MRS. ANDERSON personally opened the door for us. She was a petite blonde, in her midthirties, and very obviously used to getting her way. Crisply, she demanded to be shown our badges and that we tell her what we had done so far concerning the threatening calls. Trenkins’s face darkened. I forestalled him by saying, “I’m sure our captain already informed you that a technician will come out this afternoon and place a tracking device on your phone. We would like you to tell us all about the calls you received.”
“How many people do I have to tell about them before something happens? My daughter’s life is at stake here!”
“Where is your daughter now?” Trenkins asked.
“She’s in her room with the physiotherapist, doing her exercises.”
“She isn’t at school?”
“I always pick her up at noon and bring her home. She’s not equipped to handle a full day there. She attends to all her therapies at home and….” She trailed off. We waited until she continued, “She likes it better here at home. She’s more relaxed and at ease and I like to have her close and see with my own eyes she’s doing fine.”
Maybe she wasn’t that bad. Her voice softened when she spoke about her daughter’s well-being. I didn’t get the impression of dishonesty at all. On the contrary, she seemed to care about her daughter. Why wouldn’t she? She was her mother, after all.
We watched Mrs. Anderson’s gaze flickering around the room for what seemed like a long time. Eventually she took in a deep breath, smoothed out a crinkle in her skirt, and asked politely, “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thanks,” Trenkins and I said in unison.
“Well, have a seat and ask your questions.”
Mrs. Anderson ushered us toward a big sofa with rose-colored flowers all over it. It fit in with the wallpaper and the other furniture in the living room. Trenkins could barely mask a horrified expression when he discovered the precisely matched cushions. I shot him a warning glare, which he ignored completely. At least he kept his mouth shut.
We asked Mrs. Anderson about the calls. When did they start? Did she recognize the voice? Was it always the same person? Why didn’t she call the police earlier?
“The first call came in a week after Amaris had started school last year in September. In the beginning they came intermittently. Now they come at least twice a week. I didn’t take the first calls too seriously. I thought someone was playing a cruel joke. Such people are attracted to people like me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m the daughter of a powerful man, Detective Woods. It makes me a convenient target for hate campaigns. I never thought they’d include Amaris too. She’s innocent and such a sweetheart. I don’t understand why anyone would threaten her.”
Tears pooled in her eyes and Trenkins shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. I cleared my throat while Mrs. Anderson discreetly wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Have you been threatened before?”
“Yes, but nothing ever happened. I’ve never really been worried before, but now… it is different.” Defiantly, she raised her chin and declared, “And I’m not hysterical or overreacting. This is serious. If you’d heard this person on the phone… he’s full of hatred. He hates Amaris for being alive, can you imagine that?”
I could. People were astonishing in their ability to hate.
“To answer your other questions: no, I didn’t recognize the voice, only that it’s a male. I think it’s mostly the same person, although I’m not entirely sure. And about not calling the police earlier—let’s say my husband and I had different opinions on that topic.”
“What convinced you to call the police now?”
A shudder shook her small body, as she held the seam of her skirt in a white-knuckled grip. “The man called again yesterday morning, shortly after Amaris was picked up. He… he told me there would be an accident with the bus, I’d better prepare myself for the worst, and… and….”
She hiccupped and forced us to wait for her to regain her composure. In a choked voice, she went on, “He laughed and told me he was doing me and the world a favor. Eliminating the worthless scum was his goal, he said. I… ended the phone call.”
“What did you do then?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle and soothing.
She took in a deep breath. “I was paralyzed. Fifteen minutes later the phone rang again. It was the bus company, telling me there had been an accident.”
By then Mrs. Anderson was crying. Trenkins and I stared at each other, keeping our expressions impassive. Our heads swiveled around when someone cleared their throat. Another woman stood in the room, holding a child in her arms. Softly, she asked, “Where do you want to have Amaris, Greta?”
Mrs. Anderson wiped her eyes and got up from the sofa. She pointed to a construction in the corner of the living room. The two women gently lowered Amaris into something I realized was a ball pool. Mrs. Anderson crooned to her daughter. “Hey sweetie, you like this? Go ahead, play with your balls. Mommy will sit close by, all right?”
A grunt was her answer. We watched Mrs. Anderson bidding goodbye to the physiotherapist, Mrs. Summers, while we listened to odd slurping noises from the ball pool. Trenkins squirmed on the sofa. He whispered, “Those sounds she’s making… they are weird.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. Definitely weird and unpleasant. I gave Trenkins credit for using the right pronoun when he spoke of Mrs. Anderson’s daughter. I had been sure he would refer to her as it.
“I’m sorry about the interruption,” Mrs. Anderson said when she walked past us.
She plucked a cushion from the sofa, placed it next to the ball pool, and sat down on it. She looked younger, less tense now. Trenkins and I shared a surprised look. Neither of us would have thought of the immaculate Mrs. Anderson sitting on the floor. It didn’t please me that I was so prejudiced in my beliefs about her.
“You were telling us about the accident,” Trenkins prompted.
He craned his head to get a better look at the ball pool. When he couldn’t get a good enough view, he got up and walked over to them. Leaning against the wall, he sneaked glances at the ball pool. His face was a mirror of emotions, never settling on one for long. Mrs. Anderson studied him, shook her head in defeat, and answered, “Another car hit the bus with Amaris in it. Thank God she wasn’t hurt. None of the other kids were severely injured. They were scared and all, but the bus driver was the only one injured from the impact. He got off lightly from what I understood, only a slight concussion.”
She knelt on the cushion, produced a cloth out of nowhere, and cleaned her daughter’s face. Trenkins’s face contorted in disgust. I couldn’t bear sitting on the sofa any longer and walked over to them. I peeked into the ball pool to catch a glimpse of Amaris.
She would have been a beautiful girl if it weren’t for her disability. She held a ball with both hands, brought it to her mouth, and sucked on it enthusiastically. The ball slid from her hands, eliciting a wail of protest from her. Her mother gave her another one and waited until Amaris held it securely.
Mrs. Anderson smiled tenderly at her daughter and brushed a curl away from the child’s forehead. Love emanated from the woman, stunning me into silence. How could she love someone so distorted, someone who was and would forever be a burden, so much? Suddenly, I asked myself why I couldn’t find someone to look at me like that.
Life just wasn’t fair, that was why.
Trenkins drew me out of my reverie. “What happened to the driver who was responsible for the accident?”
“The brakes on the bus didn’t work and the bus overbalanced on a curve. Thank God they weren’t going fast. It’s a miracle everyone is alive! I’m sure this wasn’t just a coincidence. There is someone out there who wants to take away my daughter.” She fought a new battle against tears while we stood there and absorbed the information.
“I was so upset yesterday that I called my father. He was shocked and told me we had to get the police involved. I mean really involved. Of course you are investigating the accident. My husband and I decided to keep Amaris at home for a few days. I know of at least one other mother who received similar calls. Her son died two months ago from a seizure.”
“As far as I understand, no one can be held responsible for someone else dying from a seizure,” I spoke.
“The boy had been spooked, we’re sure about that. He was also locked up in a utility room.” She held up a hand to stop my comment. “He couldn’t have locked himself up. It was impossible. Someone must have locked him in there on purpose.”
“Couldn’t he have been overlooked?”
Mrs. Anderson snorted in a very unfeminine manner. “No. The room is small and when they found him, he was right in the middle of it. He was bound to his wheelchair, seizing. When help finally arrived it was too late. I’m not making things up, detectives. Our children are in danger. Please stop whoever is responsible.”
“Could you give us the name of that boy? We would like to talk to the family. Were the police involved in that case?”
“His name was Derek Green. I’ll write down his address for you.” She got up to retrieve a writing pad from a cupboard. “The police weren’t involved. Everyone said it was an accident, that maybe he got locked in by another kid.”
That made sense to me. It didn’t change the fact this boy had died a horrible death. Mrs. Anderson handed me the note. I glanced at the address, showed it to Trenkins, and we both nodded in unspoken understanding. We would pass Georgia Avenue on our way back to the station. Maybe we could drop by.
We heard someone unlocking the front door. Mrs. Anderson tensed. Obviously she wasn’t expecting anyone. Trenkins moved in the direction of the living room door whereas I stepped in front of Mrs. Anderson, hand on my gun, ready to raise it.
“Darling? Are you here?”
“Oh God!” Mrs. Anderson sobbed, sidestepped me, and flung herself around the neck of a dark-haired man who entered the room.
“Darling, what happened? Are you okay? Where’s Amaris? Is she okay?” The man, probably her husband, fired off questions.
“She’s okay, fine, actually. You… you just scared me. I didn’t expect you to be home so early.”
“I canceled the afternoon meetings. I couldn’t concentrate on work anyway.” The man dropped a kiss on Mrs. Anderson’s forehead. His head snapped up when Trenkins harrumphed. Sharply, he asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Detective Woods, this is Detective Trenkins. You are?”
“I’m Connor Anderson.”
“My husband,” Mrs. Anderson added in case we weren’t sure how they were related. I swallowed down my sarcasm, wondering for a brief moment about my anger.
“Well, Mrs. Anderson, thank you very much for your time. We’ll keep in touch,” Trenkins said. We shook hands with both of them.
Mr. Anderson escorted us to the door. “I hope you’ll find whoever is making our life a living hell very soon.”
We nodded. Anderson closed and locked the door behind us. From the inside we heard a loud chirp from Amaris when her mother told her that Daddy was home.
“How can they be so fucking caring and nice and all with a daughter like that?” I muttered.
Trenkins glanced at me in an odd way. I couldn’t help but snarl, “What?”
A smirk appeared on his face. “Aren’t you supposed to make sure that I stay politically correct?”
We walked to the car. “Your disgust was pretty obvious.”
“So you thought you’d top my disgust with a loud rant about the unfairness of the world?”
I slid behind the steering wheel and waited for Trenkins to close his door. “They oozed happiness and love. I was waiting for a rain of kittens or stars or whatever.”
“How dare they be happy when you are grouchy. The nerve!”
I blinked. “I’m not grouchy.”
“Sure you are. As I said before, get this thing with your boyfriend straightened out. My patience with you is stretching pretty thin.”
“There is no boyfriend,” I squeezed out while I threaded into traffic.
“Oh. So that’s the problem. He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend? Didn’t get him off good enough?”
“Trenkins!” I wheezed. My embarrassment brought a hot flush to my face. I wasn’t even sure if I was embarrassed because of Trenkins’s cheeky remark or because he so boldly talked about me being gay.
“Don’t act all coy. Whatever is going on, get it straightened out.”
“You’re repeating yourself.”
“Just wanted to make myself clear.”
“You did.” After a brief period of silence, I asked curtly, “Are you going to tell anyone about me?”
“No. Why would I?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Ever heard of ‘It takes one to know one’?”
I almost missed the red light. We came to a halt with screeching brakes. “Are you serious?”
Trenkins rolled his eyes. “Yes. Get over yourself. Other people have the right to be gay too. By the way, how about we go on first name basis, now that we know each other’s darkest secret?”
Baffled, I heard myself saying, “Okay. I’m Jeff.”
“Parker.”
“How long have you known about me?” I asked when my curiosity got the better of me.
“For two weeks. I was surprised, I have to admit.”
“Why? Not wearing enough pink shirts?”
Parker snorted. “Maybe. Or my gaydar is for shit.”
“You’re not the only one with a shitty gaydar. I’d never have guessed you were gay.”
“Maybe we’re both great at hiding it. So, tell me, buddy, what’s the problem with the boyfriend?”
I glanced at him irritably. “I told you. There is no boyfriend.”
“What about the cute blond thing everyone was lusting after? By the way, I never thought you’d be one with a penchant for the androgynous type. Come to think of it, he looked pretty young too.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. I’ve only seen him once and he’s not my type.” Even I wasn’t convinced by my own words. “Oh, and he is legal.”
“Aha.”
“What do you mean with aha?”
“Maybe your preferences are changing?”
“No!” I pulled a face. “Boys don’t do a thing for me.”
“Except that one.”
Yeah, except that one. There hadn’t been one single night in which I didn’t dream about Alex. Without expression, I said, “It was a fling.”
“Sure, and you’re all sour and mopey because of that.”
“He’s not my type and that’s the end of this discussion.”
“Sometimes an exception can be the right thing. Think about it,” Parker said mildly.
I didn’t want to think about it, so I shot back, “You’re talking from personal experience?”
“All I’m telling you is you might want to consider seeing him again.”
“Wait, how do you know about Alex?”
“Who?”
“The cute blond,” I replied impatiently.
“I happened to be hanging out in the Lion’s Den two weeks ago. Want to try talking to the Greens now and drive over to the school afterward?”
“Subtly changing the topic is not your cup of tea, huh?”
“Nope. You think there’s anything to the whole conspiracy theory? Maybe the Andersons just rubbed someone the wrong way. Maybe them oozing happiness and love makes them a convenient target,” he teased.
“Oh, shut up.”
Parker chuckled. I did my best to squash my desire to find someone I could ooze happiness and love with. Since when did I wish for that? And why the hell did Alex’s face pop up in my mind every time I allowed myself to think about really loving someone?
I shook my head, took a deep breath, and accelerated.