five year old daughter elsewhere than engaging in gambling of any kind.

“Coffee?” Christine asked and indicated the pot, but I shook my head and sat down to nibble on some toast. Eating was not what I felt like, but considering the fact that I had gone without food yesterday, I knew I wouldn’t survive another day at the office without breakfast.

“Are you feeling better, Mommy?” Sammy asked.

“Yes. I’m just tired, honey.” I squeezed her hand lightly. I had yet to talk to her about the mysterious Kenny and how she had come into contact with him. I couldn’t imagine how, since we were probably even more protective of her than other parents. A past like ours would do that to people.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed, baby?” I asked her, aching to take her in my arms and not let her go again for fear that anything might hurt her.

“Okay.”

Jarod had already prepared Sammy’s lunch and placed the box next to her plate, so I finally dared to pour a cup of coffee and have a sip. No nausea. Good.

“Jarod left for work early. He says he’ll pick you up for lunch, the sweetheart.”

I laughed. “Are you sweet on my man?” I threatened her mockingly.

“I couldn’t imagine a girl who is not.” Christine snickered and patted my hand.

“Now, what happened last night? Did they find Donald?”

My face probably fell at the question and Christine instantly looked sympathetic.

“We did, Christine. We were tipped off and found his burned remains. They are trying to get some DNA out of it as we speak, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Can you be sure it’s him?”

“Obviously not. But there’s no other kid missing in the area, so it is very likely. Will has officially declared it a murder investigation.”

Val Cornwell

“Skinny, go home. You’re falling asleep at your desk,” I ordered her and she blinked at me, blushing as she noticed that I was right.

“Embarrassing,” she murmured. “I should be leaving for lunch now, anyway.”

“Check out the new place around the corner. They make a fantastic cheeseburger with tons of onions and a great barbecue sauce.” I grinned as she turned pale. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” In times with prospects as horrible as these, we usually joked around in a vain attempt to escape the grim reality.

“I hate you,” she replied evenly, switching her computer off.

“There is still something you ought to explain to me,” I told her, making myself comfortable in the chair opposite her desk once again.

“What?” She blinked, surprised. Interesting: She was capable of reading people so well, but never expected anyone to be able to read her.

“You turned green when he mentioned the name Kenny. Why’s that?”

She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose as if she was suffering from a headache. “Oh, that.”

“So what is it? One of your hunches?”

“No. My daughter has been talking about a person named Kenny which her teacher believed was some sort of imaginary friend. And Donald has been drawing pictures with him in them, too.”

“Oh my god.” I leaned forward. “So you think your daughter has met him, too?”

She nodded, looking scared for a moment before the professional mask was back in place. “I just can’t imagine how. We never leave her out of our sight.”

“It must have happened at school then. I’ll have Will send one of the boys over to question them. And don’t worry, we’ll kick this Kenny’s ass.”

She nodded and managed a smile.

“You go home for today. Have Greg do the research for the closing next week. Tell him to read those files and sum them up properly. I’ll have a look at it later. It will be a nice practice for him and you can go and rest.”

Parker’s face had darkened. “You’re not taking me off the case, are you?”

I laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t dare because I would be too worried you’d go off on your own. But at least I want you to be rested so you’ll not puke all over the evidence, fall asleep on a suspect or suffer a full-blown crying jag at inappropriate moments.”

She looked mutinous for a second and opened her mouth to probably hurl some insult at me, but I raised my hands in a pacifying gesture.

“Just kidding. Get some sleep. I’ll call you when you’re needed.”

She got up, nodding and walked towards the door, pausing when she passed me. “Thank you, Val.”

Miss Parker

I hated being sent home by a well-meaning colleague. Back in the days I would have bitten their head off. Then again, back in the days I hadn’t been pregnant and somewhat sensitive. It wasn’t so much the lack of sleep and the dread the whole development had caused, but something strange gnawing at me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was sure it was somehow connected to the sense I hadn’t wanted to use in order to find Donald.

Sitting in my car I grabbed the stirring wheel and felt the horrible sensation of guilt welling up inside me again. I was no stranger to guilt since I had lived with it most of my life, but this was different. Although I had tried to use my sense, I hadn’t pursued it enough, hadn’t managed to find anything out. I had convinced myself that I was trying to find Donald, while in fact I was not. I had been too scared of endangering my pregnancy- stupid me. Last time I had been pregnant, a building had collapsed on top of me- how could it get any worse? It felt as if I had killed Donald with my own hands.

There was a knock at my car-window and I jumped, then recognized Steve Christian, a defense attorney. I sighed and rolled the window down, glaring at him.

“What?”

“Oh, just inquiring about your health, Miss P,” he said in a singsong voice that I had learned to hate. Not a good lawyer but a terrific dazzler, he kept finding clients but rarely succeeded in getting them off the hook. Which was why he hated me.

“I’m fine. Thank you. But you must have been delighted since you wouldn’t have stood a chance getting bail if I hadn’t... fainted.”

He grinned smugly and I wondered whether anyone would mind if I just ran him over. I had driven a car through a wall once. But it had been a rental. This car I loved. Lucky Christian.

“Well, you must be grateful then. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to close that little boy’s case so quickly.” He snapped his fingers and winked at me. I loved the car. But not that much. It would have given me extreme satisfaction to crush him between the front of my car and the wall of the underground parking-lot.

“Well, anyway. I completely loved how you fainted in the middle of a sentence.” He put on a goofy expression that I gathered was supposed to be an impersonation of me and piped: “He has relations to all kinds of criminals, even the Centre...” He pressed his hand against his forehead at this point and pretended to faint.

“The Centre?” I asked, my throat going dry.

“Weird, eh? I would have picked up on that in my closing since I have no idea what you were talking about. And they say your research was so well-done. Ts Ts.”

I didn’t really hear the following insults and gathered up the last bit of strength I had to glare at him, tell him to crawl back into his hole and start the car.

The Centre? Why on earth had I mentioned the Centre? I remembered feeling a bit fuzzy before I had fainted, but I didn’t remember saying the words. Obviously, I had never meant to say them in the first place.

Charles Baxter and relations to the Centre? Was my sense playing tricks on me? Or had my brain just clouded over a moment before I lost consciousness and I had blurted out at random the most terrifying relation anyone could have?

I didn’t know, but it wouldn’t stay that way. I made a U-turn that resulted in ten cars blowing their horns and made for Charles Baxter’s house.

TBC