The Only Witness Page 10

  Joy stood and checked the front of her blouse, folded the blanket and tossed it over the back of her chair. She took Ruben from Brittany's arms and tilted her head toward the hallway. "You could go out there with everyone else now."

  "What?"

  Joy rocked from foot to foot, cradling Ruben. "You could go back to normal. To the regular classes."

  Brittany stared at her friend. Was Joy trying to get rid of her?

  "Because, you know," Joy explained, "Now you don't have a baby, so you don't have to stay in Sluts with the rest of us. You could even try out for cheerleader if you wanted."

  Was this was the new normal? Pretending Ivy had never existed? "I never wanted to be a cheerleader. That was you, Joy."

  What would she do if she didn't get Ivy back? How could she just go on, graduate, get a job, believe that life was turning out the way it was supposed to?

  "Brittany!" Her mother stood with Danny in the classroom doorway. That made no sense for a second, and then Brittany remembered—the FBI and the lie detector test. She grabbed her books and ran out of the room, nearly colliding with the incoming algebra teacher.

  First up for the polygraph was Danny Morgan, Brittany's eleven-year-old brother. Finn had only spoken to the kid for a few minutes previously; he seemed like a normal little boy, and he clearly thought all the polygraph equipment was fascinating.

  "Do you resent Ivy?"

  Danny gave Maxwell a questioning look. Maxwell rephrased. "Do you hate Ivy?"

  The kid shrugged. "Sometimes. I mean, she cries a lot. And all the money goes for her, and she's just a baby."

  "Just Yes or No, Danny. Do you hate Ivy?"

  "No." He shrugged again. "I guess."

  Maxwell grimaced, made a tick on the page and continued. "Did you kill Ivy?"

  Danny snorted. "Like I could do that." He turned toward Maxwell. "You mean, like dead?"

  It was going to be a long interview. Finn went to refill his coffee cup.

  Noah Morgan and Susan Ciscoe provided no new information and seemed sincere in their statements that no member of their family would hurt the baby.

  Brittany was next. As soon as she was alone with the FBI agents, she said, "I think there's someone following me."

  "Why would someone follow you?" Foster secured the monitoring strap around the girl's chest.

  "I don't know. But there was a blue car last night with a man driving; it was really freaky. Do you think he could be after me? Like maybe he took Ivy and"—she gulped before continuing—"and now he wants to take me?"

  Finn winced. Clearly Scoletti needed tailing lessons if he'd been so easily spotted. He hoped the female officer he'd assigned tonight would do a better job.

  "Tell the local police about that car." Foster patted Brittany's arm. "Let's get started." She took her seat.

  Brittany exploded at the first real question.

  "Kill Ivy?" Brittany yelled at Maxwell. "Of course I didn't kill Ivy. Why would you even ask me that? Why would anyone think that? I'm her mother!"

  Agent Foster, seated at the table across from Brittany, didn't even raise her gaze from her yellow legal pad.

  "Just Yes or No, Miss Morgan." Maxwell scribbled a note on the ribbon of paper spewing from beneath the recording pens. "Did you kill your daughter, Ivy Rose Morgan?"

  "No," Brittany sobbed, reaching up to rub her eyes.

  "Please try to sit still. Did you injure your daughter, Ivy Rose Morgan?"

  "No."

  "Did you cause anyone else to kill your daughter?"

  Brittany leaned forward and covered her face with her hands.

  "Please sit up straight. Did you cause anyone else to kill your daughter?"

  He had to repeat it again before finally Brittany answered in a strangled voice. "No."

  "Did you cause anyone else to injure your daughter?"

  Again, a long pause before the girl said, "No."

  "Do you know if your daughter is dead or alive?"

  Various emotions warred on Brittany's face. Was guilt one of them?

  "No," she finally sobbed.

  "Did you leave Ivy in the car when you went into the grocery store?"

  Finn watched intently. That was one of the questions he'd added to the agents' list.

  A tear dripped down Brittany's cheek. "Yes."

  "Did you plan for someone to take Ivy while you were in the store?"

  "God, no! Why are you treating me like this?"

  Maxwell again admonished her to answer only Yes or No and repeated the question, eliciting a "No" from Brittany.

  "Did you arrange for Ivy's kidnapping?"

  Brittany pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes closed. "No," she moaned. Maxwell made another note on the recording paper.

  "Painful to watch, isn't it?" Dawes stood at Finn's elbow. "But at least the feebies are good for something." He held out a piece of paper. "Thought you might be interested in this. It's a photocopy of a note found at the Food Mart memorial."

  IVY IS IN A BETTER PLACE.

  All caps. Block letters written with a marking pen. The only aspects that were distinctive were the E's, which were rounded like the left half of the number 8 instead of straight-edged.

  "I suppose it's too much to hope for prints?" Finn asked.

  "Nothing but smudges."

  "Distinctive paper?"

  Dawes shook his head. "Common print and copy stock. I'm off to re-interview those teenagers from the parking lot, unless…"

  Finn flapped a hand at Dawes. "Go. At least one of us should be out there gathering information. I'll let you know if anything develops here."

  "Likewise."

  Finn waited until Maxwell finished questioning Brittany, then entered the interview room before Foster detached the polygraph leads. He had a quick whispered conversation with the agents.

  "Let's do it now," Foster said, nodding toward the note. Maxwell switched the machine back on.

  Finn showed Brittany the photocopy, explaining where the note had been found.

  She studied the paper for a long moment, during which she held her breath. Finally she exhaled and raised her tear-filled gaze to look at him. "What does it mean?"

  He said nothing, just watched her.

  "Ms. Morgan, do you know who wrote that note?" Maxwell asked.

  "No." Brittany dropped the page on the floor and stared at it with both hands clasped together. "Who would write that? What does it mean?"

  Finn wished he had an answer. A better place. Heaven? Someone else's arms? Buried in an anonymous grave?

  "Ms. Morgan, did you kill your daughter?" Maxwell asked again.

  "I told you, no!"

  "Ms. Morgan, did you cause your daughter to be killed?"

  "The FBI is supposed to help. Why aren't you helping?" Brittany now trembled violently and stared at the window above Foster's head. She quit responding to questions. The FBI agents finally decided to let her go.

  As Finn escorted the family out of the building, they passed Charlie Wakefield and his parents on their way in.

  All three Wakefields wore identical expressions of icy malice. After a quick glance at Charlie, Brittany kept her eyes down. As Finn passed Travis Wakefield, he heard him mutter, "Incompetent jackass."

  If the Morgans heard, they had the decency to pretend they hadn't.

  Travis Wakefield and his wife were interviewed first. No new information was revealed. Then Finn observed Charlie's interview with interest. This was the first time Finn had laid eyes on the nineteen-year-old.

  "Is Ivy Rose Morgan your daughter?" Maxwell asked.

  "Who the hell knows?" Wakefield answered. "Brittany keeps saying so, but she won't do the paternity test." He slumped in his chair. "We're not giving her any money until she does."

  "Just yes or no, Mr. Wakefield. Please sit up straight. Do you hate Ivy Rose Morgan?"

  Wakefield pushed himself erect again. "I've never even seen her."

  Maxwell made a note on the polygraph ribbon. "Yes or
no, Mr. Wakefield."

  "Then no."

  Another note. "Do you hate Brittany Morgan?"

  Wakefield hesitated. Finally, he said, "No."

  Finn felt a presence at his elbow. Travis Wakefield stood beside him, intently watching Charlie's interview on the video monitor.

  "Did you kill Ivy Rose Morgan?" Maxwell asked Charlie.

  "No."

  "Did you cause Ivy Rose Morgan to die?"

  "No."

  Finn wondered if he could tell the County Executive to get lost. Probably not; the polygraphs were voluntary, and the guy was his boss's boss.

  In the interview room, Maxwell asked, "Did you kidnap Ivy Rose Morgan?"

  Charlie answered, "No."

  "Did you cause Ivy Rose Morgan to be kidnapped?"

  The kid snorted, "Do you mean like did I pay someone to take her?"

  "Just yes or no. Did you cause Ivy Rose Morgan to be kidnapped?"

  Wakefield stared at Maxwell for few seconds as he wiped his hands on his blue-jeaned thighs. "No."

  "Do you know where Ivy Rose Morgan is?"

  "I wish." That earned him a glare from Maxwell, to which he responded, "No."

  "Do you know if Ivy Rose Morgan is dead?"

  "No."

  "Were you studying at the university library between five and six p.m. last Monday?"

  Charlie looked at Maxwell. "I, uh…"

  Travis Wakefield strode into the interview room without knocking. Finn followed. "We're done here," the County Exec told the agents. He plucked at the straps on his son's chest and arm.

  Both FBI agents jumped up, Maxwell to save his equipment, Foster to ask, "Why the sudden change of heart, Mr. Wakefield?"

  Wakefield yanked his son up by the arm. After glancing over his shoulder at his father, Charlie Wakefield approached Finn. "I need to talk to you," the boy murmured in a low voice.

  "Go ahead," Finn said.

  Travis Wakefield stepped close to them and said, "Charlie and I need a word with you. Alone." He looked pointedly at the two FBI agents.

  Was a confession forthcoming? If so, Finn needed a witness. "Agent Foster is attached to this case," he said. "Anything you tell me, she needs to know as well."

  The County Executive glared at him and Foster for a moment, then gave in. "All right. But let's take it somewhere more private."

  "Back in a minute," Foster said to Maxwell over her shoulder.

  Finn led them to the storeroom that doubled as a second interview room when needed. A small table and several folding chairs were sandwiched between shelves of office supplies there, but none of the four sat down. Instead, they stood around the table, shuffling awkwardly. As soon as the door was closed, Travis Wakefield crossed his arms and said to his son, "Tell them."

  Charlie pushed his longish blond hair off his brow. "I wasn't at the library when the baby disappeared. I was at work."

  Foster put her hands on the back of a chair and leaned on them. "Where do you work?"

  Both father and son looked uncomfortable. Charlie said, "I work for a janitorial service. They send us to different places, mostly small businesses. That night I was working at the Ward Building in Cheney from 5:30 p.m. to 10:30 p.m."

  "Why did you lie?" Finn asked. "Why did your roommates tell us you were at the library?"

  Charlie and his father exchanged a glance. "Uh," the boy mumbled, "I didn't know it was that important to begin with. I told my roommates I was at the library, studying. I really don't need everyone to know that I work as a janitor."

  Travis Wakefield said, "I'm sure you can understand how that could be embarrassing for a young man in Charlie's position."

  I understand it's embarrassing for you, Mr. Country Club, Finn thought. The Wakefields were clearly on tough financial times if Charlie had to work while going to college.

  He said to Charlie, "We'll need the names of your co-workers."

  The boy gulped. "I was by myself; the place isn't that big." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Finn. "But here's my paycheck stub. See, they put the dates and hours right on it."

  Yes, among the list on the printout was the date, along the hours of 5:30 – 10:30 p.m. But Finn needed verification from an actual human being. "Nobody was in the building when you arrived?"

  Charlie shook his head. "Everyone was gone, honest. But believe me, if I hadn't cleaned the place, my company would have heard about it the next morning." He apparently thought of what their next question might be, because he said, "I didn't answer my cell phone because I left it in my car. But I called the local police as soon as I got the message."

  "I'm sure you can appreciate that good paying jobs are scarce right now," Travis Wakefield told Finn.

  "They are," Finn said.

  "So we can all agree that Charlie's whereabouts have been documented," Travis Wakefield stated. "I expect you to be discreet about this matter." Taking Charlie by the arm, he walked out the door.

  Agent Foster looked perplexed and annoyed. Finn explained the political situation to her. "I'll check with the manager of the Ward Building," he said. "If he can't verify Charlie's presence, maybe there are security cameras that can."

  "Let us know what you find out," Agent Foster said. "If you need pressure applied, we can do that."

  Finn waited for Agent Maxwell's report, but he was fairly certain of what the polygraph results were going to be.

  "The parents and the brother all passed easily," Maxwell told him. "Charles Wakefield's and Brittany Morgan's tests are inconclusive. There was an uptick on Wakefield's graph when we asked about whether he had caused the baby to be harmed and if he knew where she was, but not enough to say he was definitely lying. Brittany Morgan, on the other hand—the graph indicates a probable lie when she said she did not cause her daughter to be harmed."

  Had Brittany and Charlie planned something together? According to phone records, they'd talked by cell phone last evening, so they did communicate once in awhile. Did he dare ask the Morgans to let Mason download spyware onto Brittany's new phone?

  Alice Foster checked her watch. "We've got a plane to catch. Since we don't have sufficient proof of kidnapping, we'll leave this in your hands, Detective. We'll keep the infant's stats up on the website until the case goes one way or the other. We trust you'll keep us informed of your efforts?"

  He nodded. "Of course. Please feel free to send me any thoughts you might have on the case." He was running out of ideas.

  "Good luck," Foster said before going out the door.

  The clock on the lobby wall reminded him that it was three p.m. He hadn't started on the stack of printouts on his desk. He'd never eaten breakfast or lunch today. Come back, he felt like yelling as he watched the agents slide into their car. The case is yours.

  "Staff reductions will not be announced until the end of the year," the secretary to the Chairman of the Psychology Department told Grace.

  "Can you tell me if my name is on a list of possible cuts?"

  "I don't have that information, Dr. McKenna."

  The woman didn't seem to have any information, at least not any that she was willing to share with Grace. If additional funding for her project was not in the works, then it seemed likely her position with the university, nominal as it was, was also on the chopping block. How was she supposed to plan? What was she supposed to do?

  "The state has cut funding to all universities, Dr. McKenna; we're all in this together."

  Hardly, Grace thought uncharitably; you're not exiled to some backwater where nobody knows you exist.

  "Do you have any additional funding sources you can tap?" the secretary asked. "Any private grants you can apply for?"

  Grace had been on the verge of asking her the exact same question. Fighting back a surge of frustration, she thanked the secretary and hung up. She tried to push the matter to the back of her mind, and went to join Josh and Neema for Neema's 'social hour' where they didn't work at teaching her new signs, but simply played with the
gorilla and recorded her natural sign 'conversation.' Then they'd release her into the outdoor enclosure with Gumu for rambunctious ape interaction.

  Josh sat on the floor with Neema, who was trying to give her baby—a plush toy gorilla—a bottle. The two kittens took turns ambushing each other and attacking Neema's other toys strewn around the perimeter of the room.

  "I swear, this S-N-A-K-E and baby thing are connected in her furry brain," Josh said. Neema understood far more words than she knew how to sign; often Grace and Josh spelled to each other or used odd synonyms; it was like talking about Christmas around a three-year-old.

  Josh continued, "Yesterday, when she was talking about that girl who lost the baby, Neema said the S word. Didn't she?"

  Grace nodded. "S word, baby, go."

  "Man was in there somewhere, too. Along with candy, candy, candy."

  Neema looked up. Tree candy, she signed around the toy in her arms.

  "No candy now," Grace told her. "Josh, don't say the C word again."

  "Yes, boss." He went to Neema's toy box and pulled out a set of picture flash cards. He stepped over the kittens and then approached the gorilla. After spreading several flash cards on the floor in front of her, he pulled the plush toy away from Neema, setting it on the carpet several feet away. Where snake? he signed. Neema immediately thumped two fingers on the flashcard that showed a zigzagging snake, then reached out for the stuffed baby gorilla. She'd mastered flash cards years ago and was already bored.

  Where baby? Josh signed.

  Neema rocked the baby gorilla toy in her arms, cradling it in the crook of her elbow as she signed Baby here. Neema baby want. The white kitten leapt onto a flash card and then shot off with the calico in hot pursuit. Neema whirled to watch.

  "Maybe this is just all about Neema wanting a baby," Grace said.

  "Then why does she keep bringing up the S-N-A-K-E?"

  Grace knelt on the floor beside Josh, patting Neema's arm to get her attention. Snake take Neema's baby? she signed.

  The gorilla briefly gazed into her eyes as though Grace was crazy. Then she lowered her head and studiously inspected her fingerlike toes one by one.