Little Girls(90)

“Okay,” he said at last, and left the kitchen.





Though exhausted, she needed a shower. While under the tepid spray, she wept quietly for a full ten minutes, her sadness confused by the fusillade of betrayal she’d felt in the past forty-eight hours. A husband whose infidelity forced her to reexamine herself. A father whose black, unfathomable secrets had just floated to the surface. The only solace she found, which beckoned to her like the pinprick radiance of a distant star, was in the probability that she had been wrong about Abigail Evans after all. Sadie Russ had come back all right, but it hadn’t been to continue tormenting and torturing her. She had come back to reveal a truth that had long been hidden—that her father had done unspeakable things to little girls. Perhaps it was Sadie’s way of atoning for the evil she had brought unto Laurie when they had both been little girls. Perhaps this was Sadie Russ’s salvation from beyond the grave. With some despondency, Laurie wondered what would happen to Abigail Evans now that Sadie’s work was done. Would the girl return to her normal self, no longer the vessel needed for Sadie’s handiwork? Or would the girl simply blink out of existence altogether, as if she had never truly existed in the first place?





Chapter 28


Ted left before noon. Laurie was asleep upstairs, on the mattress that had been left on the floor after McCall’s haulers had taken the bedframe. Ted had spent the evening on the sofa downstairs, and he had already relocated his luggage to the foyer so that he wouldn’t disturb Laurie when he left. As it was, she had already been awake for about an hour, hearing him fumble around downstairs, until she finally heard the front door open and close. A moment later, she heard the Volvo’s engine start up. The urge to go to the window and watch his retreat was strong, but she resisted. Once the sound of the engine dissipated, she lay on the mattress staring at the shapes that seemed to coalesce then disengage in the stucco ceiling.

At two-thirty, an unmarked police car pulled up the driveway. A fresh-faced cop in a frumpy brown suit knocked on the front door. Laurie had just finished showering and her hair was still wet. She pulled her hair back into a short ponytail as she hurried to the front door.

“Hi, Mrs. Genarro. Detective Freeling said to pick you up and bring you to the station for your statement.”

“I’m just a few minutes behind,” she said, propping open the door and waving him inside. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, ma’am.” He spoke with a heavy Baltimore accent that stretched out his words and made them sound lazy. “I’m just fine, thank you.”

Upstairs, she poked her head into Susan’s bedroom. Susan sat on the edge of her bed lacing up her Keds. The girl looked despondent. Laurie wondered how much of the discussion her daughter had overheard last night.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“Tummy feels yucky.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It just feels yucky.”

Laurie pressed her lips to the girl’s forehead to gauge her temperature. “You don’t feel hot.”

Frowning, Susan shrugged.

“There’s a cop downstairs waiting to take us to the police station. You ready to go?”

“Will he turn on the lights and sirens?”

“Probably not, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”





The cop, whose name was Freddy Shannon, did not turn on the lights and siren, though he did seem amused by the request. Instead, he let Susan sit up front and listen to the squawking radio while Laurie sat in the back.

“Have you ever been in a car chase?” Susan asked.

“Nope,” Shannon said.

“Have you ever shot somebody?”

“Nope.”

“Have you ever done that thing where you give somebody electric shocks?”

“You mean a Taser?”

“Yeah, that’s it!”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Well, have you ever seen a dead body?”

“Sure have,” said Shannon brightly.

“Really? Oh, wow, was it all nasty like in the movies?”

Laurie cleared her throat and said, “Susan.”

“No, ma’am,” Shannon said to Susan, though his smiling eyes glanced up at Laurie in the rearview mirror. “Wasn’t nasty at all.”

“No?”

“Nope. Was quite peaceful and nice. The fella was done up in his favorite suit and tie and there were all these beautiful flowers all around him.”

Susan made a face that suggested she smelled something awful. “Who was he?”

“Uncle Hubert,” said Freddy Shannon. “Was a real nice funeral.”

The police station was a squat redbrick building with flagpoles out front. Freddy Shannon led them inside, through a vestibule where women sat behind bulletproof glass, down a hallway carpeted in garish fire-retardant berber, and into a small office. The office was empty of personnel, but there were two desks piled high with clutter. A dry erase board hung from one wall, the ghosts of ancient cases still faintly visible despite having been erased. The only photo on the wall was of the governor.

“Can I get you guys a soda or something?” Shannon said.

“No, thanks,” Laurie said before Susan could interject. “We’re good.”