“I, uh . . . I,” Emmsley began to stutter, his face flushing crimson. It became clear almost immediately that he knew there was no appropriate response. “I’m sorry, Dr. Winherst,” he said and hung his head.
“Mark, photograph, bag, and tag,” she snapped as she stood. “And fast. We need to get the body and the samples back to the lab. I’ll be over by the vans. Find me when you’re done so we can get out of here!”
She didn’t even wait for the boy to nod a response before she turned around and began to stalk around the side of the house back toward the front yard. Manny stood and looked at the shell-shocked assistant as he proceeded with his instructions. Poor kid, he thought as he jogged the few paces needed to return to Dr. Winherst’s side. The last piece of evidence had finally given him the beginning of an insight into the psyche of who could have done this. She seemed to sense his excitement.
“Is there something you’d like to discuss with me, Detective?” she asked blandly.
“Not really,” he said as coolly as possible, “it’s just, what kind of person has the mental makeup to murder a child and try to incinerate the body like that, yet has such a weak stomach that they’d throw up while committing the crime?”
“That vomit could have come from anywhere,” she retorted. “It could have been from the dog for all we know. Let the science speak, and base your hypothesis on that, Detective.”
“You might be right,” Manny said in his friendliest voice. Never mind that the family doesn’t have any pets, Doctor. They were nearly at the vans out front and the noise from the crowd was starting to make it hard to hear. He leaned in toward her a little. “One more thing.”
“What?” she said curtly, clearly not wanting to spend any more time talking to him.
“You guys have the means to compare DNA over there at County, right?”
“We can compare one sample to another and see if there is a match, yes. But we’re a small county, Detective. If we want to do anything more complicated than that, like compare it to the Federal Database or something, you’re going to have to make a call up to St. Louis and turn the investigation over to the FBI.”
“Well we wouldn’t want that, would we?” When they reached the vans, Manny pulled open the passenger’s side door for Dr. Winherst. She rolled her eyes and frowned, but hopped in nonetheless. “Let’s keep that last part between us. Hopefully I’ll have a suspect sooner, rather than later.”
She nodded indifferently and grabbed the inside handle, pulling the door out of his grasp and closing it. She was such a cold woman, he was surprised he didn’t get frostbitten shaking her hand. Manny shook his head again as he turned from the van and nearly slammed into Derrick Emmsley running breathlessly from the backyard, camera swinging from his neck, carrying the last evidence bag.
“Careful with that, pal,” Manny said as cheerfully as he could. He certainly didn’t want to add to the young man’s agitation. He smiled and laid his hand on Derrick’s shoulder. “Thanks for getting that last piece of evidence so quick. You’re doing good work. Keep it up. Your boss will see it in due time.” He gave the kid a quick pat on the shoulder and continued to head to the front door. There was more to be learned from the family, he just knew it. It would be a hard interview, but if he was going to get to the bottom of this, Detective Manny Benitez would have to harden himself and do what had to be done.
FIVE
Maureen’s eyes opened of their own accord. She didn’t want to wake up, but her mind betrayed her and wouldn’t let her stay asleep. She raised her head off the couch cushions and looked around the room as the apartment slowly came into focus. She swung her legs around and felt the floor rise up to meet her feet. It seemed to sway underneath her for a moment. The effects of last night. Maureen laid her elbows on her thighs and rested her head in her hands, slowly rubbing her palms into her eyes. Last night’s headache had abated, and now all that was left were the horrifying images from her nightmare. Front in her mind was the upside down U. Even going back to her childhood, letters and numbers would always be the things that stuck longer in her mind after the other visions and sensations had blended into little more than a swirl of impressions left on her psyche. Her mother and the nuns always told her that what she had locked in her head was the work of pure evil. The way she saw it, they were the ones who were evil; they were the ones who left visible scars. But since she couldn’t change the past, she could only hope to outrun it for as long as possible.
She pushed herself to her feet, trudged across the room to her bedside, and groaned as she saw 9:33 on the clock radio. There were still five more hours before she had to leave for work. She switched off her alarm and headed to the refrigerator, grabbing a can of vegetable juice from the door and drinking it down. She knew what she should do was run to the grocery store for some bread and maybe some milk and peanut butter, but that seemed like a chore today. It was going to be another night of french fries and a chicken sandwich behind the bar.
Maureen turned back to her bed and stooped down to pull out two dark-colored duffel bags from under it. They were filled with all of her clothes, her flip phone and charger, her IDs, and nearly $1900 in cash. She
