In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(23)

“Child Protective Services?”

“That house was no place for a little girl. They figured I was the one to report them and it didn’t sit well with either of them, let me tell you, though Bobby said he understood why I did it. Not the wife. If I saw her, she shot daggers at me.”

“Did the Chins’ arguments ever become violent?”

“I heard things banging around. My kitchen window is on that side of the house. And, like I said, the police showed up a couple of times. The last time is when they took Bobby away in handcuffs. I felt sorry for the little girl. She was standing right there in the middle of it, watching her parents fight like that. Watching the police take her father in handcuffs.”

“Did you see Elle often?”

“Every so often. She’d be in the backyard and I’d see her over the fence, or she’d be out walking with her father when I was watering the lawn and they’d stop for a minute. Sweet little girl. He seemed to really care for her too.”

“Were you home the night Elle disappeared?”

She nodded. “Sure was. I was watching television. The next thing I knew there were police cars and police officers all over the house. I thought one of them finally killed the other, there were so many officers. And then they sent in the people wearing masks and rubber gloves.”

“CSI.”

“Is that what they call them? The little girl’s disappearance was all over the news.”

“You saw the wife and the boyfriend together after Elle disappeared?”

“I saw them before she disappeared. He came to the house, and he was there when the police showed up. Like I said, he was there all the time. It was more of the same, just different participants.”

“More of the same?”

“The yelling and the screaming and the swearing. Different guy but same thing. Except he swore back at her.”

“Did you ever call the police?”

“No,” she said emphatically. “I didn’t want any part of that.”

“The night Elle went missing, did you see the wife or the boyfriend leave the house?” Tracy asked.

“No,” Robertson said. “But I wasn’t looking. I believe I was watching television. I usually keep the blinds down this time of year to keep the heat in. I do recall the police came later. So sad they never found that little girl, but . . .”

Tracy waited. “But . . .”

Robertson shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s just sad.”





CHAPTER 12

Following a late shift at work, Franklin set his plate and his Budweiser bottle on the collapsible TV dinner tray and sat to view the 10 p.m. news on the twenty-six-inch Sharp box television. Piles of newspapers, magazines, VCR tapes, and other things their mother had collected took up most of the rest of the space. The three brothers had learned to live around it. Franklin could not bring himself to discard the stuff. More than once he’d contemplated getting a Dumpster and just throwing the shit out, but he never seemed to get around to doing it, and there was never any impetus to do so. It wasn’t like any of them had unexpected guests drop by.

He picked up the remote and changed the channel from a college football game to the news. “Evan, bring in the salt and pepper, and some of that steak sauce while you’re at it.”

Evan walked in with a limp and a swollen lip. The bruises on his arms were a sickly yellow and deep purple. He carried his own plate and handed Franklin the salt and pepper.

“Did you hear me say ‘steak sauce’?”

Evan gave him a puzzled look.

“Go get the damn steak sauce.”

Evan did, and Franklin applied the sauce liberally to his steak and to his baked potato. Evan cleared a space on the sofa by shoving everything to the side and set his plate down on a stack of books atop the coffee table. Franklin shook his head. If there was a shortcut to doing work, Evan would find it. He was lazy, in addition to being stupid. A bad combination.

“Move the damn books so you don’t knock them over,” Franklin said. “And didn’t I ask you to clean up around here?”

“I like the books stacked. It makes my mouth closer to my plate.”

“Move the books and get after this mess when you finish up dinner.”

Evan cut into his steak and spoke while chewing his food. “What happened to football?”

“It’s over. I want to watch the news.”

Evan frowned. “Same news every night. I like football. You don’t know who’s going to win. I like the Seahawks.”

“Keep quiet. I’m watching the news because I want to find out if there’s anything on that girl in the park. I got to do everything around here—think for the three of us. So shut your trap for five minutes.” He pointed the remote at the television and tried to increase the volume. Nothing happened. “You change the batteries in this remote?”

Evan gave him a blank stare.

“Get your ass up and get me two double-A batteries. I just bought a pack the other day. They’re in the drawer to the right of the stove.”

Evan set down his fork and knife and limped into the kitchen.

“Turn up the TV volume while you’re up.” Evan did. “And bring me another beer too,” Franklin shouted over his shoulder.