Little Girls(35)

“Can Susan come out and play when she comes home?” Abigail asked.

“She won’t be home for the rest of the day.”

Abigail’s eyes darted to the right. She watched the honeybee go from blossom to blossom with dutiful diligence.

“Is Abigail your real name?” Laurie asked finally. This question was followed by a slight ringing in her ears.

“Yes.”

“Abigail Evans,” said Laurie.

“Yes.” The girl smiled: This was a game.

I don’t believe you, Laurie thought. I don’t believe you and you know that I don’t.

“Are your parents at home right now?”

“No.”

“You’re home alone?”

“I’m not home right now.” The girl’s eyes were the moist black-brown eyes of a deer. “I’m here.”

“Okay. Yes. But are your parents at home?”

“I’m not s’posed to tell strangers if people are home or not.”

“I’m not a stranger. I’m Susan’s mother.”

“Anyway, they’re not my parents.”

“What do you mean?”

“When does Susan come home?”

Laurie shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her voice was almost breathless. “I told you, she’ll be gone all day.”

“Are you moving here for good?”

“No,” said Laurie.

“Will you stay long? I like Susan.”

“We’re not staying long at all.” Laurie’s tongue felt instantly numb. It was difficult to get the words out.

“I have to go home now,” Abigail said. She turned and reached out for the fence. The little door beneath the willow tree branches opened on its hinges with a squeal. “Good-bye.”

Laurie didn’t say a word. She watched the odd little girl meander through the trees where she was periodically blotted out by heavy foliage. When Abigail reached the back porch of her house— (anyway, they’re not my parents) —she cast a quick glance back at Laurie before disappearing around the far side of the house.

It took the passage of several minutes before Laurie could move again. Feeling as though she had sleepwalked through her entire conversation with Abigail Evans, Laurie turned and walked back toward the house with one hand trailing along the fence in case her knees decided to grow weak and drop out from under her. When she noticed a small mound of dirt excavated from a narrow hole in the ground—the spot where Ted and Susan had buried the dead frog—she bent down and peered inside. The metallic paper covering of the cigar box with the holes punched in the lid winked at her in the sunlight. She reached in and withdrew the box. Opened it.

Empty.





She fired up Ted’s laptop and tried to connect to the Internet with no luck. “Shit,” she muttered. She had forgotten that Ted hadn’t been able to get a signal in the house. She picked up the laptop and carried it around the house, hoping that the Internet icon in the toolbar at the bottom of the screen would light up. When she wandered into the kitchen, she became hopeful. There was a weak signal out there somewhere after all. She carried the laptop outside and onto the patio, and was finally able to make the connection.

She logged into her e-mail account. Dozens of unread e-mails cluttered the inbox. The most recent e-mail was from Sergeant Martinez, Anne Arundel County Police. Laurie clicked on the e-mail, opened the attachment, saved it to the desktop, then went back inside and reclaimed her seat on the sofa.

She had been expecting a multipaged formal report, supplemented with crime scene photographs and detailed accounts of witnesses’ statements. What she found was a two-page PDF file, the first page comprised of a series of blocks in which the reporting official—Officer Joseph Caprisi—filled out his name, the date, location of the incident, and other such minutiae. The second page was the actual “report,” consisting of five poorly detailed paragraphs describing the event:



On 6/3/13 at approximately 0115 hrs OFC Caprisi was dispatched to 2109 Annapolis Road for an apparent suicide. OFC Caprisi arrived on scene and made contact with the witness, Teresa Larosche. Ms. Larosche was waiting outside the residence in her nightclothes and in a state of panic. Ms.





Larosche stated that she was a caretaker for an elderly male, Myles Brashear, who lived at the residence. Ms. Larosche confirmed that she had called 911. OFC Caprisi followed Ms. Larosche around the side of the house and observed an unconscious elderly male on the concrete walkway at the rear of the residence. Ms. Larosche identified the male as Mr. Brashear. OFC Caprisi observed that Mr. Brashear was naked and that his body was marked by wounds along the face, torso, arms, and thighs.





OFC Caprisi checked Mr. Brashear’s pulse and determined that Mr. Brashear was deceased. At this time, another police unit and an ambulance arrived at the residence. Paramedics examined Mr. Brashear’s body and confirmed that Mr. Brashear was deceased.





Ms. Larosche advised that she was employed by Mid-Atlantic Homecare Services and that she shared homecare duties for Mr. Brashear with another MAHS employee, Ms. Dora Lorton. Ms. Larosche stated she had worked nights at the residence for approximately the past two months. According to Ms. Larosche, Mr. Brashear suffered from dementia and would frequently become volatile and suffer periodic outbursts. Ms. Larosche advised that she had been awoken earlier this evening by the sounds of Mr. Brashear’s voice from the hallway outside her bedroom. When she got up to check on him, she found the door leading to a small rooftop room unlocked and open. Ms. Larosche said she had put a lock on this door last month to prevent Mr. Brashear from gaining access to a rooftop room because she felt it was dangerous for him to be up there. Ms. Larosche said Mr. Brashear had gone up there, and she could hear his voice. When he stopped talking, Ms. Larosche heard the breaking of glass. Ms. Larosche went up into the rooftop room and found the window broken and saw Mr. Brashear lying down below on the pavement. It was then that Ms. Larosche called 911, she said.