FRIDAY, OCTOBER 5
A little over an hour later, Chandler stood behind the counter at the Fairfax County’s child interview home, Aslan seated next to him. A small two-story bungalow on a mostly residential street, from the outside it looked nothing like a police or investigative facility. That was the point. The facility was designed to make traumatized children feel as safe and comfortable as possible from the moment they arrived, allowing trained investigators to piece together events through carefully worded and conducted interviews.
Brandon Lancaster, his friend who ran a foster care agency called Almost Home, had also told him about this agency and its need for comfort dogs. Some children couldn’t tell their story to an adult, but they opened up to animals.
The idea had captured Chandler’s attention, and he’d tracked down information on a training program. He knew Aslan understood emotions, and the dog’s eyes contained wells of sympathy. Today was Aslan’s first assignment, and the culmination of untold hours of work—Chandler had quit tallying the time after they’d reached one hundred hours of logged training over the last year. He’d taken Aslan to nursing homes, day cares, elementary schools, even to Vet Center events, looking to acclimate the dog to people in multiple settings. His supervisor had seen the value of what Aslan could do with some of their clients and supported the training as long as it was on Chandler’s own time. They’d agreed to discuss how Chandler could leave when Aslan got calls but hadn’t done it yet. Guess the issue’d been pushed up in priority now.
The way Chandler saw it, he could stick his head in the sand and deny that children were abused each day, or he could be part of the solution. Denial had never gotten him far, so he’d opted for action. Now all that action would either propel them forward or let him know he’d wasted all those hours.
When Aslan stood peacefully during the picnic and fireworks for the vets and their families on the Fourth of July, Chandler knew the dog was ready. If he could handle that level of chaos, he was ready to sit quietly with a child who needed a friend.
Now Aslan waited as patiently as his namesake from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, unfazed by the new setting. Chandler had led him behind the counter that hid a computer and files, feeling it right to be as unobtrusive as possible while maintaining a position where he could see through a one-way mirror into the room where the dog would go to work as soon as the team was ready.
A young girl, maybe eight, with blond curls rioting around her head, waited in a room that was supposed to look and feel like a playroom. He could barely see her, tucked in a corner, her arms braced against her sweater.
A woman who looked a little like Mrs. Potts of Beauty and the Beast fame stepped next to Chandler. “That little girl has experienced things no child should, but until she talks there’s little we can do.” She turned and eyed Chandler and then the dog. “Is he up to the task?”
Chandler nodded. “He’s as ready as I can get him.”
She nodded. “I’m Detective Jane Thomas.”
“Chandler Bolton. And this boy is Aslan.”
“Nice to meet you. Elaine has her hands full keeping the mom under control.” Jane leaned down and let Aslan nose her hand before rubbing his head for a minute. “Two bad there aren’t two of you, one for Ms. Ange and one for her daughter. Are you ready to help Tiffany, Aslan? That little girl needs to know you’ll hear her.”
Aslan panted, then licked her hand.
She laughed and wiped the doggie slobber on her pants. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You’ll need a couple hand signals.” Chandler quickly taught them to her, while keeping an eye on the girl’s mother, who stood across the room from him, a hysterical mess, with a counselor trying to calm her.
“Ms. Ange, it doesn’t help if Tiffany hears you going on like this.”
The young woman shook her head and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “The things he did to my baby.” Her voice trailed off in a broken wail, and Chandler quickly turned his attention back to the playroom and away from the mother’s pain.
The therapy room where the girl waited was wired, and every word and movement could be recorded. Jane opened the door. The fact that she was a decorated detective was cloaked by her warm demeanor and lack of uniform. Chandler released Aslan, who followed Jane into the room, then sat at the hand command as she sank to a chair beside a child-sized table.
The woman didn’t speak. Didn’t move toward the child.
Aslan waited.
The little girl ignored them both. She rocked, tucked against a bookshelf, tears leaking down her cheeks.
Aslan waited.
It felt like thirty minutes passed, but when Chandler glanced at his watch, he saw it had only been a few, when Aslan eased to his feet. He approached the girl, then sank to the carpet next to her. He watched her, then gently placed his head in her lap.
Through it all Jane waited, still and silent, letting the act of empathy unlock some hidden door inside the girl.
Tiffany sobbed as she wound her hands through Aslan’s thick fur. Then, with the dog’s gentle eyes locked on her face, she began whispering. Her story got louder as the words rolled in a flood. Words so sad, yet necessary. Through each one Aslan listened, not even twitching.
The girl’s mother wept in the corner away from the one-way window, where Elaine had taken her. “I didn’t have any idea. Not until yesterday.” She nibbled at a cuticle. “What if he won’t stay away?”
A weariness sloped Elaine’s shoulders, as if a boulder pressed against them as she listened. “A lot will depend on what Tiffany tells us.”
“But she hasn’t been talking.”
“Let’s see what the comfort dog can do. I’ve seen them work wonders with other traumatized children.” Elaine placed a hand on the mother’s shoulder. “Tiffany will need help and lots of time. These kinds of events are world altering.”
“I’ll do anything I have to. Anything she needs. How can I keep her safe if I didn’t see this happening?”
Chandler shuddered at the pain in Ms. Ange’s voice. It was stark and real and deep. The kind that sliced through normal and left shredded dreams behind. The kind no mother should carry.
The counselor watched the woman from the corner of her eye, as if trying to discern the veracity of her emotional upheaval. “Ms. Ange, how well did you know the accused?”
“He was a new boyfriend. I’d known him a few weeks.” She took a deep breath, and her voice was stronger when she continued. “I want him to pay. What do I need to do?”
“A lot of that depends on Tiffany. Her testimony will be critical to press charges. The final decision rests with the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s office.”
Chandler returned his attention to the room on the other side of the mirror. Aslan suddenly popped to his feet, and Chandler stepped closer to the one-way glass. Before he could whistle a command, Detective Thomas gave a hand command, and Aslan sank back on his haunches. The detective extended her hand to the little girl, and a minute later the two exited the room. The girl hung back from her mother. Interesting. Her face was set in a mask that did not resemble the expressiveness she’d had minutes earlier when sobbing into Aslan’s fur or talking with the investigator. Now Tiffany held herself rigid as if waiting for the next blow.
Then Ms. Ange knelt in front of her and opened her arms slowly, as if unsure her daughter would come.
It was only then that Aslan eased through the door as if to slip into freedom. He nudged his nose into Tiffany’s thigh. After another nudge, she hurried into her mother’s arms. Their embrace must have squeezed all the air from the girl, and Chandler sensed the hug would be repeated frequently in the coming days.
Aslan came and sat in front of him, expectation in the tilt of his head and quirked ears.
“Come on, boy.” He eased around the mother and child but stopped when the woman spoke to him.
“Do you own this dog?” After he nodded, she continued. “Can I buy him from you?”
Chandler startled, then shook his head. “No, ma’am. He’s not for sale.”
She studied him a second, one hand playing with her daughter’s golden curls. “Thank you for bringing him.”
“I’m glad we could help.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “In case you need anything else.”
“I don’t even know what we need.” She took the card but said nothing more as he clipped on his dog’s leash.
Chandler turned to Elaine and Detective Thomas. “Tell John Walters he can call if he needs anything else.”
Detective Thomas nodded. “I will. Thanks for responding so quickly.”
“Glad it worked.”
He walked away, knowing he hadn’t done anything other than chauffeur his animal, but that was reality in his life. The needs were always bigger than his capability to meet them, so he needed God in big ways. As he let Aslan have a minute to sniff the bushes and water the grass, his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket. “Bolton.”
“Aslan’s owner?” The woman’s voice was hesitant.
“Yes, ma’am.” No mistaking Ms. Ange’s broken voice.
“Tiffany would like to say good-bye.”
“We’re still in the yard. We’ll wait until you come out.”
A moment later the little girl ran outside and flung her arms around Aslan. Her mother walked out more slowly. She was too young to have a burden like this, Chandler thought. She couldn’t be much more than twenty-five, and she seemed even more frail out here than she had inside.
“Is she going to be okay?” The woman watched her daughter pet Aslan as the animal smiled at the attention.
Chandler turned toward her. “With help and prayer, she will.”
“When you said you would help, did you mean it?”
Chandler hesitated. “If it’s in my power.”
She bit her lower lip, and her gaze slid to the ground. “The investigator stressed that the police and Commonwealth’s Attorney might not feel there was enough evidence to proceed. Do you know anyone who could help?”
“You mean an attorney?”
“Yes.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “I’m over my head, but I have to make sure Tiffany knows I did everything I could.”
Chandler didn’t want to get involved, not that deeply. It seemed too much like what he did at work—but this Tiffany, the one playing with Aslan, was so different from the broken girl inside the interview room. “Have you talked to a victim’s advocate? The county should have one for you.”
“Not yet.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “Not sure that will be enough. I’d like someone who cares about us. I don’t want to be just one of the two hundred people she’s helping.”
“When do you want to meet with someone?”
“Now. Before I lose my courage. This is too important.”
A name came to mind. A woman he’d known as a kid, a couple years younger than him, who’d gone to law school. “Let me make a couple calls, see if I can get an appointment for you.”
“Thank you.” The words were quiet, spoken away from him as Ms. Ange watched her daughter.
“I’ll need your first name if I get an appointment.”
“Madeline. Madeline Ange.”
“Let me see what I can do.” Twenty minutes later he had a meeting scheduled for Monday and had promised to meet Madeline there if he could get the time off—though as he examined her older model Toyota he wondered if he should pick her up instead. Was this whole thing a good idea? Or was he going to find himself embedded in another situation he couldn’t fix?
As he drove toward Old Town, Chandler wondered if he’d regret taking his involvement deeper.