Marley greets me at the door with a soft smile. Almost hesitantly, I follow her into her office and take a seat across from her desk. I quickly glance at the file sitting there and see my name. It’s gone from being thin to thick in a week’s time, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
“Hi, Mr. McCoy.”
“Please, call me Tucker or just McCoy. None of that mister crap.”
She nods and opens my file, taking out a piece of paper. “I’m going to just cut right to the chase.” That’d be nice. Even though she’s not only being paid by the hour—by Ryley—we’re still working against the clock.
As if in slow motion she sets it down on the table and slides it over to me. I know I’m supposed to lean forward and look, but my body is frozen in place. Anxiety and fear run rapidly through my system right now. I’m torn, needing to know what’s on that paper, but also afraid of what it says.
“I’m afraid to look,” I tell her honestly. If she’s surprised by my admission she doesn’t show it.
“I understand,” she replies, pulling the sheet of paper back to my file. “I think you probably feel lost, but be assured I’m here to help. With that said, I don’t want to withhold any information that I find from you. In my line of work it’s going to be good and bad, but nonetheless it’s helpful in what I’m doing.”
I take in everything she’s saying, but I’m still fearful of what’s on that document. Is Penny remarried? Did she file for divorce from me? Is she dead? What about Claire? I have these questions every day, yet there are no answers to fill the void.
“The fear I feel, I’ve been trained to not feel this way and yet I can’t … I can’t stop feeling like I’ve failed Penny and Claire when all I ever wanted to do was protect them.”
“I understand, Tucker.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “My line of work can be rewarding and also very painful. It’s never fun to tell people that their spouses, who they think are working late, are actually having affairs, or living secret lives. But sometimes, I get the happy … like reuniting long lost siblings, or people searching for their adoptive parents or those parents searching for their children. While not all of those are happy, most are. I want to believe your case is going to be happy.”
My heart beats a little faster when she finishes. “Did you find something?” I ask, trying not to get my hopes up.
“I did, and while the news isn’t good, it does tell me what I’m looking for.”
With a furrowed brow I stare at her questioningly, waiting for her to continue. She picks up the sheet of paper I wouldn’t look at and reads it out loud.
“My name is Sgt. Doyle. Penelope McCoy entered into the police station with her young daughter at approximately 1900 hours stating that a man molested her daughter. I took her complaint, noting that the child had already been to the hospital, but the report was inconclusive. The child is two years old and I did not ask her any questions due to her age. I did not notice any visible physical damage / bruising on the parts of her body that were not covered by clothing.
“Mrs. McCoy attests that her friend, Frannie Riveria, came to her house with a friend, Ted Lawson, who represented himself as a senator and she left her child in the care of Riveria while she showered, stating that the young child has been sick and her friend offered her a small break. Mrs. McCoy states that her husband is currently on deployment with the United States Navy to which I asked why this matter isn’t being brought up to the police on base and she states they dismissed her claim. Mrs. McCoy goes onto state that when she came down from her shower, she found Lawson prone on her sofa without a shirt on and with her naked daughter lying on his chest. He was caressing her bottom, and when she took the child from him, the child was limp and lethargic leading Mrs. McCoy to believe he had drugged her. The report from the hospital says lab results are pending. When Mrs. McCoy informed Lawson that she was reporting this to the authorizes, he told her that if she did her worst nightmare would come true.”
It takes every ounce of control not to pick up the desk in front of me and throw it across the room. That fuck touched my daughter and Frannie led him right to my baby.
“Doe—” I clear my throat and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Does it say anything else?”
“Just the date.”
“When?”
“August fourteenth, two thousand and nine.”
The date isn’t lost on me. I know, from Ryley, it’s the day before we died.
“Does that date mean anything to you?”
I nod, reluctantly. “I died on the fifteenth of August.”
I sit there, trying to comprehend and make sense of the report Marley read to me. I take it from her, reading and re-reading the words over and over again. Penny filed a report with base and was brushed off, so she filed a report with the local police.
“Did they investigate?”
“Sgt. Doyle brought Lawson in for questioning, but didn’t have anything to hold him on so they had to release him.”
“Was Claire drugged?”
Marley nods and slides another sheet of paper over to me. “Her blood had traces of a sleep aid and cocaine.”
“Cocaine? Why would he give a baby coke?”
Marley seems uncomfortable as her eyes wander from my file to her computer and to me. “I asked the same thing, so I did some research and found out that in children so young it relaxes them beyond control. Pedophiles use it—”