Catch Me (Detective D.D. Warren, #6)(92)

“Abigail?” Detective O asked sharply. She and Detective D.D. exchanged a glance. “Tell us about Abigail.”

I shook my head, rubbing my temples where a headache had already taken root. “You tell me. Do you have a record of an Abigail? Because I mentioned it to my aunt, and she said no. There were two babies. Rosalind and Carter. No Abigail.”

“No birth certificates, remember? No way to be sure.” D.D. was staring at me as hard as Detective O. “In your dream, what did Abigail look like?”

“Like a baby. She smiled at me. Big brown eyes.”

“Brown eyes,” Detective O interrupted. “What about blue?”

“I don’t know. In my dream, they were brown. But…maybe. Don’t all babies start with blue eyes?”

“But you remember brown,” D.D. said. “Blue eyes could darken into brown, but a baby wouldn’t start with brown eyes, that then turned blue.”

I shook my head, confused by both of them and their intensity. “My aunt said two babies, that’s all the police found.”

“It’s possible there were other babies,” D.D. said softly. “According to the police report, your mother moved around a lot, rarely spent more than a year in the same area. Probably helped her disguise the pregnancies, while keeping people from asking too many questions. The officers searched former rental units, of course, but she might have buried other remains, disposed of them in the woods, that sort of thing.”

“What kind of woman does such a thing?”

“A psychopath.” D.D. shrugged. “Munchausen’s by proxy is all about narcissism, a woman objectifying, then harming her own child in order to receive sympathy. Infanticide isn’t that much different. She would’ve viewed the pregnancies as inconvenient, maybe even considered an infant as a rival for attention. She acted accordingly.”

“What do you think, Abigail?” Detective O spoke up.

“What?”

Detective Warren frowned at O, then turned back to me. “You ever try to find your mom?”

“No.” I hesitated, fingered my side. “I, um, I assumed something bad had happened. I know I ended up in the hospital, seriously injured. Then my aunt arrived. I never saw my mother again and my aunt never brought it up. I assumed…I assumed maybe I’d done something to her.”

“Police received a nine-one-one summons to the residence. They found you, covered in blood. Further search turned up two plastic bins with human remains in the hall closet. A warrant was issued for your mom, but she was never arrested.”

“But you said you found her.”

“You said you’ve been talking to your aunt,” O interjected, demanding my attention. “She here, visiting? Or did you talk to her by phone?”

“She’s here—”

“Where?”

“My room—”

“When did she arrive?”

“This morning.”

“What about last night?”

“What about last night?”

“Where’d you go after speaking to us yesterday? You talk to your aunt, hang out with friends, take the dog for a walk?”

“I went home. I’d worked the night before and I hadn’t slept. I was exhausted.”

“Was your landlord home?” D.D. spoke up, swinging my attention back to her. “Did she see you coming or going, can she vouch for you?”

“I don’t know. Wait. No. I had Tulip, and Tulip’s not allowed inside, but it was too cold for her outside so I snuck her in the back door.”

“Meaning no one saw you come home.” Detective O’s turn.

“That would be sneaking.”

“What about this morning?” Detective Warren again.

“I left at four—”

“A.M.?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Used to working nights remember? I went to the gym.”

“So at four A.M., people saw you.” Detective O. “But not before that.”

“I don’t know!” I threw up my hands.

“Yes, you do. You were trying not to be seen and you were successful.” Detective Warren. “Ergo, no one saw you.”

“You said you knew where my mother was!”

“I do.”

“Where?”

“She ever call you Abigail?” Detective O.

“What? No. I’m Charlene. Charlie. Just because I added two names doesn’t mean I don’t know my own.”

Detective O arched a brow. “Oh, seems to me there’s plenty you don’t know.”

“I want to know where my mother is!”

“Colorado,” D.D. said.

“You have an address?”

D.D., watching me. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I want it.”

“Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere.”

I paused, regarded both detectives more warily. “Is it a prison? Did they finally catch her?” Then a heartbeat later. “No, because if she’d been arrested, there would’ve been a trial and someone would’ve contacted me. I would’ve been a witness.” Another hesitation, the wheels of my brain churning. “Mental hospital? She cracked, finally revealed her inner lunatic, and they locked her up.”